II - The Creative Process

Cambridge Books Online
http://ebooks.cambridge.org/
Aesthetics and the Art of Musical Composition in the German Enlightenm
ent
Selected Writings of Johann Georg Sulzer and Heinrich Christoph Koch
einrich Christoph Koch, Johann Georg Sulzer, Edited by Nancy Baker, Thomas Christense
Book DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511518348
Online ISBN: 9780511518348
Hardback ISBN: 9780521360357
Paperback ISBN: 9780521035095
Chapter
II - The creative process pp. 55-80
Chapter DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511518348.004
Cambridge University Press

II
THE CREATIVE PROCESS
1 INVENTION [ERFINDUNG] (vol. II, pp. 86-94)

This word is customarily understood in a narrow sense and applied to
those things that are universally recognized as having increased
knowledge or augmented the arts. Those kinds of inventions that relate
to science or commerce are actually less common, and are not of
concern here. Instead we are interested in those inventions that make
every work of fine art, and even every part of a work, just what it
should be. In the most general sense, something is an "invention" so
long as it satisfies the intentions of its creator. In the fine arts, every
work can be viewed as a tool for arousing certain effects in human
temperament. If after considerable reflection and thought the artist is
able to create a work appropriate for attaining this intended effect, then
the invention is deemed good.
When one speaks of the kind of invention that is demanded of
every artist, one really is talking about the thought and the reflection
by which he invents those parts of his work that make it what it
should be. In this way the speaker will be able to write his speech if,
after reflection, he discovers ideas that will be capable of conveying
the truth that he wants to demonstrate. In general, whenever one has
a specific intention or goal in mind, one must find the means by
which it can be attained, and this is called invention. There are two
general ways by which inventions are made. Either the goal or the
intention of the work is established, and one seeks the means by
which it can be attained; or one already has some material or idea,
and discovers upon reflection that it might be useful for attaining a
specific goal, which is to say, that it is suited for certain intentions.
55
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56 Johann Georg Sulzer
The speaker usually proceeds by the first way; he normally has a

certain goal in mind before he writes his speech, and he seeks a means
to achieve it. The dramatic poet or the painter usually take the other
route; they discover, for example, that a particular history they might
happen to be reading could, upon reflection, make an excellent subject
for a drama or a historical painting.
Invention is always a product of reason that discloses the exact
connection between subject matter and goal. But because any appro-
priate effect occurs in the fine arts via sensible ideas, one must possess
more than reason; one must also possess experience, a rich and lively
fantasy, and refined sentiment. Together these things constitute com-
petence in invention. If the artist decides upon a specific goal, which
is to say, a specific impression to convey with his work, his animated
imaginative powers will present to him many sensible objects that will
be all the more appropriate and fertile as is his experience and
sensibility. His poetic imagination helps him to discover yet more
ideas, while his reason will determine the degree to which each of
these is suitable. {87} In this way his work may be said to be invented.
The power of invention, like the power of judgment, is a natural
and inborn faculty that all men possess in proportion to their own
genius. And just as one may turn to reason to aid one's power of
judgment, so can one's talent for invention be augmented, in as much
as it might be treated, like logic, as a part of philosophy Until now,
this has not happened. Young and aspiring artists who wish to profit
from these pages by learning what is essential in working out an
invention, and further how to enhance their power of invention, should
take close note of the following general guidelines.
It has already been noted above that as in other things, works of
taste can be produced in two basic ways. And it will be useful perhaps
to elucidate these in a bit more detail. One may either have a goal
in mind and seek the means to reach it, or already have in hand some
interesting subject and seek to discover whether it might be suitable
for attaining a certain goal. The first way, as I said earlier, is the path
of the speaker who plans out a specific goal before he begins his
speech, the carpenter who wishes to construct a certain kind of
building, the composer who plans to set a preexisting text to music,
the poet who wishes to treat and develop a specific character or
passion, the painter who has decided for a certain occasion to arouse
some specific sentiment, the poet and the engraver who seek some

The creative process: invention 57
human figure or event that embodies certain qualities they wish to

make sensible.
The second way belongs to the poet who begins writing a dramatic
story or the artist who begins painting a historical picture, in which
they discover that the particular story they are treating could be
successfully employed so as to lead to a specific effect. The composer
might by chance think of an idea, or hear something in some
composition, and by reworking this material while trying to express
a certain emotion, end up inventing something new. It is just as if
one discovers an application for a machine for which it was not
originally invented; through careful observation of the thing, one hits
upon the idea of applying it in a new way. This is probably how the
sailboat was invented; it was noticed with what force wind could drive
some object to which an unfurled cloth was attached.
It would be of the greatest benefit to the understanding of human
genius if someone were to write a history concerning the inventions
of the most important works of art. Artists would be able to draw
from it many useful lessons. Of course, if one followed the wrong
model, no help would be had for finding good inventions. For all
that, it is likely that much useful stuff might be gleaned in regard to
artistic creation if a history of inventions was written. {88} At the
very least, the job of inventing might be made a bit easier.
According to Leibniz, nothing in our imagination is new; everything
is ultimately innate in our minds. But of the almost infinite quantity
of innate [ideas], only a few are so clear to us according to the nature
of our external disposition that we are made aware of them and may
turn our attention to them. When this happens, other ideas that stand
in close relation to them begin to assume ever greater degrees of
clarity. Their numbers will increase in proportion to the clarity of the
main idea and the length of time one contemplates them. Thus it
sometimes happens that a great number of ideas are presented to our
imagination all at once that are dependent upon a single notion. One
can consequently seek out all those things that suit one another by
virtue of having the closest relationship, and order them together in
some object. In Leibniz's system, this is called invention.
If the above analysis has any validity, then it is possible to draw a
few basic lessons by which invention can be facilitated. Above all,
one's power of invention may be strengthened by paying the strictest
attention to the details of every clear idea, so that the parts of the

