IX The Child as Artist
One of the most interesting, perhaps also one of the most instructive, phases of child-life is the beginnings of art-activity. This has been recognised by one of the best-known workers in the field of child-psychology, M. Bernard Perez, who has treated the subject in an interesting monograph.197 This department of our subject will, like that of language, be found to have interesting points of contact with the phenomena of primitive race-culture.
The art-impulse of children lends itself particularly well to observation. No doubt, as we shall see, there are difficulties for the observer here. It may sometimes be a fine point to determine whether a childish action properly falls under the head of genuine art-production, though I do not think that this is a serious difficulty. On the other hand, the art-impulse where it exists manifests itself directly, and for the most part in so characteristic an objective form that we are able to study its features with special facility.
In its narrow sense as a specialised instinct prompting its possessor to follow a definite line of production, as drawing of the artistic sort, or simple musical composition, the art-impulse is a particularly variable phenomenon of childhood. Some children, who afterwards take seriously to a branch of art-culture, manifest an innate bent by a precocious devotion to this line of activity. Many others, I have reason to believe, have a passing fondness for a particular form of art-activity. On the other hand, there are many children who display almost a complete lack, not only of the productive impulse, but of the æsthetic sense of the artist. So uncertain, so sporadic are these appearances of a rudimentary art among children that one might be easily led to think that art-activity ought not to be reckoned among their common characteristics.
To judge so, however, would be to judge erroneously by applying grown-up standards. It is commonly recognised that art and play are closely connected. It is probable that the first crude art of the race, or at least certain directions of it, sprang out of play-like activities, and however this be the likenesses of the two are indisputable. I shall hope to bring these out in the present study. This being so, we are, I conceive, justified in speaking of art-impulses as a common characteristic of childhood.
Although we shall find many interesting points of analogy between crude child-art and primitive race-art, we must not, as pointed out above, expect a perfect parallelism. In some directions, as drawing, concerted dancing, the superior experience, strength and skill of the adult will reveal themselves, placing child-art at a considerable disadvantage in the comparison. Contrariwise, the intervention of the educator’s hand tends seriously to modify the course of development of the child’s æsthetic aptitudes. His tastes get acted upon from the first and biassed in the direction of adult tastes.
This modifying influence of education shows itself more especially in one particular. There is reason to think that in the development of the race the growth of a feeling for what is beautiful was a concomitant of the growth of the art-impulse, the impulse to adorn the person, to collect feathers and other pretty things. Not so in the case of the child. Here we note a certain growth of the liking for pretty things before the spontaneous art-impulse has had time to manifest itself. Most children who have a cultivated mother or other guardian acquire a rudimentary appreciation of what their elders think beautiful before they do much in the way of art-production. We provide them with toys, pictures, we sing to them and perhaps we even take them to the theatre, and so do our best to inoculate them with our ideas as to what is pretty. Hence the difficulty—probably the chief difficulty—of finding out what the child-mind, left to itself, does prefer. At the same time the early date at which such æsthetic preferences begin to manifest themselves makes it desirable to study them before we go on to consider the active side of child-art. We will try as well as we can to extricate the first manifestations of genuine childish taste.
First Responses to Natural Beauty
At the very beginning, before the educational influence has had time to work, we can catch some of the characteristics of this childish quasi-æsthetic feeling. The directions of a child’s observation, and of the movements of his grasping arms, tell us pretty clearly what sort of things attract and please him.
In the home scene it is bright objects, such as the fire-flame, the lamp, the play of the sunlight on a bit of glass or a gilded frame; out-of-doors, glistening water, a meadow whitened by daisies, the fresh show mantle, later the moon and the stars, which seem to impart to the dawning consciousness the first hint of the world’s beauty. Luminosity, brightness in its higher intensities, whether the bright rays reach the eye directly or are reflected from a lustrous surface, this makes the first gladness of the eye as it remains a chief source of the gladness of life.
