V. THE PSYCHOLOGICAL WORKING OF COLOUR
VII.  THE LANGUAGE OF FORM AND COLOUR

Note: Footnotes marked M.T.H.S. were inserted by Sadler, the translator.

V. THE PSYCHOLOGICAL WORKING OF COLOUR


To let the eye stray over a palette, splashed with many colours,
produces a dual result. In the first place one receives a PURELY
PHYSICAL IMPRESSION, one of pleasure and contentment at 
the varied and beautiful colours. The eye is either warmed or 
else soothed and cooled. But these physical sensations can 
only be of short duration. They are merely superficial and leave 
no lasting impression, for the soul is unaffected. But although 
the effect of the colours is forgotten when the eye is turned 
away, the superficial impression of varied colour may be the 
starting point of a whole chain of related sensations.

On the average man only the impressions caused by very 
familiar objects, will be purely superficial. A first encounter with 
any new phenomenon exercises immediately an impression on 
the soul. This is the experience of the child discovering the 
world, to whom every object is new. He sees a light, wishes to 
take hold of it, burns his finger and feels henceforward a proper 
respect for flame. But later he learns that light has a friendly as 
well as an unfriendly side, that it drives away the darkness, 
makes the day longer, is essential to warmth, cooking, 
play-acting. From the mass of these discoveries is composed a 
knowledge of light, which is indelibly fixed in his mind. The 
strong, intensive interest disappears and the various properties 
of flame are balanced against each other. In this way the whole 
world becomes gradually disenchanted. It is realized that trees 
give shade, that horses run fast and motor-cars still faster, that 
dogs bite, that the figure seen in a mirror is not a real human 
being.

As the man develops, the circle of these experiences caused by
different beings and objects, grows ever wider. They acquire an
inner meaning and eventually a spiritual harmony. It is the same
with colour, which makes only a momentary and superficial
impression on a soul but slightly developed in sensitiveness. 
But even this superficial impression varies in quality. The eye is
strongly attracted by light, clear colours, and still more strongly 
attracted by those colours which are warm as well as clear; 
vermilion has the charm of flame, which has always attracted 
human beings. Keen lemon-yellow hurts the eye in time as a 
prolonged and shrill trumpet-note the ear, and the gazer turns 
away to seek relief in blue or green.

But to a more sensitive soul the effect of colours is deeper and
intensely moving. And so we come to the second main result of
looking at colours: THEIR PSYCHIC EFFECT. They produce a
corresponding spiritual vibration, and it is only as a step 
towards this spiritual vibration that the elementary physical
impression is of importance.

Whether the psychic effect of colour is a direct one, as these
last few lines imply, or whether it is the outcome of association, 
is perhaps open to question. The soul being one with the body, 
the former may well experience a psychic shock, caused by 
association acting on the latter. For example, red may cause a
sensation analogous to that caused by flame, because red is 
the colour of flame. A warm red will prove exciting, another 
shade of red will cause pain or disgust through association with 
running blood. In these cases colour awakens a corresponding 
physical sensation, which undoubtedly works upon the soul.

If this were always the case, it would be easy to define by
association the effects of colour upon other senses than that of
sight. One might say that keen yellow looks sour, because it
recalls the taste of a lemon.

But such definitions are not universally possible. There are 
many examples of colour working which refuse to be so 
classified. A Dresden doctor relates of one of his patients, 
whom he designates as an "exceptionally sensitive person," 
that he could not eat a certain sauce without tasting "blue," i.e. 
without experiencing a feeling of seeing a blue color. 
[Footnote:  Dr. Freudenberg. "Spaltung der Personlichkeit" 
(Ubersinnliche Welt. 1908. No. 2, p. 64-65). The author also 
discusses the hearing of colour, and says that here also no rules 
can be laid down. But cf. L. Sabanejeff in "Musik," Moscow, 
1911, No. 9, where the imminent possibility of laying down a law 
is clearly hinted at.] 
It would be possible to suggest, by way of explanation of this, 
that in highly sensitive people, the way to the soul is so direct 
and the soul itself so impressionable, that any impression of 
taste communicates itself immediately to the soul, and thence to 
the other organs of sense (in this case, the eyes). This would 
imply an echo or reverberation, such as occurs sometimes in 
musical instruments which, without being touched, sound in 
harmony with some other instrument struck at the moment.

But not only with taste has sight been known to work in harmony.
Many colours have been described as rough or sticky, others as
smooth and uniform, so that one feels inclined to stroke them
(e.g., dark ultramarine, chromic oxide green, and rose madder).
Equally the distinction between warm and cold colours belongs 
to this connection. Some colours appear soft (rose madder), 
others hard (cobalt green, blue-green oxide), so that even fresh 
from the tube they seem to be dry.

The expression "scented colours" is frequently met with. And
finally the sound of colours is so definite that it would be hard
to find anyone who would try to express bright yellow in the bass
notes, or dark lake in the treble.

[Footnote: Much theory and practice have been devoted to this
question. People have sought to paint in counterpoint. Also
unmusical children have been successfully helped to play the
piano by quoting a parallel in colour (e.g., of flowers). On
these lines Frau A. Sacharjin-Unkowsky has worked for several
years and has evolved a method of "so describing sounds by
natural colours, and colours by natural sounds, that colour could
be heard and sound seen." The system has proved successful 
for several years both in the inventor's own school and the
Conservatoire at St. Petersburg. Finally Scriabin, on more
spiritual lines, has paralleled sound and colours in a chart not
unlike that of Frau Unkowsky. In "Prometheus" he has given
convincing proof of his theories. (His chart appeared in "Musik,"
Moscow, 1911, No. 9.)]

[Footnote: The converse question, i.e. the colour of sound, was
touched upon by Mallarme and systematized by his disciple 
Rene Ghil, whose book, Traite du Verbe, gives the rules for
"l'instrumentation verbale."--M.T.H.S.]