whole will themselves become clear and therefore bring to light other
concepts and ideas that border upon them. Whoever possesses this
skill will not only be able to see beyond every clear idea to discover
a further set of related ideas, but on other occasions be able to present
in an entirely new manner ideas that at one time seemed perfectly
clear. In this way the power of invention can open up entirely new
terrain. In every case, though, invention will be made easier if the
imagination upon which it is based is allowed the greatest degree of
clarity attained through attention and leisurely contemplation. Thereby
an even greater number of differing but related ideas will come to
light, facilitating their selection by the inventor.
That things actually proceed in this manner seems to be confirmed
by those individual cases of successful invention we know of. Those
who are possessed by some passion always seem to be the most creative
in finding satisfactory means. The most imaginative of them find
opportunities in those places where others would not suspect it. The
idea of abundance as the highest good always exists with the utmost
clarity in his soul, and everything else that is related to it lies nearby.
Such a man is able to draw all consequences from his dominant
desires. Somehow he is able to find things that others overlook, and
he is able to recognize quickly their connection to his main ideas, to
see how they can be appropriated as a means for his purpose and do
so. This is why we can say that as soon as the artist has attained a
clear conception of his work, he has begun to invent. [...] {89}
Here, then, is an important lesson for the artist striving to invent
something suited to his purpose. He should banish all other thoughts,
leaving only a clear conception of his goal in his soul. His attention
should be focused only upon this. If this does not happen, he should
withdraw himself into isolation. He will eventually begin to associate
everything that comes to mind with his subject, just as the spiritual
leads to abundance, devotion to salvation. If his spirit is disposed in
just this way, he can be assured that what he seeks will reveal itself
little by little. A host of useful ideas will slowly collect in his mind,
and he will eventually be able to select the best of them without
difficulty
It is of the utmost importance, though, that the artist have his
purpose so clearly and completely fixed in his mind that nothing
uncertain remains. How could a speaker possibly find some justification
for a proposition that he has not thought out fully or clearly himself?

And so it is for every invention. The poet would look in vain for
some ode, or the artist the image for some painting, so long as each
had a goal so indefinite as trying to be touching, or hoping to make
something pretty. Any work whose invention is not based upon ideas
that are clear and distinct can never become perfect. Mengs praised
Raphael for always first focusing his attention upon the meanings of
that which he wished to portray.1 One seeks through invention to
find that which makes a work perfect; but it will become perfect only
when it is exactly that which it should be. It is thus apparent that
the inventor must know precisely what the work he is laboring upon
is to be. {90} Accordingly, the invention is dependent upon a very
exact determination and very clear idea of that which the work is to
be. One sees all too often works whose author had no idea what he
was trying to do. Haven't we heard enough concerts in which the
composer seems to have intended only to make sheer noise by
wandering from one key to another? And haven't we seen enough
dances that betray no intention other than aimless poses, jerks, and
jumps? Such a lack of clear intention can turn a work into nothing
less than an enigma. One cannot say for sure what such a work may
be, even if it shares the same outer form of works possessing
unambiguously clear character.
The artist, then, must first try to form a clear and exact idea of
the work he wishes to create in his mind so that he can evaluate
whether every idea that comes to him can contribute to making the
work what it should be. If he has such a conception in mind, then
his whole attention is directed towards it; it becomes the dominating
idea in his mind, and that to which he relates all other ideas that may
occur to him, seeing if they might have some kind of relation to it.
In this way he will gather many ideas that can serve his purpose, and
it will only remain for him to choose the best of them.
Perhaps it would not be impossible to set down a few specific rules
for every artist concerning the gathering of ideas and concepts,
although this would not help those possessing neither genius nor the
requisite experience in exercising their power of imagination and
especially their fantasy. Rhetoric is probably the field of study most
experienced with such rules. The ancient rhetoricians seemed to have
l Anton Raphael Mengs (1728-79) was a painter and art critic known for his strong championing
of neo-classicism. In 1762 he published a small treatise in which he outlined his views: Gedanken
iiber die Schonheit und iiber den Geschmak in der Malerei (Zurich, 1762). [ C ]

sought out with unbelievable diligence every possible means by which

one could discover some useful idea. With what thoroughness did
Aristotle, Hermagoras, Hermogenes, and the others expound upon
the so called loci communes, the status quaestionis, the affects and morals?2
If too much has been said here, in other arts the critic has neglected
his duties, since many useful things could be said concerning specific
methods of invention. In music Mattheson made a start that is not
without use in providing the foundation for a more detailed elabo-
ration.3 [...] {91}
The second way to invention is much more fickle and seems to
be subject to no secure guidelines, since one discovers something that
might comprise the material of some work of art only by chance.
Nonetheless, some advice can be given here to the artist to help him
be ready and prepared for this event. In general, one can say to him
that he will often stumble upon inventions if he is constantly occupied
with matters of his art. What has already been noted when discussing
the first way of invention concerning the particular notions of the
invented work applies to all branches of art that one may treat.
Whoever occupies himself incessantly with his art, whoever judges
everything that he sees and hears in relation to it, this person will
encounter opportunities for invention everywhere. The historical
painter, for whom everything belonging to his art is part of the
present, sees every person in terms of whether they might be
appropriate or not as a historical figure. If he encounters someone
whose face impresses him by the exquisiteness of its character or
sentiment, he cannot let it go; he will desire to use this person right
away in some painting, and will think of some invention for which
this would be appropriate. This is also true for the comic poet. Since
he is constantly dealing with characters and events that are fitted to
the comic stage, he will judge all men from this vantage point, and
instinctively notice everything around him that might be usable. If
he by chance comes across a comical figure, an eagerness to use this
character right away will seize him, and he will strive to think of
some fable in which this character could be interwoven. In this manner,
every artist whose mind is occupied with his art will have occasion
2 The loci communes ("commonplaces") and status quaestionis ("issue of discussion") were some of
the elements taught in classical rhetoric. Hermagoras (fl. ca. 150) and Hermogenes (late second
century) were two widely known authors of rhetoric texts. [C]
3 Vollkommener Capellmeister, part 2, chapter 4. [S.]

for invention. Even innocuous objects can inspire him to invention.

Leonardo da Vinci is said to have often found useful ideas in the paint
flecks of old fences and walls. [...] {92} Without question this is the
most common kind of invention. The artist notices in all objects he
happens to encounter everything that is useful to his art. We often
wonder how it is that an artist could have come upon some particular
invention, and we perhaps ascribe it to his extraordinary genius for
invention. But if we knew the actual history of the invention, it might
be seen that it was only through chance that it came about. The most
important inventions probably do not arise through the first deductive
manner described above, but rather by the second way: the main
subject appears only dimly at first to the artist; he recognizes its
importance and takes time to think about its contents so it can be
set in its proper light. This is how a famous composer told me he
worked. He had more than once saved material that he heard by
chance to use as a theme or subject for a composition. He never
could have invented anything as good had he decided ahead of time
to look for something having the identical character of expression.
Therefore, the artist should always be thinking about his art, having
his net always cast no matter where he is so as to be able to snare
some nearby object that could be turned into something useful by
him, just as if he was Philopomen waging battle.4 Voltaire, who was
so fertile in good ideas, always had his notebook in hand so that no
matter where he was he could write down anything he saw or heard
that might be useful to his art. This is also what many painters do,
who regularly carry paper and pencil to sketch some cloud or person
they happen to see, anticipating that it may make a good subject for
a painting. Even an artist of only moderate genius can produce
successful inventions by this means, as the previous examples have
shown.
These, then, are the two main ways to produce good, original
inventions. However, one can also invent in sundry ways through
imitation. An object often has more than one side that might be
interesting. Whoever, therefore, considers a preexisting work of art that
is multifaceted can produce an invention if he looks at the whole
thing from another viewpoint. If, for example, a painter wished to
depict the crucifixion of Christ, he might do so through the grieving
4 Philopoemen (252-183 BC) was a Spartan statesman and general whose legendary exploits were
chronicled by Polybius. [C]

