does the seated woman bury her head in the ferns? They do not actually, of course, carry on thus hilariously; but some one has carelessly coaxed the background into the foreground by making remote objects intensely distinct, instead of subduing them into the soft values of distance.
But we have dwelt so long on the subject of balance in design that we fear the reader may think we have over-emphasized the point. No one quality in pictorial composition should be out of balance with the others. Thus, too sharp an emphasis may violate balance, and too perfect a balance may violate rhythm. After all, the kind of balance we desire in pictorial design is that which is sufficient, but no more. We do not, as a rule, enjoy the mathematical figure of the equilateral triangle, standing heavily on its base, because it is balanced beyond the need of any living thing. It suggests the dead repose of the pyramids of Egypt, the tombs of her forgotten kings. Such a severe design is utterly unsuitable, therefore, in the portrait of a lithe young lady clad in silks and tulle, as illustrated in the "still" facing page 61. It is flat and hard, and the eye following forever its monotonous outlines misses the variety of rhythm. Yet a triangle, you say, serves the purpose of unity and emphasis. Alter it then by making it narrower, with a less obvious base, and by swinging a live rhythm into its sides, as in the painting of "Mme. Lebrun and Her Daughter," facing this page.
But this brings us to a discussion of the mysterious quality of rhythm. Rhythm is entirely too evasive for a tight definition, but perhaps we can learn much by saying things about it.