The explanation by association will not suffice us in many, and
the most important cases. Those who have heard of chromo-
therapy will know that coloured light can exercise very definite
influences on the whole body. Attempts have been made with
different colours in the treatment of various nervous ailments.
They have shown that red light stimulates and excites the heart,
while blue light can cause temporary paralysis. But when the
experiments come to be tried on animals and even plants, the
association theory falls to the ground. So one is bound to admit
that the question is at present unexplored, but that colour can
exercise enormous influence over the body as a physical 
organism.

No more sufficient, in the psychic sphere, is the theory of 
association. Generally speaking, colour is a power which 
directly influences the soul. Colour is the keyboard, the eyes are 
the hammers, the soul is the piano with many strings. The artist 
is the hand which plays, touching one key or another, to cause
vibrations in the soul.

IT IS EVIDENT THEREFORE THAT COLOUR HARMONY 
MUST REST ONLY ON A CORRESPONDING VIBRATION 
IN THE HUMAN SOUL; AND THIS IS ONE OF THE  GUIDING  
PRINCIPLES OF THE INNER NEED.

[Footnote: The phrase "inner need" (innere Notwendigkeit) 
means primarily the impulse felt by the artist for spiritual 
expression.  Kandinsky is apt, however, to use the phrase 
sometimes to mean  not only the hunger for spiritual expression, 
but also the actual  expression itself.--M.T.H.S.]




VI. THE LANGUAGE OF FORM AND COLOUR

The man that hath no music in himself, 
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, 
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; 
The motions of his spirit are dull as night, 
And his affections dark as Erebus: 
Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music. 
(Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice, Act v, 
Scene I.)

Musical sound acts directly on the soul and finds an echo there
because, though to varying extents, music is innate in man.
[Footnote: Cf. E. Jacques-Dalcroze in The Eurhythmics of 
Jacques-Dalcroze. London, Constable.--M.T.H.S.]

"Everyone knows that yellow, orange, and red suggest ideas of 
joy and plenty" (Delacroix). [Footnote: Cf. Paul Signac, 
D'Eugene Delacroix au Neo-Impressionisme. Paris. Floury. 
Also compare  an interesting article by K. Schettler: "Notizen 
uber die Farbe." (Decorative Kunst, 1901, February).]

These two quotations show the deep relationship between the 
arts, and especially between music and painting. Goethe said 
that painting must count this relationship her main foundation, 
and by this prophetic remark he seems to foretell the position in 
which painting is today. She stands, in fact, at the first stage of 
the road by which she will, according to her own possibilities, 
make art an abstraction of thought and arrive finally at purely
artistic composition. [Footnote: By "Komposition" Kandinsky 
here means, of course, an artistic creation. He is not referring to
the arrangement of the objects in a picture.--M.T.H.S.]

Painting has two weapons at her disposal:
1. Colour.
2. Form.

Form can stand alone as representing an object (either real or
otherwise) or as a purely abstract limit to a space or a surface.

Colour cannot stand alone; it cannot dispense with boundaries 
of some kind. 
[Footnote: Cf. A. Wallace Rimington. Colour music, where 
experiments are recounted with a colour organ, which gives 
symphonies of rapidly changing colour without  boundaries 
-- except the unavoidable ones of the white curtain on  which the 
colours are reflected.--M.T.H.S.] 
A never-ending extent of red can only be seen in the mind; when 
the word red is heard, the colour is evoked without definite 
boundaries. If such are necessary they have deliberately to be 
imagined. But such red, asis seen by the mind and not by the 
eye, exercises at once a definite and an indefinite impression on 
the soul, and produces spiritual harmony. I say "indefinite," 
because in itself it has no suggestion of warmth or cold, such 
attributes having to be imagined for it afterwards, as 
modifications of the original "redness." I say "definite," because 
the spiritual harmony exists without any need for such 
subsequent attributes of warmth or cold. An analogous case is 
the sound of a trumpet which one hears when the word "trumpet" 
is pronounced. This sound is audible to the soul, without the 
distinctive character of a trumpet heard in the open air or in a 
room, played alone or with other instruments, in the hands of a 
postilion, a huntsman, a soldier, or a professional musician.

But when red is presented in a material form (as in painting) it
must possess (1) some definite shade of the many shades of 
red that exist and (2) a limited surface, divided off from the other
colours, which are undoubtedly there. The first of these
conditions (the subjective) is affected by the second (the
objective), for the neighbouring colours affect the shade of red.

This essential connection between colour and form brings us to
the question of the influences of form on colour. Form alone,
even though totally abstract and geometrical, has a power of
inner suggestion. A triangle (without the accessory consideration
of its being acute-or obtuse-angled or equilateral) has a
spiritual value of its own. In connection with other forms, this
value may be somewhat modified, but remains in quality the 
same. The case is similar with a circle, a square, or any  
conceivable geometrical figure. 
[Footnote: The angle at which the triangle stands, and whether it 
is stationary or moving, are of importance to its spiritual value. 
This fact is specially worthy of the painter's consideration.] 
As above, with the red, we have here a subjective substance in 
an objective shell.

The mutual influence of form and colour now becomes clear. A
yellow triangle, a blue circle, a green square, or a green triangle, 
a yellow circle, a blue square--all these are different and have 
different spiritual values.

It is evident that many colours are hampered and even nullified
in effect by many forms. On the whole, keen colours are well
suited by sharp forms (e.g., a yellow triangle), and soft, deep
colours by round forms (e.g., a blue circle). But it must be 
remembered that an unsuitable combination of form and colour 
is not necessarily discordant, but may, with manipulation, show 
the way to fresh possibilities of harmony.

Since colours and forms are well-nigh innumerable, their 
combination and their influences are likewise unending. The 
material is inexhaustible.

Form, in the narrow sense, is nothing but the separating line
between surfaces of colour. That is its outer meaning. But it has
also an inner meaning, of varying intensity, [Footnote: It is
never literally true that any form is meaningless and "says
nothing." Every form in the world says something. But its 
message often fails to reach us, and even if it does, full 
understanding is often withheld from us.] and, properly 
speaking, FORM IS THE OUTWARD EXPRESSION OF THIS  
INNER  MEANING. To  use once more the metaphor of the 
piano--the artist is the hand which, by playing on this or that key 
(i.e., form), affects the human soul  in this or that way. 