eyes of the disciples. But the painter could just as easily present the
entire story from the perspective of Christ's enemies. And in order to
make everything even more interesting, he might choose to depict
the moment of terror in which the earthquake took place. The
invention could be a good one, despite arising as a kind of imitation.
Whoever chooses to invent by this means must discover in some pre-
existing artwork what specific purpose its inventions served, and then
take and adapt a few of them so that the same material now becomes
suited to its new purpose. {93} This is how it comes about in music
that the same phrase or motive, when set in a different tempo or
meter, is capable of expressing a totally different sentiment. Whoever
can notice these things will find success in making inventions through
imitation. One can just as surely arrive at new inventions by taking
a few principal ingredients away from some preexisting work, or
adding others, or even leaving the basic content of some work alone,
but appropriating the spirit of its presentation. In this way, many
dramatic poets have taken the spirit or principal impression of a drama
by someone else, and come up with a whole new story, as did Voltaire
when he based his own drama Semiramis upon Shakespeare's Hamlet.
There are thus many roads to base invention in the arts besides
the one shown to us by nature. Primarily among them is a constant
study of art and preexisting works.
Everything we have said in regard to invention up to this point
has dealt with the main material or subject of the whole. But all this
can be applied to the invention of individual parts. To a certain extent
every section of a work comprises a whole, whose individual parts
can likewise be found just as the section was itself found from
contemplation of the whole. Without doubt there are times when the
invention of individual parts is as difficult for the artist as is the
invention of the whole, and the lack of one part can bring the whole
thing to a halt. When facing such a situation, one is advised not to
become discouraged, but to take time. Invention never allows itself to
be forced, and will progress the least through the most concerted
efforts. We know the story of Nealies, who had finished everything
in his monumental painting except the foam he wanted to draw upon
the snouts of the horses.5 But one is not always as lucky as he was.
The best thing to do at such moments is to relax, and try not to
5 Possibly Sulzer is referring to the Italian painter Ottaviano di Martino Nelli (1375-1444). [C]

force matters. The artist should take a break from his work, even for
a long while, as if he almost wanted to forget it. Whenever one
encounters such great difficulties, he is surely going down the wrong
path. It is best that one extract oneself from this situation. Otherwise
the obscure idea one seeks will always remain hidden to view. Little
by little matters will take a turn, and with ever increasing astonishment,
he will discover that which he could not find with the greatest
exertion soon presents itself in the most natural manner.
It is one of many remarkable secrets of psychology that apparently
clear thoughts can, when one turns to them for deeper contemplation,
refuse to be developed or comprehended in a clear way. But when
they are left alone they will by themselves grow in greater clarity,
much as that period in which plants germinate unnoticed and all at
once burst into full bloom. {94} Some concepts will gestate little by
little in our mind, so to speak, and extract themselves from the mass
of obscure ideas into the clear light. Every artist must rely upon such
fortunate moments of genius, and if he cannot always find what he
diligently seeks, he must await with patience that moment when his
thoughts ripen.
The selection and disposition of parts is often considered to be an
aspect of artistic invention. But we have already said enough concern-
ing this. Properly speaking, invention means only the creation of parts,
and often far more than might be necessary. In the selection, the most
appropriate of these are sought, and the remainder thrown out; in the
disposition, they are connected to form the best whole.
It seems appropriate here to conclude by saying something about
the judgment of invention. Following the ideas discussed above, we
have seen how invention comes about either by thinking of the means
to achieve something, or by applying already existing things to a
certain purpose. Every good work of art must have a fundamental
purpose against which everything can be measured. Where no purpose
can be discovered, the invention cannot be judged. In reality one often
finds works of art whose author had no clear idea as to a goal.
Consequently the work lacked invention. The parts are cobbled
together haphazardly following the fantasy of the artist, but without
any connecting thread to tie them together. It is obvious why anyone
wanting to judge the work would be utterly at a loss in discovering
its underlying purpose. But here we are speaking about the judgment
of connoisseurs. Whenever after careful contemplation one cannot

discover how the parts of some work cohere, or what the aim of the
artists invention is, one has good reason for supposing that the
invention itself is faulty. If, however, the purpose of the work is evident,
one will be able to recognize the worth of the invention by the fitness
of the material. In any antique statue, one either knows ahead of time
what the sculptor had in mind - which god or hero he wished to
portray — or one can determine this by careful contemplation of the
work itself. In the latter case, there must be something of value in
the invention, since one's recognition of the meaning of the work
proves that the artist had not entirely missed his goal. In the former
case, one recognizes the value of the invention if everything in the
work agrees with the idea of the object. A painting in which no one
can tell what the painter had in mind is deficient at least in respect
to its invention, despite whatever pleasing lines or colors it may have.
If, however, one knows what the painter had in mind, but finds that
he has not succeeded in conveying this in his painting, then the
invention is misconceived.
2 SKETCH [ENTWURF] (vol. II, pp. 78-80)

To sketch a work, one sets down its principal sections without working
out any one of these sections, such that one sees nothing except their
assemblage into a whole. The sketch necessarily precedes the invention
of the whole and its attendant sections. {79} It is the first glimpse one
has of the whole work, and must be complete in itself so that one can
form a secure judgment of the perfection of the whole before each
individual part can be worked out.
In speech, a sketch consists of the disposition of sections through
which the purpose of the speech is realized. If a speaker outlines his
ideas without any development and confirmation, without the tran-
sitions by which connections are made, he has sketched his speech.
The painter can be said to have sketched his painting if he drafts and
roughly fills out its main parts in the order or relation he imagines
them to have, but without worrying at this point about the realization
of the drawing. The poet sketches a tragedy if he jots down the main
events of the story in the order they will follow.
In any sketch, then, one's complete attention must always be focused
upon the whole so that one can see how every section fits in, and
eventually, so one can then work out his ideas while perfecting the

