ts are distinguishable in it, and through them some known
object which they obscure. In a word, landscape is always, in spite of
itself, a collection of particular representations. It is a mass of
hieroglyphics, each the graphic symbol for some definite human sensation
or reaction; only these symbols have been extraordinarily enriched and
are fused in representation, so that, like instruments in an orchestra,
they are merged in the voluminous sensation they constitute together, a
sensation in which, for attentive perception, they never cease to exist.

[Sidenote: Reversion to pure decorative design.]

Impatience of such control as reality must always exercise over
representation may drive painting back to a simpler function. When a
designer, following his own automatic impulse, conventionalises a form,
he makes a legitimate exchange, substituting fidelity to his
apperceptive instincts for fidelity to his external impressions. When a
landscape-painter, revolting against a tedious discursive style, studies
only masses of colour and abstract systems of lines, he retains
something in itself beautiful, although no longer representative,
perhaps, of anything in nature. A pure impression cannot be
illegitimate; it cannot be false until it pretends to represent
something, and then it will have ceased to be a simple feeling, since
something in it will refer to an ulterior existence, to which it ought
to conform. This ulterior existence (since intelligence is life
understanding its own conditions) can be nothing in the end but what
produced that impression. Sensuous life, however, has its value within
itself; its pleasures are not significant. Representative art is
accordingly in a sense secondary; beauty and expression begin farther
back. They are present whenever the outer stimulus agreeably strikes an
organ and thereby arouses a sustained image, in which the consciousness
of both stimulation and reaction is embodied. An abstract design in
outline and colour will amply fulfil these conditions, if sensuous and
motor harmonies are preserved in it, and if a sufficient sweep and depth
of reaction is secured. Stained-glass, tapestry, panelling, and in a
measure all objects, by their mere presence and distribution, have a
decorative function. When sculpture and painting cease to be
representative they pass into the same category. Decoration in turn
merges in construction; and so all art, like the whole Life of Reason,
is joined toge