The feeling for colour as such comes distinctly later. The first delight in coloured objects is hardly distinguishable from the primordial delight in brightness. This applies pretty manifestly to the brightly illumined, rose-red curtain which Preyer’s boy greeted with signs of satisfaction at the age of twenty-three days, and it applies to later manifestations. Thus Preyer found on experimenting with his boy towards the end of the second year as to his colour-discrimination that a decided preference was shown for the bright or luminous colours, red and yellow.198 Much the same thing was observed by Miss Shinn in her interesting account of the early development of her niece’s colour-sense.199 Thus in the twenty-eighth month she showed a special fondness for the daffodils, the bright tints of which allured another and older maiden, and, alas! to the place whence all brightness was banished. About the same time the child conceived a fondness for a yellow gown of her aunt, strongly objecting to the substitution for it of a brown dress. Among the other coloured objects which captivated the eye of this little girl were a patch of white cherry blossom, and a red sun-set sky. Such observations might easily be multiplied. Whiteness, it is to be noted, comes, as we might expect, with bright partial colours, among the first favourites.200
At what age a child begins to appreciate the value of colour as colour, to like blue or red, for its own sake and apart from its brightness, it is hard to say. The experiments of Preyer, Binet, Baldwin, and others, as to the discrimination of colour, are hardly conclusive as to special likings, though Baldwin’s plan of getting the child to reach out for colours throws a certain light on this point. According to Baldwin blue is one of the first colours to be singled out; but he does not tell us how the colours he used (which did not, unfortunately, include yellow—the child’s favourite according to other observers) were related in point of luminosity.201
No doubt a child of three or four is apt to conceive a special liking for a particular colour which favourite he is wont to appropriate as ‘my colour’. A collection of such perfectly spontaneous preferences is a desideratum in the study of the first manifestations of a feeling for colour. Care must be taken in observing these selections to eliminate the effects of association, and the unintentional influence of example and authority, as when a child takes to a particular colour because it is ‘mamma’s colour,’ that is, the one she appears to affect in her dress and otherwise.
The values of the several colours probably disclose themselves in close connexion with that of colour-contrast. Many of the likings of a child of three in the matter of flowers, birds, dresses, and so on, are clearly traceable to a growing pleasure in colour-contrast. Here again we must distinguish between a true chromatic and a merely luminous effect. The dark blue sky showing itself in a break in the white clouds, one of the coloured spectacles which delighted Miss Shinn’s niece, may have owed much of its attractiveness to the contrast of light and dark. It would be interesting to experiment with children of three with a view to determine whether and how far chromatic contrast pleases when it stands alone, and is not supported by that of chiaroscuro.
I have reason to believe that children, like the less cultivated adults, prefer juxtapositions of colours which lie far from one another in the colour-circle, as blue and red or blue and yellow. It is sometimes said that the practice and the history of painting show blue and red to be a more pleasing combination than that of the complementary colours, blue and yellow. It would be well to test children’s feeling on this matter. It would be necessary in this inquiry to see that the child did not select for combination a particular colour as blue or yellow for its own sake, and independently of its relation to its companion—a point not very easy to determine. Care would have to be taken to eliminate further the influence of authority as operating, not only by instructing the child what combinations are best, but by setting models of combination, in the habitual arrangements of dress and so forth. This too would probably prove to be a condition not easy to satisfy.202
I have dwelt at some length on the first germs of colour-appreciation, because this is the one feature of the child’s æsthetic sense which has so far lent itself to definite experimental investigation. It is very different when we turn to the first appreciation of form. That little children have their likings in the matter of form, is, I think, indisputable, but they are not those of the cultivated adult. A quite small child will admire the arch of a rainbow, and the roundness of a kitten’s form, though in these instances the delight in form is far from pure. More clearly marked is the appreciation of pretty graceful movements, as a kitten’s boundings. Perhaps the first waking up to the graces of form takes place in connexion with this delight in the forms of motion, a delight which at first is a mixed feeling, involving the interest in all motion as suggestive of life, to which reference has already been made. Do not all of us, indeed, tend to translate our impressions of still forms back into these first impressions of the forms of motion?
One noticeable feature in the child’s first response to the attractions of form is the preference given to ‘tiny’ things. The liking for small natural forms, birds, insects, shells, and so forth, and the prominence of such epithets as ‘wee,’ ‘tiny’ or ‘teeny,’ ‘dear little,’ in the child’s vocabulary alike illustrate this early direction of taste. This feeling again is a mixed one; for the child’s interest in very small fragile-looking things has in it an element of caressing tenderness which again contains a touch of fellow-feeling. This is but one illustration of the general rule of æsthetic development in the case of the individual and of the race alike that a pure contemplative delight in the aspect of things only gradually detaches itself from a mixed feeling.
If now we turn to the higher aspects of form, regularity of outline, symmetry, proportion, we encounter a difficulty. Many children acquire while quite young and before any formal education commences a certain feeling for regularity and symmetry. But is this the result of a mere observation of natural or other forms? Here the circumstances of the child become important. He lives among those who insist on these features in the daily activities of the home. In laying the cloth of the dinner-table, for example, a child sees the regular division of space enforced as a law. Every time he is dressed, or sees his mother dress, he has an object-lesson in symmetrical arrangement. And so these features take on a kind of ethical rightness before they are judged as elements of æsthetic value. As to a sense of proportion between the dimensions or parts of a form, the reflexion that this involves a degree of intellectuality above the reach of many an adult might suggest that it is not to be expected from a small child; and this conjecture will be borne out when we come to examine children’s first essays in drawing.