The creative process: sketch 65
individual parts. And herein lies the reason for the artist sketching his
work before trying to realize it. Because the realization of a work
demands so much attention paid to many individual details applying
only to specific parts, the artists attention to the whole may be
distracted.
Without a sketch, the artist will often find himself bogged down
in the exposition of individual parts, and afterwards discover that his
carefully worked-out ideas must be thrown out since they do not fit
in with the whole. The sketch serves to ensure that an invention,
which can otherwise quickly evaporate in one's mind as soon as it is
conceived, is firmly retained.
For all these reasons, then, it would be advisable for the artist to
practice sketching out every work as quickly and immediately as
possible after he has thought of its invention and disposition. The
slightest slackening of his attention upon the composition of the whole
can result in the loss of ideas that may never be retrieved again. It
often happens that one finds things of great beauty at certain fortunate
moments of inspiration without any premeditation, simply through
the given occasion or the chance connection of certain ideas. The
artist must never let these fortunate moments slip by. He must attempt
to make a sketch of what he has discovered, even if he does not yet
have any idea as to what their use might be. Otherwise, he risks having
the beautiful whole that he had so happily conceived in his imagination
suddenly disappear, or at least some sections whose absence would
mar the whole invention.
It would thus be good for the artist to learn a quick method of
sketching, so that in those fortunate moments when his powers of
inspiration are fired up, he may make use of this fire before it becomes
extinguished. (More observations relevant to this topic can be found
in the article "Inspiration.")
It is essential that the artist diligently practice rapid sketching so
that he may attain ever greater proficiency in it. As soon as a good
invention occurs to him, he should sketch it out. {80} Even if he has
no intention of completing it, such practice will be beneficial to him
in the future.
This is what all great painters do, and how it also comes about
that some art-lovers prefer to collect the rapidly tossed-off sketches
of the best of these masters rather than the fully finished paintings.
Particularly when done by a master, such sketches are often more

highly valued than finished paintings because the full fire of the
imagination, which is often dampened in the final realization, is more
in evidence. The sketch is a work of genius, the elaboration primarily
a work of art and taste.
3 LAYOUT [ANLAGE] (vol. 1, pp. 148-49)

A layout is the presentation of the most essential sections of which
some work is composed.6 Every great art work is the result of a three-fold
process: the layout, the realization, and the elaboration. We will here deal
with the topic of the layout, and consider the other two topics
elsewhere.7
In the layout, the overall plan of the work along with its sections
is decided upon. The realization gives each of these sections its own
characteristic form, while the elaboration works out and ties together
the smallest parts in an optimal manner and form. If the layout is
complete, nothing more that is essential to the work should have to
be added. The work already contains the most important ideas, and
therefore this demands the most genius. A work accrues its greatest
value on the basis of its layout. It constitutes the soul of the work,
and firmly establishes everything that belongs to its inner character
and intended effect. For this reason a work that is partially, or even
poorly worked out might still be valuable on account of its layout.
According to the testimony of Pausanias, this was true of the works
of Daedalus; they struck the eyes as somewhat informal, yet one could
still detect in them something great and sublime.8
I would thus advise every artist to apply the utmost concentration
to the layout of the work and to deem it his most important job. He
should not consider any other part of his work until the layout is
brought to as happy and as satisfying a state as possible. Only with
difficulty will a work attain a modicum of perfection if its layout is
not adequately thought out before its realization. An imperfection in
the layout robs the artist of the fire and fortitude necessary for a
work's realization. Partial elements of beauty will not be enough to
6 For a discussion concerning the translation of the term "Anlage," see note 38, p. 19 above. [C]
7 Sulzer never did write the promised article on "Realization." [C]
8 Pausanias (143—76 BC) was a Greek writer famous for his geographic guides with their detailed
descriptions of the architecture and artworks of the many Greek cities he visited. Daedalus was
the legendary Athenian sculptor and architect (father of Icarus). [C]

The creative process: form 67
hide the flaws in the layout. It is better to throw out completely a

work with an imperfect layout than it is to expend effort in trying
to carry out its realization and elaboration. {149} One of the most
important rules of art seems to be not to begin working out something
before one is fully satisfied with the perfection of its layout, since
such satisfaction will be a catalyst to the works realization.
4 FORM [FORM] (vol. II, pp. 250-52)

In the most general figurative sense of the word, form means the way
that variety is united with wholeness in some object. Hence, it is a
particular art of composition. Here, however, we will speak of form
only visually, which is to say, as the material shape of objects. One says
in this sense that a pitcher may have a beautiful form. The word has
been taken from such a context and used to describe art, and even
human figures. One says of Michelangelo, for example, that he saw his
works in terms of their overall form, and understood the shape of the
human figure in this way.
Because of the rich aesthetic power it possesses, form is the primary
concern of the pictorial arts, and it must be treated according to its
three main types: those that possess simple material beauty, those that
possess functionality and propriety in addition to material beauty, and
finally those that, in addition to all these, also possess moral power.
To the first kind belong all figures and bodies that are orderly, but
lack any particular function [Bestimmung]. To the second class belong
all those objects whose shape is a result of properties particular to
their specific function. And to the third type belong those forms in
which may be discovered, in addition to all the previously mentioned
qualities, an inner life and moral efficacy.
There are many figures and bodies in nature whose purpose we
do not know. Still, to the extent they have any form, we may be
either pleased or displeased by them. Such is the case of stones scattered
upon a field, whose shapes seem to the eye to have remarkable
consistency. We are likewise pleased when we see clouds dispersed by
the wind in which we can recognize certain regularities in their shapes
and various configurations. We ascribe whatever beauty they may have
to the fact that their form is easily perceived, and is one of which
we can fashion a more or less clear and distinct idea. They possess a