SO IT IS EVIDENT THAT FORM-HARMONY   MUST REST 
ONLY ON A CORRESPONDING VIBRATION OF THE HUMAN 
SOUL; AND THIS IS A SECOND  GUIDING PRINCIPLE OF 
THE INNER NEED.

The two aspects of form just mentioned define its two aims. The
task of limiting surfaces (the outer aspect) is well performed if
the inner meaning is fully expressed.

[Footnote: The phrase "full expression" must be clearly
understood. Form often is most expressive when least coherent. 
It is often most expressive when outwardly most imperfect, 
perhaps only a stroke, a mere hint of outer meaning.]

The outer task may assume many different shapes; but it will
never fail in one of two purposes: (1) Either form aims at so
limiting surfaces as to fashion of them some material object; (2)
Or form remains abstract, describing only a non-material,
spiritual entity. Such non-material entities, with life and value
as such, are a circle, a triangle, a rhombus, a trapeze, etc.,
many of them so complicated as to have no mathematical
denomination.

Between these two extremes lie the innumerable forms in which
both elements exist; with a preponderance either of the abstract
or the material. These intermediate forms are, at present, the
store on which the artist has to draw. Purely abstract forms are
beyond the reach of the artist at present; they are too
indefinite for him. To limit himself to the purely indefinite
would be to rob himself of possibilities, to exclude the human
element and therefore to weaken his power of expression.

On the other hand, there exists equally no purely material form.
A material object cannot be absolutely reproduced. For good or
evil, the artist has eyes and hands, which are perhaps more
artistic than his intentions and refuse to aim at photography
alone. Many genuine artists, who cannot be content with a mere
inventory of material objects, seek to express the objects by
what was once called "idealization," then "selection," and which
tomorrow will again be called something different.

[Footnote: The motive of idealization is so to beautify the
organic form as to bring out its harmony and rouse poetic
feeling. "Selection" aims not so much at beautification as at
emphasizing the character of the object, by the omission of non-
essentials. The desire of the future will be purely the expression 
of the inner meaning. The organic form no longer serves as 
direct object, but as the human words in which a divine message 
must be written, in order for it to be comprehensible to human  
minds.]

The impossibility and, in art, the uselessness of attempting to
copy an object exactly, the desire to give the object full
expression, are the impulses which drive the artist away from
"literal" colouring to purely artistic aims. And that brings us
to the question of composition. [FOOTNOTE: Here Kandinsky 
means arrangement of the picture.--M.T.H.S.]

Pure artistic composition has two elements:

1. The composition of the whole picture.

2. The creation of the various forms which, by standing in 
different relationships to each other, decide the composition of
the whole. [Footnote: The general composition will naturally
include many little compositions which may be antagonistic to
each other, though helping--perhaps by their very antagonism 
--the harmony of the whole. These little compositions have 
themselves subdivisions of varied inner meanings.] Many 
objects have to be considered in the light of the whole, and so 
ordered as to suit this whole. Singly they will have little meaning, 
being of importance only in so far as they help the general effect. 
These single objects must be fashioned in one way only; and 
this, not because their own inner meaning demands that 
particular fashioning, but entirely because they have to serve as 
building material for the whole composition. 
[Footnote: A good  example is Cezanne's "Bathing Women," 
which is built in the form of a triangle. Such building is an old 
principle, which was being abandoned only because academic 
usage had made it lifeless. But Cezanne has given it new life.
He does not use it to harmonize his groups, but for purely artistic 
purposes. He distorts the human figure with perfect justification. 
Not only must the whole figure follow the lines of the triangle, but 
each limb must grow narrower from bottom to top. Raphael's 
"Holy Family" is an example of triangular composition used only 
for the harmonizing of the group, and without any mystical 
motive.]

So the abstract idea is creeping into art, although, only
yesterday, it was scorned and obscured by purely material  
ideals. Its gradual advance is natural enough, for in proportion 
as  the organic form falls into the background, the abstract ideal
achieves greater prominence.

But the organic form possesses all the same an inner harmony 
of its own, which may be either the same as that of its abstract
parallel (thus producing a simple combination of the two
elements) or totally different (in which case the combination may
be unavoidably discordant). However diminished in importance 
the organic form may be, its inner note will always be heard; and 
for this reason the choice of material objects is an important 
one. The spiritual accord of the organic with the abstract element 
may strengthen the appeal of the latter (as much by contrast as 
by similarity) or may destroy it.

Suppose a rhomboidal composition, made up of a number of 
human figures. The artist asks himself: Are these human figures 
an absolute necessity to the composition, or should they be 
replaced by other forms, and that without affecting the 
fundamental harmony of the whole? If the answer is "Yes," we 
have a case in which the material appeal directly weakens the 
abstract appeal. The human form must either be replaced by  
another object which, whether by similarity or contrast, will 
strengthen the abstract appeal, or must remain a purely 
non-material symbol. 
[Footnote: Cf. Translator's Introduction. --M.T.H.S.]

Once more the metaphor of the piano. For "colour" or "form"
substitute "object." Every object has its own life and therefore
its own appeal; man is continually subject to these appeals. But
the results are often dubbed either sub--or super-conscious.
Nature, that is to say the ever-changing surroundings of man,
sets in vibration the strings of the piano (the soul) by 
manipulation of the keys (the various objects with their several
appeals).

The impressions we receive, which often appear merely chaotic,
consist of three elements: the impression of the colour of the
object, of its form, and of its combined colour and form, i.e. of 
the object itself.

At this point the individuality of the artist comes to the front
and disposes, as he wills, these three elements. IT IS CLEAR,
THEREFORE, THAT THE CHOICE OF OBJECT (i.e. OF ONE
OF  THE ELEMENTS IN THE HARMONY OF FORM) MUST 
BE  DECIDED ONLY BY A CORRESPONDING VIBRATION 
IN THE  HUMAN SOUL; AND THIS IS A THIRD GUIDING 
PRINCIPLE OF THE INNER NEED.

