ce on the faults
of the process. Photography either exaggerates shadows, or loses detail
in the lights, and, in many ways which I do not here pause to explain,
misses certain of the utmost subtleties of natural _effect_ (which are
often the things that Turner has chiefly aimed at,) while it renders
subtleties of _form_ which no human hand could achieve. But a delicately
taken photograph of a truly Turnerian subject, is far more like Turner
in the drawing than it is to the work of any other artist; though, in
the system of chiaroscuro, being entirely and necessarily
Rembrandtesque, the subtle mystery of the touch (Turnerism carried to an
infinitely wrought refinement) is not usually perceived.

Sec. 12. "But how of Van Eyck, and Albert Durer, and all the clear early
men?"

So far as they are _quite_ clear, they are imperfect, and knowingly
imperfect, if considered as painters of real appearances; but by means
of this very imperfection or conventionalism, they often give certain
facts which are more necessary to their purpose than these outward
appearances. For instance, in Fig. 2 of Plate 25, facing page 32, I
requested Mr. Le Keux to facsimile, as far as might be, the look of the
daguerreotype; and he has admirably done so. But if Albert Durer had
drawn the wall between those towers, he would have represented it with
all its facts distinctly revealed, as in Fig. 1; and in many respects
this clear statement is precious, though, so far as regards ocular
truth, it is not natural. A modern sketcher of the "bold" school would
represent the tower as in Fig. 3; that is to say, in a manner just as
trenchant and firm, and therefore ocularly false, as Durer's; but, in
all probability, which involved entireness of fallacy or ignorance as
to the wall facts; rendering the work nearly valueless; or valuable only
in color or composition; not as draughtsmanship.

Of this we shall have more to say presently, here we may rest satisfied
with the conclusion that to a perfectly great manner of painting, or to
entirely finished work, a certain degree of indistinctness is
indispensable. As all subjects have a mystery in _them_, so all drawing
must have a mystery in _it_; and from the nearest object to the most
distant, if we can quite make out what the artist would be at, there is
something wrong. The strokes of paint, examined closely, must be
confused, odd, incomprehensible; having neither beginning nor
end,--melting into each other, or