kind of inert beauty that, as philosophers have noted, arises from both
unity and diversity.
This is form in the narrowest of senses, but a sense which is still
important in the pictorial arts. It is what the designer has in mind
when choosing the wallpaper for a room or the parquetry for the
floor; it is what the painter is thinking of when he groups his various
figures following some regularized order. These forms have a simple
pleasingness that satisfies the eye.
If however we add functionality and propriety [Schicklichkeit und
Tiichtigkeit] to this kind of beauty, the form attains more animated
energy. We can take an architectural column as an example. {251}
The proportion between its height and width, the gradual narrowing
of the column as it ascends from its bass to its top, with a rectangular
slab at the bottom and a smaller slab at the top, all these things and
more are qualities of functionality and propriety. Through them the
column shows off whatever proficiency it has. It is also the same with
a beautiful pitcher or a beautiful vase. Here material beauty is
combined with propriety, so that the form is absolutely appropriate
for its function, and may even enhance it. Such is the case with our
wine glasses; their small conical and easily held bowls sit upon a
narrow stem connected to a wide base. The combination of material
beauty with functionality and propriety is to be observed everywhere
in the forms of plants and animals. It is often lacking in works of art,
however, where thoughtless embellishments are introduced, such as in
those carving knives that are so massive and overlaid with the most
loathsome decorations that one cannot hold or use them comfortably.
Good form of the second category can awaken a great degree of
pleasure. Plants and animals are so replete with such form, that one
cannot view them without inner pleasure. In the fine arts, architecture
reveals this kind of beauty. Columns constructed following the Greek
architectural orders reveal the closest unification of beauty with
propriety and functionality. What coheres more tightly and better,
what fulfills its function more perfectly, yet with greater regularity,
than the parts of the Dorian order? [...]
The most important forms in which beauty ascends to the sublime,
are those in which beauty is united with both functionality and a
moral essence, where the matter conveys an impression of spiritual
power, where the soul becomes visible, so to speak. This may be
observed already in the animal world, and rises slowly in almost

The creative process: plan 69
imperceptible gradations to the highest ideal of human beauty that

we can attain. The nature and energy of this form, which is quite
simply nothing other than beauty — indeed, the highest beauty — is,
because of its importance, discussed in some detail in the article
"Beauty."
One should always think about the differences between these three
kinds of form when speaking of form in relation to the pictorial arts.
This is because similar names may be used to express quite dissimilar
things. When the beauty of form is spoken of, much depends upon
which variety of form is referred to.
5 PLAN [PLAN] (vol. Ill, pp. 696-700)

Every work that has a specific aim, if it is to be perfect, must be
constituted in both subject and form so as to be able to attain this aim.
In so far as the author of such a work keeps in mind the effect that
this aim is to achieve, he will consider carefully the means by which
this aim may be realized. When he has discovered this means, he will
then seek the best disposition of his material by which each element
follows another. In the course of these considerations, he will establish
the main parts of his work based upon the nature of the subject and
the order they must follow. This is called the plan of the work. If, for
example, the aim of a speaker is to convince us of the truth of some
matter, he will think of whatever suitable ideas there may be that could
contribute to this purpose. To this end he will find the most persuasive
arguments and ideas for his particular purpose, which is to say, an
argument that convinces us completely on account of its great clarity.
He will then consider the best form this argument should take according
to its nature, discovering that, for his purpose, points A, B, C, etc. need
to be developed, and that they must stand in the order A, B, C, etc. or
perhaps C, B, A. Now the plan of his speech has been sketched. In just
this way, every other plan is made; the plan tells us what principal
sections a work requires, and in what order they must stand. When this
is determined, we then proceed to fashion each section following the
plan, and in the order prescribed.
Therefore, it is critical to discover the plan of any art work if it is
to achieve its intended aim. Meanwhile, we must remember that since
the plan reveals only the essentials of a work, it is possible that its
invention might be satisfactory, but its elaboration poor, or even

entirely wanting. This is because the artist lacks the necessary knowl-
edge and skill to carry it out. In both the mechanical and the fine
arts, it is possible for someone inexperienced in art to compose the
principal sections of the plan or instruct someone in this skill. It can
also be that he could determine the disposition of a work but still
be fully incapable of realizing the plan himself. The average handyman
who wants a house built might know enough to be able to determine
how many and what kind of things the house should consist of. {697}
But he might be inept in arranging them. And if he has no concept
whatsoever of the disposition of his house in relation to its comfort,
it could well turn out that the house will have a most inelegant form.
We can see by this that many things relating to a plan have nothing
to do with art, and can be understood by someone completely
inexperienced with art, while other things are fully dependent upon
one's artistic knowledge and experience. But in this article, we must
limit ourselves to examining those things relating to works of art.
It first seems worthwhile asking whether works of taste should be
created following some plan. The plan would be determined by its
aim, and the more precise this aim is, the more particular will be the
plan. There are works of art that have no other purpose than to be
pleasing to the senses, and their entire value lies in form. Many short
musical compositions like a sonata, a decorative vase, and many
comparable such things are not made to engender a specific effect.
They have no plan other than to be beautiful, and their aim is achieved
when such a work is pleasing to the senses. Quite simply, they are
works of taste only, needing no reflection and contemplation in their
completion.
However extensive and expansive any work may be whose plan
counts on beauty for its effect, all its parts must constitute a well-
ordered whole. Variety and good proportion must exist between all
parts. The smallest parts must be precisely connected and enchained
in larger sections. Everything must be well grouped and be fitted
following the best metrical symmetries. Any fault in the plan of such
a work is necessarily a major one since there is nothing else to
compensate for it. In music, all pieces that contain no depiction of
an emotion must be worked out following the rules of harmony and
melody with far more care than arias or songs which express the
language of passions. A dance lacking pantomime must follow much
more strictly in every small movement the rules of art than a

pantomimed ballet. In painting of profound content, one may overlook

small defects in composure, harmony, or colouring. But in those
smaller paintings whose contents have nothing interesting about them,
everything must be perfect.
It is different with works whose contents are intrinsically notable
or important. Unlike those works in which the beauty of the plan is
the essential matter, for these latter works, the plan can be a secondary
matter. Still, if a work is not completely to cease being a work of art,
one cannot totally lose sight of the plan, as a few of our most recent
art critics apparently believe. It has become modish among German
art critics to speak with disdain about rules of art. Many of these
same critics seem almost to impute an abusive meaning to words such
as theory, plan, rules, and criticism. {698} We must ascribe this to the
general follies of our time committed by people who, just like the
common mob, feel and think too much to allow themselves to be
tied down with general formulas. But these people don't try hard
enough to penetrate to the true nature of things, and from there to
observe everything from a truly reliable standpoint.
Whoever claims that an artist like Shakespeare was able to forgo
following any rules solely on account of the profundity of his topics
speaks without having thought about the matter very carefully.
Follow-ing this reasoning, it would be necessary to admonish a young
painter to disparage and throw out something as stiff and artificial as
perspective, since some older masters who did not observe these rules
were able to draw individual figures more beautifully and expressively
than the moderns. He would have to argue that in many older paintings
where one finds figures not connected or grouped in any straight line,
the impression is more beautiful precisely because these works ignore
all rules sanctioned by art. One would also have to say that in music,
a fantasy by a Bach or a Handel has far more worth than any other
composition written by one of these virtuosi in which the rules of
meter and rhythm are more scrupulously observed. Finally, one would
have to grant that because a Gothic building causes astonishment
through sheer audacity and magnificence, it has more worth than the
rotunda or temple of Theseus in Athens. These conclusions are
unavoidable as soon as one absolves all works of profound subject
matter from all the shackles of the fine arts.
But it is time for us to take a closer look at the plans of such
works. Let us imagine that an artist learns of an event or story involving