The more abstract is form, the more clear and direct is its
appeal. In any composition the material side may be more or 
less omitted in proportion as the forms used are more or less
material, and for them substituted pure abstractions, or largely
dematerialized objects. The more an artist uses these 
abstracted forms, the deeper and more confidently will he 
advance into the kingdom of the abstract. And after him will 
follow the gazer at his pictures, who also will have gradually 
acquired a greater familiarity with the language of that kingdom.

Must we then abandon utterly all material objects and paint
solely in abstractions? The problem of harmonizing the appeal of
the material and the non-material shows us the answer to this
question. As every word spoken rouses an inner vibration, so
likewise does every object represented. To deprive oneself of
this possibility is to limit one's powers of expression. That is
at any rate the case at present. But besides this answer to the
question, there is another, and one which art can always employ
to any question beginning with "must": There is no "must" in art,
because art is free.

With regard to the second problem of composition, the creation 
of the single elements which are to compose the whole, it must 
be remembered that the same form in the same circumstances 
will always have the same inner appeal. Only the circumstances 
are constantly varying. It results that: (1) The ideal harmony alters
according to the relation to other forms of the form which causes
it. (2) Even in similar relationship a slight approach to or
withdrawal from other forms may affect the harmony. 
[FOOTNOTE: This is what is meant by "an appeal of motion." 
For example, the appeal of an upright triangle is more steadfast 
and  quiet than that of one set obliquely on its side.] 
Nothing is  absolute. Form-composition rests on a relative basis, 
depending on (1) the alterations in the mutual relations of forms 
one to another, (2) alterations in each individual form, down to 
the very smallest. Every form is as sensitive as a puff of smoke, 
the slightest breath will alter it completely. This extreme mobility 
makes it easier to obtain similar harmonies from the use of 
different forms, than from a repetition of the same one; though of 
course an exact replica of a spiritual harmony can never be 
produced. So long as we are susceptible only to the appeal of a 
whole composition, this fact is of mainly theoretical importance. 
But when we become more sensitive by a constant use of 
abstract  forms (which have no material interpretation) it will 
become of great practical significance. And so as art becomes 
more difficult, its wealth of expression in form becomes greater 
and greater. At the same time the question of distortion in 
drawing falls out and is replaced by the question how far the 
inner appeal of the particular form is veiled or given full 
expression. And once more the possibilities are extended, for 
combinations of veiled and fully expressed appeals suggest new 
LEITMOTIVEN in composition.

Without such development as this, form-composition is 
impossible. To anyone who cannot experience the inner appeal 
of form (whether material or abstract) such composition can 
never be other than meaningless. Apparently aimless alterations 
in  form-arrangement will make art seem merely a game. So 
once  more we are faced with the same principle, which is to set 
art free,  the  principle of the inner need.

When features or limbs for artistic reasons are changed or
distorted, men reject the artistic problem and fall back on the
secondary question of anatomy. But, on our argument, this
secondary consideration does not appear, only the real, artistic
question remaining. These apparently irresponsible, but really
well-reasoned alterations in form provide one of the storehouses
of artistic possibilities.

The adaptability of forms, their organic but inward variations,
their motion in the picture, their inclination to material or
abstract, their mutual relations, either individually or as parts
of a whole; further, the concord or discord of the various
elements of a picture, the handling of groups, the combinations
of veiled and openly expressed appeals, the use of rhythmical or
unrhythmical, of geometrical or non-geometrical forms, their
contiguity or separation--all these things are the material for
counterpoint in painting.

But so long as colour is excluded, such counterpoint is confined
to black and white. Colour provides a whole wealth of 
possibilities of her own, and when combined with form, yet a
further series of possibilities. And all these will be
expressions of the inner need.

The inner need is built up of three mystical elements: (1) Every
artist, as a creator, has something in him which calls for
expression (this is the element of personality). (2) Every
artist, as child of his age, is impelled to express the spirit of
his age (this is the element of style)--dictated by the period
and particular country to which the artist belongs (it is
doubtful how long the latter distinction will continue to exist).
(3) Every artist, as a servant of art, has to help the cause of
art (this is the element of pure artistry, which is constant in
all ages and among all nationalities).

A full understanding of the first two elements is necessary for a
realization of the third. But he who has this realization will
recognize that a rudely carved Indian column is an expression of
the same spirit as actuates any real work of art of today.

In the past and even today much talk is heard of "personality" in
art. Talk of the coming "style" becomes more frequent daily. But
for all their importance today, these questions will have
disappeared after a few hundred or thousand years.

Only the third element--that of pure artistry--will remain for
ever. An Egyptian carving speaks to us today more subtly than it
did to its chronological contemporaries; for they judged it with
the hampering knowledge of period and personality. But we can
judge purely as an expression of the eternal artistry.

Similarly--the greater the part played in a modern work of art by
the two elements of style and personality, the better will it be
appreciated by people today; but a modern work of art which is
full of the third element, will fail to reach the contemporary
soul. For many centuries have to pass away before the third
element can be received with understanding. But the artist in
whose work this third element predominates is the really great
artist.

Because the elements of style and personality make up what is
called the periodic characteristics of any work of art, the
"development" of artistic forms must depend on their separation
from the element of pure artistry, which knows neither period nor
nationality. But as style and personality create in every epoch
certain definite forms, which, for all their superficial differences, 
are really closely related, these forms can be spoken of as one 
side of art--the SUBJECTIVE. Every artist chooses, from the 
forms which reflect his own time, those which are sympathetic to 
him, and expresses himself through them. So the subjective 
element is the definite and external expression of the inner, 
objective element.

The inevitable desire for outward expression of the OBJECTIVE
element is the impulse here defined as the "inner need." The
forms it borrows change from day to day, and, as it continually
advances, what is today a phrase of inner harmony becomes
tomorrow one of outer harmony. It is clear, therefore, that the
inner spirit of art only uses the outer form of any particular
period as a stepping-stone to further expression.

