Terrific Thread!
 

Thank you for this thread, Mike and contributors... No amount of care and intelligent thought were wasted on the samples provided and comments made.
Grateful and inspired,
Jeanine Jackson

Jeanine,

Thank you for your kind remarks.

Just for you I offer this beautifully understated Edward Burne-Jones pencil drawing from 1896.

Now this hat fits me all right, yes it does. The variety of things that my mind interests in seem to always carry me away from my focal point. Astronomy (I have a 10" Newtonian and large admiration for the skies), racing sports, movies, and so on. I am not kidding when I say that sometimes I wish I was back in the 17th century, when the artist would spend the whole day painting, and great part of the night talking art with his fellows, and that was it.
But here I am, before this computer, reading you and watching all these great pictures. Then it also comes to my mind that an important part of my clients come from different places around the world, with long distance commissions via Internet. Would I, or my art, survive without the modern technology?

Regards,

Ant

Ant,

I can only offer this, the opening line of the Dickens "A tail of two cities," describing England and France in the year 1775:

IT WAS the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way- in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

*****

And just when I was trying to battle out of my closely cropped period I happen upon this, from Jean-Leon Gerome, 0x15. This is enough to make a grown man cry. I am particularly drawn to these poses of children which show them at their less than chipper state. I have done more than a few of these myself.

Gerome
 

Pass the tissues, Mike! Wow!

Coming back to the original composition subject, could it be said that within a single-subject painting, we find primary compositonal elements that can and should be counted?
In the exquisite Burne-Jones drawing you so kindly posted for me, I saw the whole, and following the initial "Ahhhh" response, I saw a composition of two eyes and a muzzle (mouth and base of nose as one element) forming a gorgeous triangle.

Ant:
We are in the midst of a post-Ernesto power outtage in CT. It is a clear reminder of how dependent we have become on tech. I'm going to log off, conserve batteries and go paint!

Jeanine,

Thanks for taking the hurricane heat off us Floridians.

As I continue here, practicing without a license - I'm not sure that "counting" is the necessary exercise. In the E B-J pencil drawing, his

[quote]mechanisms to focus the viewer

Point where lines are crossed or getting close, triangles pointing and anything happening in the middle part of the composition, as opposed to the outer parts along the frame.

Ps. Thoughts about the "Golden Section".
If the compositional center of interest is placed in the center of the picture it tends to lock the focus to that point because there is no natural direction to go. The eyes have found the "true" center of interest and no need to go anywhere else!
The Golden Section is an unbalanced division that encourage the eyes to search around and in that way incorporate the whole painting in the center of interest.
The golden section is a center that is closer to the middle than to the frame.

Finally, the bus!

I dodged a couple of beer bottles, and took a peach right to the kisser, but all is well again in mudville tonight.


From The Sporting News of January 20, 1906

Casey at the Bat
by ERNEST LAWRENCE THAYER

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought if only Casey could but get a whack at that --
We'd put up even money now with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake.
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat.
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Johnnie safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place,
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped --
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.

From the benches, bleak with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm waves on a worn and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone in the stands,
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher and once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it and the umpire said, "Strike two."

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and the echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.

They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clinched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh! somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville -- mighty Casey has struck out.

How do you describe or distinguish the style of Rembrandt,Vermeer, Sargent and Bouguereau?