persons of high character, decisiveness, and action, involving under-

takings of great audacity, or some other very important thing of a
moral and passionate nature. Let us imagine that our artist then decides
to depict this as a tragic drama, an epic, or a great historical painting.
Here the question arises what he must think about in regard to the
plan.
The first thing would be that he examine himself to see what he
feels about the subject, and to determine and clarify these feelings as
much as possible. The next thing to do would be to search for the
cause of these effects, paying particular attention to the character of
the subject. He should determine whether [his subject] is to be
absolutely grand and instill complete admiration, or whether on
account of its scope, it should suggest ideas of good or of evil; whether
it speaks more to reason than to the heart, or whether it appeals only
to ones fantasy.
The same kind of questions will help determine more precisely
what the main theme and intention of the work is. Then it will
become clear whether from this material a work can be created that
raises notions of the pathetic, the tender, the fantastic, or whatever
other primary character should reign in the mind, imagination or
senses. {699} Once the primary character of the work is determined,
the purpose of the whole work is also thereby determined. The artist
will find that a particular kind of impression should predominate. He
will also see that if his subject is a story, this impression will remain
strong and vibrant to the end. A truly insightful artist will thus try
not simply to offer a moral that will be allegorically understood by
its story, as a few heroic poets have recommended, but he will try to
establish a more or less defined primary effect according to the nature
of the matter. Beyond this, however, he must necessarily aim for the
same goals of any work of art; everything he presents must be assembled
as clearly as possible, and nothing should take place that might offend
the general taste and distract one's attention.
From this, then, we can see what the plan of such a work requires.
Because the subject matter is of primary importance here, the first
thing one must think about in regard to the plan is that the narration
or presentation appear truthful and cohere naturally. The artist must
contemplate how everything should be arranged so that whatever
happens ensues naturally from that which is already given, that the
story of some person corresponds to the situation and character of

events, that this character is itself believable or appears to be grounded

in nature, and that, finally, things end the way they should, such that
everything works together to convey a single impression — the same
one that it made upon the artist in the first place and the one for
which he undertook to create his work. The artist will continually
be anxious that no gaps remain by which the coherence of things
could be severed and become incomprehensible, that nothing is present
that is superfluous or for which there is no justification, and so forth.
Therefore, he will always use a plan to order his material as well as
to discover or select the individual elements in it.
After everything necessary has been procured and ordered, he will
finally think about the plan of beauty. Since, however, he has worked
with subject matter that does not require outward beauty to please, he
need not necessarily worry about this as much as he would with material
of lesser significance. He never sacrifices intrinsic beauty to outward
appearance, and if both cannot exist simultaneously, he then gives the
former preference. Since it is apparent that inner beauty accrues greater
force through the beauty of form, the artist of taste will always try to
attain both as much as possible. Because this is what nature favors, it
follows that anyone dealing with the history of some character possessing
greatness, piety, or charity will imagine that such a person also possesses
an external nature that appears to correspond well to this quality.
Everyone is inclined to imagine the young Scipio [Africanus] as a great
but amiable person, and everyone who admires the inner greatness of
Socrates would be unpleasantly disconcerted if this philosopher was
depicted as a common, or perhaps even despicable person. {700}
Therefore, good taste demands careful treatment of the plan in both
content as well as form. The more perfectly both can coincide, the
more excellent will be the work. One gladly pardons an external
defect on account of inner excellence. One can see figures in the
paintings of Annibale Carracci which while unpleasantly drawn, are
nonetheless inordinately pleasing owing to the greatness of their
character.9 And in antique paintings and wall carvings, one can find
historical depictions that offer the greatest satisfaction, despite the fact
that they completely lack proper disposition and violate all rules of
9 Annibale Carracci (1560—1609) was a noted Bolognese painter famous for his classicist style.
Along with his brother Agostino and cousin Lodovico, he founded an art academy that sought to
recover the classicizing tradition of the High Renaissance from the affectations of Mannerism.
[C]

perspective. This is because each figure is animated. But who would

deny that such depictions would possess yet one more degree of
excellence were their external features more fully perfected without
detriment to their inner features?
6 DISPOSITION [ANORDNUNG] (vol. I, pp. 151-53)

One should understand the art of disposition in works of art as the
assignment of every element to its proper place. To present an entire
work with imagination and in the most advantageous manner following
the nature of one s intention; to make it appear as an inseparable whole
without either deficiency or excess; to achieve the very best effects in
the placement of every section; to be able to envision the entire work
with pleasure yet at the same time distinguish each part (or what is
much the same thing, to be able to contemplate each individual section
and be led in the most natural manner to an idea of the whole) — all
of these are manifestations of good disposition. Without it, no work can
be accepted as completely perfect, despite whatever individual elements
of beauty it may possess.
It is true that badly disposed works can occasionally be acclaimed
as excellent on the basis of individual elements of beauty. This is the
case with various tragedies of Shakespeare, paintings by the immortal
Raphael, and numerous works by other artists. Such praise is too
shallow, though, and bestows excellence upon the whole based only
upon that of the parts. This should never slow the artist from diligently
striving for good disposition. The individual elements of beauty that
we admire in a poorly ordered work would charm us far more if the
whole of the work was more perfect.
One should not be deceived into occasionally excusing improper
disposition. This part of art is simply too important for that. It is
certainly true that a work that is correctly disposed will still be a bad
work if its individual parts lack any vitality or charm. {152} On the
other hand, beautiful parts can exercise their full effect only when
optimally disposed, much as a beautiful face best conveys the full
vitality of its charm in relation to the beauty of the whole person.
Disposition is without question the most important element of art
after invention. If the artist is successful in both of these, then he will
certainly never lack the inspiration and imagination necessary to
elaborate his work, and without which no work would be bearable.