These elementary pleasures of light, colour, and certain simple aspects of form, may be said to be the basis of a crude perception of beauty in natural objects and in the products of human workmanship. A quite small child is capable of acquiring a real admiration for a beautiful lady, in the appreciation of which brightness, colour, grace of movement, the splendour of dress, all have their part, while the charm for the eye is often reinforced by a sweet and winsome quality of voice. Such an admiration is not perfectly æsthetic: awe, an inkling of the social dignity of dress,203 perhaps a longing to be embraced by the charmer, may all enter into it; yet a genuine admiration of look for its own sake is the core of the feeling. In other childish admirations, as the girl’s enthusiastic worship of the newly arrived baby, we see a true æsthetic sentiment mingled with and struggling, so to speak, to extricate itself from such ‘interested’ feelings as sense of personal enrichment by the new possession and of family pride. In the likings for animals, again, which often take what seem to us capricious and quaint directions, we may see rudiments of æsthetic perceptions half hidden under a lively sense of absolute lordship tempered with affection.
Perhaps the nearest approach to a pure æsthetic enjoyment in these first experiences is the love of flowers. The wee round wonders with their mystery of velvety colour are well fitted to take captive the young eye. I believe most children who live among flowers and have access to them acquire something of this sentiment, a sentiment of admiration for beautiful things with which a sort of dumb childish sympathy commonly blends. No doubt there are marked differences among children here. There are some who care only, or mainly, for their scent, and the strong sensibilities of the olfactory organ appear to have a good deal to do with early preferences and prejudices in the matter of flowers.204 Others again care for them mainly as a means of personal adornment, though I am disposed to think that this partially interested fondness is less common with children than with many adults. It is sometimes said that the love of flowers is, in the main, a characteristic of girls. I think however that if one takes children early enough, before a consciousness of sex and of its proprieties has been allowed to develop under education, the difference will be but slight. Little boys of four or thereabouts often show a very lively sentiment of admiration for these gems of the plant world.
In much of this first crude utterance of the æsthetic sense of the child we have points of contact with the first manifestations of taste in the race. Delight in bright glistening things, in gay tints, in strong contrasts of colour, as well as in certain forms of movement, as that of feathers—the favourite personal adornment—this is known to be characteristic of the savage and gives to his taste in the eyes of civilised man the look of childishness. On the other hand it is doubtful whether the savage attains to the sentiment of the child for the beauty of flowers. Our civilised surroundings, meadows and gardens, as well as the constant action of the educative forces of example, soon carry the child beyond the savage in this particular.
How far can children be said to have the germ of a feeling for nature, or, to use the more comprehensive modern term, cosmic emotion? It is a matter of common observation that they have not the power to embrace a multitude of things in a single act of contemplation. Hence they have no feeling for landscape as a harmonious complex of picturesquely varied parts. When they are taken to see a ‘view’ their eye instead of trying to embrace the whole, as a fond parent desires, provokingly pounces on some single feature of interest, and often one of but little æsthetic value. People make a great mistake in taking children to ‘points of view’ under the supposition that they will share in grown people’s impressions. Perez relates that some children taken to the Pic du Midi found their chief pleasure in scrambling up the peak and saying that they were on donkeys.205 Mere magnitude or vastness of spectacle does not appeal to the child, for a sense of the sublime grows out of a complex imaginative process which is beyond his young powers. So far as immensity affects him at all, as in the case of the sea, it seems to excite a measure of dread in face of the unknown; and this feeling, though having a certain kinship with the emotion of sublimity, is distinct from this last. It has nothing of the joyous consciousness of expansion which enters into the later feeling. It is only to certain limited objects and features of nature that the child is æsthetically responsive. He knows the loveliness of the gilded spring meadow, the fascination of the sunlit stream, the awful mystery of the wood, and something too perhaps of the calming beauty of the broad blue sky. That is to say, he has a number of small rootlets which when they grow together will develop into a feeling for nature.
Here, too, the analogy between the child and the uncultured nature-man is evident. The savage has no æsthetic sentiment for nature as a whole, though he may feel the charm of some of her single features, a stream, a mountain, the star-spangled sky, and may even be affected by some of the awful aspects of her changing physiognomy. Are we not told, indeed, that a true æsthetic appreciation of the picturesque variety of nature’s scenes of the weird charm of wild places, and of the sublime fascinations of the awful and repellent mountain, are quite late attainments in the history of our race?206