principles of emphasis and balance, because it distracts our attention from the main interest; and it violates the principle of rhythm, because it does not take a part in the upward-curving succession of interests that should culminate with the main "punch."
If the plane of our hero must rise from the water, and if there is to be a secondary interest in the picture, let it be something which, though really subordinate, can intensify our interest in the plane. Perhaps a clumsy old tug would serve the purpose, its smoke tracing a barrier, above which the plane soars as easily as a bird. Or perhaps a rowboat would be just as well, with a fisherman gazing spellbound at the machine that rises into the air. Either of these elements would emphasize the idea of height and danger.
The scene of the triplane in the pasture with the cows, mules, etc., might be mildly amusing. But our eyes would be taxed by its moving spots, and, since its tones would be dark or dark gray, the pupils of our eyes would become dilated, and would therefore be totally unprepared for the flash of white which follows in the next scene.
The white expanse of fleecy clouds would shock the eyes at first sight, since the approach to the subject had not been properly made; but in a moment we would be stirred by the feeling that we were really above the clouds. We would seem to have passed into a new world with floods of mist. The long stretches of white are soft as eiderdown, yet, because of our own motion, they seem like the currents of a broad river, and one can almost imagine that it were possible to steer a canoe over those rapids. All this