The creative process: disposition 75
The beauty of a plan [Plan] acts as a salutary influence upon his mind,
and lightens his work. This is attested to by the Greek playwright
Comicus Menander.10 Once shortly before the festival of Bacchus, he
was asked by a friend why he had not yet finished the comedy to be
performed at the upcoming festival. He answered: "But I am finished
since I have both the invention and disposition already in mind."
It is understandable, then, why only the artist who can pleasurably
envision the main sections of his work because of their good dispo-
sition, as well as envision the whole in terms of its parts, can work
with the freedom and delight essential to making good progress. On
the other hand, if an artist is uncertain or insecure in regard to his
plan, the anxiety he is certain to feel because of this will deleteriously
influence his work. We would thus advise every artist, that in those
fortunate moments when his imagination is fired with the heavenly
inspiration of the muses, he apply himself to the disposition and
completion of his plan. A happily inspired imagination is usually of
far more value in works of art than are rational rules.
The disposition of every work must be determined in accordance
to its aim or intended effect. They are all related in that each is to
be viewed as a whole, each is to arouse our interest, and all the
individual sections must appear in their proper place such that a single
desired effect is produced. Only with such an aim can individual
elements be connected within the a whole. Every work of taste must
arouse a single main idea, no matter how extensive it may be, and its
sections must help make it complete and lively. Otherwise the work
is not a whole, but a hodge-podge of several works. If the artist begins
to labor upon some work before having a clear conception of the
whole, or before it is distinct enough, he will certainly never be
successful in its disposition.
The whole that incontestably pleases the imagination the most is
the one made up of a few, well-connected sections, although these
sections may themselves be divided into a number of even smaller
parts. A good example of this is the human body; it appears to be
the most perfect whole made up of only a few main sections, even
though it is actually composed of countless smaller elements. Every
section appears at first to be an inseparable whole until one looks
more closely and sees how each is actually made up of many smaller
10 Menander (ca. 342-290 BC) was an Athenian playwright noted for his comedies. He is supposed
to have written over one hundred plays, although only a handful have survived. [C]

parts. Each is found in the place best suited to its use as well as for
producing the closest connection to the whole. {153} In such a perfect
construction one cannot change anything — either by displacing the
parts, or by bringing them closer together - without disturbing the
appearance of the whole. So is it with every true work of art. One
believes it impossible to move a single part; everything appears to be
where it must, and no part can be understood except when viewed
in the context of the whole.
There are three primary elements that make a works disposition
perfect: the proper connection of all parts, a sufficient contrast or
diversity in the succession of these parts, and the intricacy of ideas.
It follows from this that the artist must constantly pay attention to
the disposition of his plan, that he focus the powers of his imagination
upon its content such that every part leads back to the whole in the
most natural manner, that he also makes sure the imagination and
heart are engaged by a variety of changing subjects, and that the
development of the main theme is carefully controlled such that
curiosity is evermore aroused until finally everything is reunited in a
single primary idea.
Among the serious mistakes marring good disposition that can be
mentioned are: a plan is difficult to comprehend because of the great
number of individual parts; it is difficult to recognize the aim and
essence of some idea; one can transpose, augment, or diminish an
entire section without harm to the work; secondary or subsidiary
parts are more conspicuous than are essential parts. [...]
7 ELABORATION [AUSARBEITUNG] (vol. I, pp. 246-50)

Elaboration constitutes the last but hardly least important part of the
artist s job. {247} In the layout, the sections of a work are selected and
ordered according to the nature of their character. In the realization
and development [Ausbildung], the smaller parts of these main sections
are carefully determined such that the work appears essentially complete.
In the elaboration, though, everything still left undone in these parts
would be attended to, thereby truly finishing the work.
Consider the creation of a portrait. The artist would begin with a
basic layout of the picture in mind by envisioning as accurately as
possible how the person to be drawn appears. Each section would
have its own appropriate mix of light and color. In the realization,

The creative process: elaboration 77
each individual part would be shown in its correct proportion and

form, with its appropriate lighting and true color. But we are still
lacking the most detailed connections between the smallest parts —
the shadings, reflections, and hues by which a picture accrues its
essential truth and nature. These last qualities are supplied in the
elaboration. If the portrait achieves a certain resemblance of the subject
at the start, it is only through a perfect elaboration that it attains life
such that it appears less as a picture anymore than the person himself.
The character of a work should already be determined in its layout;
the active force by which it is to achieve its primary effects should
be known. In the realization, these forces are more precisely deter-
mined, and their true relation with one another established. In the
elaboration, their effect is enhanced and all obstacles are removed.
The work becomes a perfection to which one can think of nothing
more to add. Without this elaboration, then, no work can become
perfect. If it is not the most important part of the actual work of the
artist, it is certainly the means by which all the other parts accrue
their most profound significance.
Careful elaboration is of the highest importance in those arts in
which illusion is essential for their optimal effect, such as in painting
or acting. This is because elaboration contributes the most to illusion.
In oratory, the most elevated tone of truth, simplicity, and transparency
is achieved only through the most perfect elaboration.
To be sure there are works of great value that lack perfected
elaboration. Objects that lie distant in our vision do not need any
detailed elaboration; indeed, elaboration here would be detrimental.
A musical composition written for many instruments, or one to be
performed outside or in a large hall should not be so elaborated as
a trio. In general we may say that in all pieces in which bold impressions
are to be conveyed, detailed elaboration is inappropriate, whereas such
elaboration is indeed appropriate for works whose character is graceful
and quiet.
Elaboration never appears in the earliest stages of some art form.
That which is most general always precedes the beautiful. When,
however, elaboration begins to be mistaken for the essence of some
art, then we know its decline is at hand.
Some French writers believe that their nation is presently at such
a stage. It is a fact that, with the possible exception of the Greek
rhetoricians active during the reign of the Roman Emperors, there

has never been a people who have pursued elaboration in oration to

the degree French authors have. {248} But what they do too much
of, the Germans do too little of. Only a handful of German authors
view elaboration as a part of their art. One might be consoled if this
lack were to lead the artist, as it did with Aeschylus, to compensate
us with greater perfection.
But this does not mean that each excellent characteristic can be
attained only through long and concerted effort. Elaboration is not
always so difficult, nor always so disassociated from the other tasks of
the artist. There are works that achieve perfection in a single working
(although this happens rarely). Complete perfection in a piece is so
dependent upon minute details, that prolonged contemplation and
concerted reflection is required to notice them. As long as one is
preoccupied with the most intense sections of an art work, one will
tend not to pay attention to the smaller parts. When we see an
attractive person for the first time, we tend not to notice whatever
small faults there may be, whether in appearance or behavior. The
power of the initial impression provides us no opportunity to observe
them. This is also how we judge art works. In the heat of inspiration,
the artist is preoccupied with the essentials and not the details. Only
in completely still water can the image of an object be reflected
perfectly. Likewise, only when the temperament of the artist is
completely calm can he see every minor deficiency in his work, and
bring out every small detail of beauty.
Quite often, the most perfect art work conveys the appearance of
having been created without the least effort at one stroke, as it were,
instead of having come into being laboriously only after several
attempts. But one can hardly believe that such facility could be
obtained without effort. In general, that which is most easily com-
prehended has cost the artist the most effort. We can read, in this
regard, what the astute author of the essays on Pope s genius and
writings says:
Moliere is supposed to have toiled a whole day over a clever adjective or rhyme,
despite the fact that his verses possess the fluency and freedom of the most
natural speech. It is also told that Addison was incredibly fussy in refining his
prose, and that he would sometimes recall an entire work from the printer just
before it was to go to press in order to substitute a new preposition or conjunc-
tion.11
ll Published by Nicolai in Berlin, part 6, p. 136. [S.]

