DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.52444#0023
INTRODUCTION.
eluded ever evasive visions of beauty. It was the conflict between
these two tendencies, and the endeavor to reconcile them, which still
further helped to mar Durer’s art. Over and over again he repeats,
in the many drafts for passages in his theoretical works which he left
behind, that the artist is full of figures inside, which he would not
have time enough to draw if he were to live a hundred years or
more; and quite as often he warns the young artist that the truth is
in Nature. “Therefore,” he says (L. u. F., p. 226), “look at it dili-
gently, be guided by it, and do not depart from Nature in thy pre-
sumption, thinking that thou thyself mightest find something better;
for thou wilt be misled.” As to Beauty, he quite agrees with Ra-
phael: “ But what Beauty may be, that I know not” (L. u. F., p. 288).
While, however, Raphael was content to follow his artistic instinct, Durer
thirsted for knowledge. “For I know,” he writes (L. u. F., p. 239),—
and again he formulates the same idea over and over, — “that the desire
of mankind may be so satiated of earthly things by their surfeit that one
becomes weary of them; only excepted to know much, — of that no one
wearies.” So that, while he is convinced that we may not know what
Beauty is, he yet believes also that “Art is hidden in Nature; whoso-
ever can tear it out has it ” (L. u. F., p. 226). And hence it is his
never-tiring endeavor to find the key that will unlock the secret of
Beauty in the human form, and will put him into the possession of the
ideal measurements, according to which may be constructed a perfect
body. It is the old vain struggle after the absolute, leading at last to
disenchantment, if it does not lead to intellectual death,— and Durer was
no exception. In spite of the fact that he was just engaged in seeing his
book on proportions through the press when death overtook him, he
acknowledged to his friend Pirkheimer that only late towards the even-
ing of life had he learned to esteem at its true value the simplicity of
nature, and there is no denying that his speculative labors exerted a
deadening influence on his art. Moved by these conflicting impulses,
we see him, almost from the very beginning of his career, draw ugly
v
eluded ever evasive visions of beauty. It was the conflict between
these two tendencies, and the endeavor to reconcile them, which still
further helped to mar Durer’s art. Over and over again he repeats,
in the many drafts for passages in his theoretical works which he left
behind, that the artist is full of figures inside, which he would not
have time enough to draw if he were to live a hundred years or
more; and quite as often he warns the young artist that the truth is
in Nature. “Therefore,” he says (L. u. F., p. 226), “look at it dili-
gently, be guided by it, and do not depart from Nature in thy pre-
sumption, thinking that thou thyself mightest find something better;
for thou wilt be misled.” As to Beauty, he quite agrees with Ra-
phael: “ But what Beauty may be, that I know not” (L. u. F., p. 288).
While, however, Raphael was content to follow his artistic instinct, Durer
thirsted for knowledge. “For I know,” he writes (L. u. F., p. 239),—
and again he formulates the same idea over and over, — “that the desire
of mankind may be so satiated of earthly things by their surfeit that one
becomes weary of them; only excepted to know much, — of that no one
wearies.” So that, while he is convinced that we may not know what
Beauty is, he yet believes also that “Art is hidden in Nature; whoso-
ever can tear it out has it ” (L. u. F., p. 226). And hence it is his
never-tiring endeavor to find the key that will unlock the secret of
Beauty in the human form, and will put him into the possession of the
ideal measurements, according to which may be constructed a perfect
body. It is the old vain struggle after the absolute, leading at last to
disenchantment, if it does not lead to intellectual death,— and Durer was
no exception. In spite of the fact that he was just engaged in seeing his
book on proportions through the press when death overtook him, he
acknowledged to his friend Pirkheimer that only late towards the even-
ing of life had he learned to esteem at its true value the simplicity of
nature, and there is no denying that his speculative labors exerted a
deadening influence on his art. Moved by these conflicting impulses,
we see him, almost from the very beginning of his career, draw ugly
v