In short, the working of the inner need and the development of
art is an ever-advancing expression of the eternal and objective
in the terms of the periodic and subjective.

Because the objective is forever exchanging the subjective
expression of today for that of tomorrow, each new extension of
liberty in the use of outer form is hailed as the last and supreme. 
At present we say that an artist can use any form he wishes, so 
long as he remains in touch with nature. But this limitation, like all 
its predecessors, is only temporary. From the point of view of the 
inner need, no limitation must be made. The artist may use any 
form which his expression demands; for  his inner impulse must 
find suitable outward expression.

So we see that a deliberate search for personality and "style" is
not only impossible, but comparatively unimportant. The close
relationship of art throughout the ages, is not a relationship in
outward form but in inner meaning. And therefore the talk of
schools, of lines of "development," of "principles of art," etc., is 
based on misunderstanding and can only lead to confusion.

The artist must be blind to distinctions between "recognized" or
"unrecognized" conventions of form, deaf to the transitory 
teaching and demands of his particular age. He must watch only
the trend of the inner need, and hearken to its words alone. Then
he will with safety employ means both sanctioned and forbidden 
by his contemporaries. All means are sacred which are called 
for  by the inner need. All means are sinful which obscure that 
inner need.

It is impossible to theorize about this ideal of art. In real art
theory does not precede practice, but follows her. Everything is,
at first, a matter of feeling. Any theoretical scheme will be
lacking in the essential of creation--the inner desire for
expression--which cannot be determined. Neither the quality of
the inner need, nor its subjective form, can be measured nor
weighed.

[Footnote: The many-sided genius of Leonardo devised a 
system  of little spoons with which different colours were to be 
used, thus creating a kind of mechanical harmony. One of his 
pupils, after trying in vain to use this system, in despair asked 
one of his colleagues how the master himself used the invention. 
The colleague replied: "The master never uses it at all."
(Mereschowski, LEONARDO DA VINCI).]

Such a grammar of painting can only be temporarily guessed at,
and should it ever be achieved, it will be not so much according
to physical rules (which have so often been tried and which today
the Cubists are trying) as according to the rules of the inner 
need, which are of the soul.

The inner need is the basic alike of small and great problems in
painting. We are seeking today for the road which is to lead us
away from the outer to the inner basis.

[Footnote: The term "outer," here used, must not be confused 
with the term "material" used previously. I am using the former to
mean "outer need," which never goes beyond conventional 
limits, nor produces other than conventional beauty. The "inner 
need" knows no such limits, and often produces results 
conventionally considered "ugly." But "ugly" itself is a  
conventional term, and only means "spiritually unsympathetic," 
being applied to some expression of an inner need, either 
outgrown or not yet attained. But everything which adequately 
expresses the inner need is beautiful.]

The spirit, like the body, can be strengthened and developed by
frequent exercise. Just as the body, if neglected, grows weaker
and finally impotent, so the spirit perishes if untended. And for
this reason it is necessary for the artist to know the starting point 
for the exercise of his spirit.

The starting point is the study of colour and its effects on men.

There is no need to engage in the finer shades of complicated
colour, but rather at first to consider only the direct use of simple 
colours.

To begin with, let us test the working on ourselves of individual
colours, and so make a simple chart, which will facilitate the
consideration of the whole question.

Two great divisions of colour occur to the mind at the outset: into 
warm and cold, and into light and dark. To each colour there are 
therefore four shades of appeal--warm and light or warm and 
dark, or cold and light or cold and dark.

Generally speaking, warmth or cold in a colour means an 
approach respectively to yellow or to blue. This distinction is, so 
to speak, on one basis, the colour having a constant 
fundamental appeal, but assuming either a more material or 
more non-material quality. The movement is an horizontal one, 
the warm colours approaching the spectator, the cold ones 
retreating from him.

The colours, which cause in another colour this horizontal
movement, while they are themselves affected by it, have 
another movement of their own, which acts with a violent 
separative force. This is, therefore, the first antithesis in the inner
appeal, and the inclination of the colour to yellow or to blue, is of 
tremendous importance.

The second antithesis is between white and black; i.e., the
inclination to light or dark caused by the pair of colours just
mentioned. These colours have once more their peculiar 
movement to and from the spectator, but in a more rigid form 
(see Fig. 1).

	FIGURE 1
First Pair of antitheses. A and B.		(inner appeal acting on the spirit)
A. Warm  Yellow	Cold Blue	= First antithesis
Two movements:     (i). horizontal:
Towards the spectator                        <<---<<----<<---<<		Away from the spectator --->>---> >---> >--> >
(bodily)		(spiritual)
Yellow		Blue
ii) Ex-	and	concentric
B.
Light White	Dark Black	= Second Antithesis
Two movements:
(i) discordant
Eternal discord, but with possibilities for the future (birth)	White    Black	Absolute discord, devoid of possibilities for the future (death)

Yellow and blue have another movement which affects the first
antithesis--an ex-and concentric movement. If two circles are
drawn and painted respectively yellow and blue, brief
concentration will reveal in the yellow a spreading movement out
from the centre, and a noticeable approach to the spectator. The
blue, on the other hand, moves in upon itself, like a snail
retreating into its shell, and draws away from the spectator.
[Footnote: These statements have no scientific basis, but are
founded purely on spiritual experience.]

In the case of light and dark colours the movement is 
emphasized. That of the yellow increases with an admixture of 
white, i.e., as it becomes lighter. That of the blue increases with 
an admixture of black, i.e., as it becomes darker. This means 
that there can never be a dark-coloured yellow. The relationship 
between white and yellow is as close as between black and 
blue, for blue can be so dark as to border on black. Besides this 
physical relationship, is also a spiritual one (between yellow and 
white on one side, between blue and black on the other) which 
marks a strong separation between the two pairs.

An attempt to make yellow colder produces a green tint and 
checks both the horizontal and excentric movement. The colour 
becomes sickly and unreal. The blue by its contrary movement 
acts as a brake on the yellow, and is hindered in its own 
movement, till the two together become stationary, and the result 
is green. Similarly a mixture of black and white produces gray, 
which is motionless and spiritually very similar to green.