The creative process: elaboration 79
Horace was so convinced that elaboration was essential to perfection,

that he advised the artist "Nonum prematur in annum" (persevere nine
years).
It is thus easy to see why any work needing to be perfected requires
a lengthy period of contemplation. Only in those things we know
from daily use can we recognize every small defect and every element
of perfection. So it is in the fine arts. Only when one knows an object
virtually by memory is one in a position to notice the smallest details.
This is a matter absolutely relevant to elaboration. {249} Whoever
will not neglect the elaboration, then, must, after establishing all parts
of his work through the realization, carry them in his bosom for
sufficient time so that they can be viewed as a whole as well as
individual elements. Only by such exact knowledge of his work is
the artist in a position to carry out the elaboration successfully.
It is helpful for this purpose to be cold-blooded. As important as
it may be to the creation of a work to possess the fires of imagination,
in the elaboration such a state of mind can be detrimental. Philosophers
can offer psychological reasons for this. An inflamed fantasy envisions
in every thing more than is actually there. The artist working in the
initial heat of inspiration, then, leaves much out, since he envisions
his work without it actually existing. If he could somehow see what
he is creating in the finished form it would finally take, then there
would be no need for elaboration at all.
One stays with a work so long as it takes to reach the point where
one can look at it without the noticeable emotion of paternal
tenderness, without resurrecting those animated emotions by which
it was created, and to the point where the work has even become in
one sense unfamiliar to us. Only then is ones judgment truly objective
and elaboration thereby possible.
This part of art also has its pitfalls. One can oversharpen a knife
to the point that its blade is completely worn away. Likewise a work
can lose the elevated power it once possessed through excessive
elaboration. Those who believe that every single detail that can be
imagined should be expressed are gravely mistaken. They will certainly
spoil their work through this kind of elaboration. It depends entirely
upon the particular work which of the smallest ornamentations are
the most essential and appropriate to be utilized, as one can always
think of more to add than is actually needed. An anecdote I heard
from a good artist is relevant here:

A certain painter had copied a picture of David Teniers, and despite

his utmost care in its execution, found it without composure.12 In
inspecting every part piece by piece, he could find no faults. Yet as a
whole, the painting was dissatisfying. A friend was called upon to
compare the original with the copy so that an unprejudiced pair of
eyes might see what was missing. A seemingly trivial discrepancy was
discovered. In the foreground of the original, a piece of white canvas
dangled from a pole, and this small detail was left out in the copy.
The connoisseur surmised that this might be an important element.
A small piece of white paper was glued at the place where the white
canvas was missing. By this one thing, the whole painting acquired a
comportment that no reworking could have given. In a landscape of
Rembrandt depicting a very dark forest with a heavily shaded pond
in the foreground, a white crane appearing as no more than a tiny
white fleck in the air stands out against the dark green of the forest.
This tiny detail lends to the painting an essential vitality that would
be lost were it obscured.
Those who are gifted in the skill of elaboration will know how
to introduce a few small details of beauty within their work so as to
attain the greatest perfection, and to avoid an excess of elaboration
which would harm more than help. {250} In music, the greatest
beauty of expression usually does not depend upon the quantity of
embellishments, but rather upon a single appoggiatura, some vibrato
in the voice, or even a short pause. The same is true in other works
of art. The most perfect elaboration depends upon the judicious
selection of details, not the quantity selected.
12 David Teniers (1610-90) was a prolific Flemish painter noted for his genre scenes of peasant life.
[C]


II - The Creative Process

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Cambridge Books Online

Aesthetics and the Art of Musical Composition in the German Enlightenm

Selected Writings of Johann Georg Sulzer and Heinrich Christoph Koch

Book DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511518348

Online ISBN: 9780511518348

Hardback ISBN: 9780521360357

Paperback ISBN: 9780521035095

II - The creative process pp. 55-80

Chapter DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511518348.004

Cambridge University Press

THE CREATIVE PROCESS

1 INVENTION [ERFINDUNG] (vol. II, pp. 86-94)

Cambridge Books Online © Cambridge University Press, 2009

The speaker usually proceeds by the first way; he normally has a

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human figure or event that embodies certain qualities they wish to

Cambridge Books Online © Cambridge University Press, 2009

Cambridge Books Online © Cambridge University Press, 2009

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sought out with unbelievable diligence every possible means by which

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for invention. Even innocuous objects can inspire him to invention.

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Cambridge Books Online © Cambridge University Press, 2009

Cambridge Books Online © Cambridge University Press, 2009

2 SKETCH [ENTWURF] (vol. II, pp. 78-80)

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Cambridge Books Online © Cambridge University Press, 2009

3 LAYOUT [ANLAGE] (vol. 1, pp. 148-49)

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hide the flaws in the layout. It is better to throw out completely a

4 FORM [FORM] (vol. II, pp. 250-52)

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imperceptible gradations to the highest ideal of human beauty that

5 PLAN [PLAN] (vol. Ill, pp. 696-700)

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pantomimed ballet. In painting of profound content, one may overlook

Cambridge Books Online © Cambridge University Press, 2009

persons of high character, decisiveness, and action, involving under-

Cambridge Books Online © Cambridge University Press, 2009

events, that this character is itself believable or appears to be grounded

Cambridge Books Online © Cambridge University Press, 2009

perspective. This is because each figure is animated. But who would

6 DISPOSITION [ANORDNUNG] (vol. I, pp. 151-53)

Cambridge Books Online © Cambridge University Press, 2009

Cambridge Books Online © Cambridge University Press, 2009

7 ELABORATION [AUSARBEITUNG] (vol. I, pp. 246-50)

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each individual part would be shown in its correct proportion and

Cambridge Books Online © Cambridge University Press, 2009

has never been a people who have pursued elaboration in oration to

Cambridge Books Online © Cambridge University Press, 2009

Horace was so convinced that elaboration was essential to perfection,

Cambridge Books Online © Cambridge University Press, 2009

A certain painter had copied a picture of David Teniers, and despite

Cambridge Books Online © Cambridge University Press, 2009

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