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The Science of Art: Optical Themes in Western Art from Brunelleschi
to Seurat by Martin Kemp, Yale*, pp 375, Pounds sterling 29.95

MARTIN KEMP’s book is weighty in every sense. It is heavy. It might
fairly be described as a tour de force. And it leaves me both immensely
stimulated and a little troubled.

This hugely informative work comprises some 340 pages of dense text,
which is lavishly illustrated with more than 500 reproductions, photographs
and diagrams, some of which are the author’s own drawn analyses of the perspectival
structures of some of the greatest works of western art. It is a fascinating
account, rooted in what Professor Martin Kemp describes as the gross hypothesis
that there was a direct relationship between optical science and naturalistic
art during the period he covers. He also asserts that the aspirations of
artists and scientists were at one in their attempt to understand the laws
underlying the appearance of the natural world.

‘Lines of Sight’ sets the scene for the invention of perspective by
Brunelleschi at the beginning of the 15th century and plots its early development
through the theory and practice of such figures as Alberti, Ghiberti and
Piero della Francesca, culminating in the work of Leonardo da Vinci.

Kemp then traces the impact of perspective on Germany and France during
the 16th century through the work of Durer and Galileo, while his chapter
‘Italy – Illusion and Mathematics’ charts the complex interplay between
practical methodology and mathematical analysis. It affords some insight
into the stresses and strains that arose between those who were committed
to the systematic application of optics in art and those who shared with
Michelangelo the conviction that: ‘the true artist must possess ‘compasses
in his eyes’ rather than relying upon mechanical calculation’.

And on the story goes, detailing the reciprocal effect of optical theory
and painterly practice through the work of Rubens, Velazquez, Poussin and
Turner. As geometrical perspective was drawn further into mathematics and
increasingly estranged from the visual arts, Kemp points to the profound
difference of intention between painters and scientists.

‘Machine and Mind’ descri bes the invention of machines and optical
devices that led eventually to photography and includes an absorbing vignette
of Vermeer and the use of the camera obscura. There follows an account of
perceptual controversies, notably the theories of Ruskin and Helmholtz.
‘The Colour of Light’, the last section, proposes the Aristotelian legacy
of the three primary colours set against the post-Newtonian era of prismatic
theory that influenced Seurat.

It seems almost ungrateful, in the face of scrupulousness and sheer
generosity of Kemp’s scholarship, to admit to any reservation on my part;
nevertheless, throughout this immense read I was nagged by persistent doubts
concerning Kemp’s ideas on the ‘imitation of natural appearances’ and ‘the
status of optical ‘truths’ ‘ with which the predominantly naturalistic art
of this study is concerned.

Kemp declares: ‘If . . . we believe that orthodox perspective is no
more and no less than an artificial(?) convention based on a manner of ‘seeing’
peculiar to a particular period, we will formulate a different kind of explanatory
model than if we believe that it stands in some privileged relationship
to how the world is ‘really seen’ and that it was, like the law of gravitation,
waiting to be discovered’. But it seems to me that this presents a false
dichotomy. To allow two legitimate ways of formulating a model, in the way
Kemp suggests, I think he would have to concede either that ‘a manner of
‘seeing’ ‘ (‘peculiar’ or not), characterises every period or that ‘how
the world is ‘really seen’ ‘ changes from time to time and culture to culture.

Suppose, instead, we regarded the invention of perspective as having
radically changed the way we could make images of the world, and consequently,
how people saw and see it. We might conclude that our conception of what
the world ‘looks like’ derives from pictures and not the other way around,
which would, in turn, raise some pretty fundamental questions about those
appearances we take for granted so readily. None of which is to argue against
the notion of the science of art; but it rather puts me in mind of something
Einstein said to the effect that, although nobody would deny that the world
of phenomena uniquely deter mines the theoretical system, there is no theoretical
bridge between phenomena and their principles.

*John Wiley, Baffins Lane, Chichester, West Sussex PO19 1UD, in Britain.

Wendy Smith was, until recently, Head of Fine Art at Camberwell School
of Arts and Crafts, London. She now works as an artist.