But while green, yellow, and blue are potentially active, though
temporarily paralysed, in gray there is no possibility of 
movement, because gray consists of two colours that have no
active force, for they stand the, one in motionless discord, the
other in a motionless negation, even of discord, like an endless
wall or a bottomless pit.

Because the component colours of green are active and have a
movement of their own, it is possible, on the basis of this 
movement, to reckon their spiritual appeal.

The first movement of yellow, that of approach to the spectator
(which can be increased by an intensification of the yellow), and
also the second movement, that of over-spreading the 
boundaries, have a material parallel in the human energy which 
assails every obstacle blindly, and bursts forth aimlessly in every 
direction.

Yellow, if steadily gazed at in any geometrical form, has a
disturbing influence, and reveals in the colour an insistent,
aggressive character. [Footnote: It is worth noting that the
sour-tasting lemon and shrill-singing canary are both yellow.]
The intensification of the yellow increases the painful
shrillness of its note.

[FOOTNOTE: Any parallel between colour and music can only 
be relative. Just as a violin can give various shades of tone,--so
yellow has shades, which can be expressed by various 
instruments. But in making such parallels, I am assuming in each 
case a pure tone of colour or sound, unvaried by vibration or 
dampers, etc.]

Yellow is the typically earthly colour. It can never have profound 
meaning. An intermixture of blue makes it a sickly colour. It may 
be paralleled in human nature, with madness, not with 
melancholy or hypochondriacal mania, but rather with violent
raving lunacy.

The power of profound meaning is found in blue, and first in its
physical movements (1) of retreat from the spectator, (2) of
turning in upon its own centre. The inclination of blue to depth
is so strong that its inner appeal is stronger when its shade is
deeper.

Blue is the typical heavenly colour.

[FOOTNOTE: ...The halos are golden for emperors and prophets
(i.e. for mortals), and sky-blue for symbolic figures (i.e.
spiritual beings); (Kondakoff, Histoire de I'An Byzantine
consideree principalement dans les miniatures, vol. ii, p. 382,
Paris, 1886-91).]

The ultimate feeling it creates is one of rest.

[FOOTNOTE: Supernatural rest, not the earthly contentment of
green. The way to the supernatural lies through the natural. And
we mortals passing from the earthly yellow to the heavenly blue
must pass through green.]

When it sinks almost to black, it echoes a grief that is hardly 
human.

[FOOTNOTE: As an echo of grief violet stand to blue as does 
green in its production of rest.]

When it rises towards white, a movement little suited to it, its
appeal to men grows weaker and more distant. In music a light
blue is like a flute, a darker blue a cello; a still darker a 
thunderous double bass; and the darkest blue of all-an organ.

A well-balanced mixture of blue and yellow produces green. The
horizontal movement ceases; likewise that from and towards the
centre. The effect on the soul through the eye is therefore
motionless. This is a fact recognized not only by opticians but
by the world. Green is the most restful colour that exists. On
exhausted men this restfulness has a beneficial effect, but after
a time it becomes wearisome. Pictures painted in shades of 
green are passive and tend to be wearisome; this contrasts with 
the active warmth of yellow or the active coolness of blue. In the
hierarchy of colours green is the "bourgeoisie"-self-satisfied,
immovable, narrow. It is the colour of summer, the period when
nature is resting from the storms of winter and the productive
energy of spring (cf. Fig. 2).

Any preponderance in green of yellow or blue introduces a
corresponding activity and changes the inner appeal. The green
keeps its characteristic equanimity and restfulness, the former
increasing with the inclination to lightness, the latter with the
inclination to depth. In music the absolute green is represented
by the placid, middle notes of a violin.

Black and white have already been discussed in general terms.
More particularly speaking, white, although often considered as
no colour (a theory largely due to the Impressionists, who saw no
white in nature as a symbol of a world from which all colour as a
definite attribute has disappeared).

[FOOTNOTE: Van Gogh, in his letters, asks whether he may not
paint a white wall dead white. This question offers no difficulty
to the non-representative artist who is concerned only with the
inner harmony of colour. But to the impressionist-realist it
seems a bold liberty to take with nature. To him it seems as
outrageous as his own change from brown shadows to blue 
seemed to his contemporaries. Van Gogh's question marks a 
transition from Impressionism to an art of spiritual harmony, as 
the coming of the blue shadow marked a transition from 
academism to Impressionism. (Cf. The Letters of Vincent van 
Gogh. Constable, London.)]

This world is too far above us for its harmony to touch our souls. 
A great silence, like an impenetrable wall, shrouds its life from 
our understanding. White, therefore, has this harmony of silence, 
which works upon us negatively, like many pauses in music that 
break temporarily the melody. It is not a dead silence, but one 
pregnant with possibilities. White has the appeal of the 
nothingness that is before birth, of the world in the ice age.

A totally dead silence, on the other hand, a silence with no
possibilities, has the inner harmony of black. In music it is
represented by one of those profound and final pauses, after
which any continuation of the melody seems the dawn of another
world. Black is something burnt out, like the ashes of a funeral
pyre, something motionless like a corpse. The silence of black is
the silence of death. Outwardly black is the colour with least
harmony of all, a kind of neutral background against which the
minutest shades of other colours stand clearly forward. It differs 
from white in this also, for with white nearly every colour is in 
discord, or even mute altogether.

[FOOTNOTE: E.g. vermilion rings dull and muddy against white, 
but against black with clear strength. Light yellow against white 
is weak, against black pure and brilliant.]

Not without reason is white taken as symbolizing joy and 
spotless purity, and black grief and death. A blend of black and 
white produces gray which, as has been said, is silent and 
motionless, being composed of two inactive colours, its 
restfulness having none of the potential activity of green. A 
similar gray is produced by a mixture of green and red, a 
spiritual blend of passivity and glowing warmth.

[FOOTNOTE: Gray = immobility and rest. Delacroix sought to
express rest by a mixture of green and red (of. Signac, sup.
cit.).]

The unbounded warmth of red has not the irresponsible appeal 
of yellow, but rings inwardly with a determined and powerful
intensity It glows in itself, maturely, and does not distribute its 
vigour aimlessly (see Fig. 2).

The varied powers of red are very striking. By a skillful use of
it in its different shades, its fundamental tone may be made 
warm or cold.

[FOOTNOTE: Of course every colour can be to some extent 
varied between warm and cold, but no colour has so extensive a 
scale of varieties as red.]

Light warm red has a certain similarity to medium yellow, alike
in texture and appeal, and gives a feeling of strength, vigour,
determination, triumph. In music, it is a sound of trumpets, 
strong, harsh, and ringing.

Vermilion is a red with a feeling of sharpness, like glowing
steel which can be cooled by water. Vermilion is quenched by
blue, for it can support no mixture with a cold colour. More
accurately speaking, such a mixture produces what is called a
dirty colour, scorned by painters of today. But "dirt" as a
material object has its own inner appeal, and therefore to avoid
it in painting, is as unjust and narrow as was the cry of
yesterday for pure colour. At the call of the inner need that
which is outwardly foul may be inwardly pure, and vice versa.

The two shades of red just discussed are similar to yellow,
except that they reach out less to the spectator. The glow of red
is within itself. For this reason it is a colour more beloved
than yellow, being frequently used in primitive and traditional
decoration, and also in peasant costumes, because in the open 
air the harmony of red and green is very beautiful. Taken by itself
this red is material, and, like yellow, has no very deep appeal.
Only when combined with something nobler does it acquire this
deep appeal. It is dangerous to seek to deepen red by an 
admixture of black, for black quenches the glow, or at least
reduces it considerably.

But there remains brown, unemotional, disinclined for 
movement. An intermixture of red is outwardly barely audible, but 
there rings out a powerful inner harmony. Skillful blending can 
produce an inner appeal of extraordinary, indescribable beauty. 
The vermilion now rings like a great trumpet, or thunders like a 
drum.

Cool red (madder) like any other fundamentally cold colour, can
be deepened--especially by an intermixture of azure. The 
character of the colour changes; the inward glow increases, the
active element gradually disappears. But this active element is
never so wholly absent as in deep green. There always remains 
a hint of renewed vigour, somewhere out of sight, waiting for a
certain moment to burst forth afresh. In this lies the great
difference between a deepened red and a deepened blue, 
because  in red there is always a trace of the material. A parallel 
in music are the sad, middle tones of a cello. A cold, light red 
contains a very distinct bodily or material element, but it is 
always pure, like the fresh beauty of the face of a young girl. The
singing notes of a violin express this exactly in music.

Warm red, intensified by a suitable yellow, is orange. This blend
brings red almost to the point of spreading out towards the
spectator. But the element of red is always sufficiently strong
to keep the colour from flippancy. Orange is like a man, 
convinced of his own powers. Its note is that of the angelus, or of 
an old violin.

Just as orange is red brought nearer to humanity by yellow, so
violet is red withdrawn from humanity by blue. But the red in 
violet must be cold, for the spiritual need does not allow of a
mixture of warm red with cold blue.

Violet is therefore both in the physical and spiritual sense a
cooled red. It is consequently rather sad and ailing. It is worn
by old women, and in China as a sign of mourning. In music it is
an English horn, or the deep notes of wood instruments (e.g. a
bassoon).

[FOOTNOTE: Among artists one often hears the question, "How 
are you?" answered gloomily by the words "Feeling very violet."]

The two last mentioned colours (orange and violet) are the fourth
and last pair of antitheses of the primitive colours. They stand
to each other in the same relation as the third antitheses--green
and red--i.e., as complementary colours (see Fig. 2).

	FIGURE	II
Second Pair  of antitheses. C and D				(physical appeal of complementary colors
C.	Red Movement	Green		= Third antithesis      of the spiritually extinguished First antithesis
	Motion within itself			= Potentiality of        motion = Motionlessness
		Red

As in a great circle, a serpent biting its own tail (the symbol
of eternity, of something without end) the six colours appear
that make up the three main antitheses. And to right and left
stand the two great possibilities of silence--death and birth
(see Fig. 3).

The antitheses as a circle between two   poles, i.e., the life of colours between  birth and death. (The capital letters designate the pairs of  antitheses.)

It is clear that all I have said of these simple colours is very
provisional and general, and so also are those feelings (joy,
grief, etc.) which have been quoted as parallels of the colours.
For these feelings are only the material expressions of the soul.
Shades of colour, like those of sound, are of a much finer texture 
and awake in the soul emotions too fine to be expressed in  
words. Certainly each tone will find some probable expression
in words, but it will always be incomplete, and that part which
the word fails to express will not be unimportant but rather the
very kernel of its existence. For this reason words are, and will
always remain, only hints, mere suggestions of colours. In this
impossibility of expressing colour in words with the consequent
need for some other mode of expression lies the opportunity of
the art of the future. In this art among innumerable rich and
varied combinations there is one which is founded on firm fact, 
and that is as follows. The actual expression of colour can be
achieved simultaneously by several forms of art, each art playing
its separate part, and producing a whole which exceeds in
richness and force any expression attainable by one art alone.
The immense possibilities of depth and strength to be gained by
combination or by discord between the various arts can be 
easily realized.

It is often said that admission of the possibility of one art helping 
another amounts to a denial of the necessary differences 
between the arts. This is, however, not the case. As has been
said, an absolutely similar inner appeal cannot be achieved by
two different arts. Even if it were possible the second version
would differ at least outwardly. But suppose this were not the
case, that is to say, suppose a repetition of the same appeal
exactly alike both outwardly and inwardly could be achieved by
different arts, such repetition would not be merely superfluous. 
To begin with, different people find sympathy in different forms
of art (alike on the active and passive side among the creators
or the receivers of the appeal); but further and more important,
repetition of the same appeal thickens the spiritual atmosphere
which is necessary for the maturing of the finest feelings, in
the same way as the hot air of a greenhouse is necessary for the
ripening of certain fruit. An example of this is the case of the
individual who receives a powerful impression from constantly
repeated actions, thoughts or feelings, although if they came
singly they might have passed by unnoticed. 

[FOOTNOTE: This idea forms, of course, the fundamental 
reason for advertisement.] 

We must not, however, apply this rule only to the simple 
examples of the spiritual atmosphere. For this atmosphere is 
like air, which can be either pure or filled with various alien 
elements. Not only visible actions, thoughts and feelings, with 
outward expression, make up this atmosphere, but secret 
happenings of which no one knows, unspoken thoughts, hidden 
feelings are  also elements in it. Suicide, murder, violence, low 
and unworthy thoughts, hate, hostility, egotism, envy, narrow 
"patriotism," partisanship, are elements in the spiritual 
atmosphere.

[FOOTNOTE: Epidemics of suicide or of violent warlike feeling,
etc., are products of this impure atmosphere.]

And conversely, self-sacrifice, mutual help, lofty thoughts, love, 
un-selfishness, joy in the success of others, humanity, justness, 
are the elements which slay those already enumerated  as the 
sun slays the microbes, and restore the atmosphere to  purity.

[FOOTNOTE: These elements likewise have their historical
periods.]

The second and more complicated form of repetition is that in
which several different elements make mutual use of different
forms. In our case these elements are the different arts summed
up in the art of the future. And this form of repetition is even more 
powerful, for the different natures of men respond to the different 
elements in the combination. For one the musical form is the 
most moving and impressive; for another the pictorial, for the 
third the literary, and so on. There reside, therefore, in arts which 
are outwardly different, hidden forces equally different, so that 
they may all work in one man towards a single result, even 
though each art may be working in isolation.

This sharply defined working of individual colours is the basis
on which various values can be built up in harmony. Pictures will
come to be painted--veritable artistic arrangements, planned in
shades of one colour chosen according to artistic feeling. The
carrying out of one colour, the binding together and admixture of
two related colours, are the foundations of most coloured
harmonies. From what has been said above about colour 
working, from the fact that we live in a time of questioning, 
experiment and contradiction, we can draw the easy conclusion 
that for a harmonization on the basis of individual colours our 
age is especially unsuitable. Perhaps with envy and with a 
mournful sympathy we listen to the music of Mozart. It acts as a 
welcome pause in the turmoil of our inner life, as a consolation 
and as a hope, but we hear it as the echo of something from 
another age long past and fundamentally strange to us. The strife 
of colours, the sense of balance we have lost, tottering 
principles, unexpected assaults, great questions, apparently 
useless striving, storm and tempest, broken chains, antitheses 
and contradictions, these make up our harmony. The 
composition arising from this harmony is a mingling of colour 
and form each with its separate existence, but each blended into 
a common life which is called a picture by the force of the inner 
need. Only these individual parts are vital. Everything else (such 
as surrounding conditions) is subsidiary. The combination of two
colours is a logical outcome of modern conditions. The 
combination of colours hitherto considered discordant, is merely
a further development. For example, the use, side by side, of red
and blue, colours in themselves of no physical relationship, but
from their very spiritual contrast of the strongest effect, is one of 
the most frequent occurrences in modern choice of  harmony.
[Footnote: Cf. Gauguin, Noa Noa, where the artist states his
disinclination when he first arrived in Tahiti to juxtapose red and 
blue.] 
Harmony today rests chiefly on the principle of contrast which 
has for all time been one of the most important principles of art. 
But our contrast is an inner contrast which stands alone and  
rejects the help (for that help would mean destruction) of any 
other principles of harmony. It is interesting to note that this very 
placing together of red and blue was so beloved by the primitive 
both in Germany and Italy that it has till today survived, principally 
in folk pictures of religious subjects. One often sees in such 
pictures the Virgin in a red gown and a blue cloak. It seems that 
the artists wished to express the grace of heaven in terms of 
humanity, and humanity in terms of heaven. Legitimate and 
illegitimate combinations of colours, contrasts of various colours, 
the over-painting of one colour with another, the definition of 
coloured surfaces by boundaries of various forms, the 
overstepping of these boundaries, the mingling and the sharp 
separation of surfaces, all these open great vistas of artistic 
possibility.

One of the first steps in the turning away from material objects
into the realm of the abstract was, to use the technical artistic
term, the rejection of the third dimension, that is to say, the 
attempt to keep a picture on a single plane. Modelling was
abandoned. In this way the material object was made more 
abstract and an important step forward was achieved--this step 
forward has, however, had the effect of limiting the possibilities 
of painting to one definite piece of canvas, and this limitation 
has not only introduced a very material element into painting, but
has seriously lessened its possibilities.

Any attempt to free painting from this material limitation
together with the striving after a new form of composition must
concern itself first of all with the destruction of this theory
of one single surface--attempts must be made to bring the 
picture on to some ideal plane which shall be expressed in 
terms of the material plane of the canvas. 
[Footnote: Compare the article by Le Fauconnier in the 
catalogue of the second exhibition of the Neue 
Kunstlervereinigung (New Artists Association), Munich, 
1910-11.] 
There has arisen out of the composition in flat  triangles a 
composition with plastic three-dimensional triangles,  that is to 
say  with pyramids; and that is Cubism. But there has  arisen 
here also the  tendency to inertia, to a concentration on this form 
for its own sake, and consequently once more to an 
impoverishment of possibility.  But that is the unavoidable result 
of the external application of an inner principle.

A further point of great importance must not be forgotten. There
are other means of using the material plane as a space of three
dimensions in order to create an ideal plane. The thinness or
thickness of a line, the placing of the form on the surface, the
overlaying of one form on another may be quoted as examples 
of artistic means that may be employed. Similar possibilities are
offered by colour which, when rightly used, can advance or
retreat, and can make of the picture a living thing, and so 
achieve an artistic expansion of space. The combination of both
means of extension in harmony or concord is one of the richest
and most powerful elements in purely artistic composition.