WITHOUT ARTISTS THERE WOULD BE NO HISTORY TO REMEMBER AND TO TALK ABOUT TODAY

As an organization with the special purpose of encouraging people to acquire an enhanced appreciation of nature, we are frequently asked "What is naturalistic art" and "What, then, is the purpose of adding an image of nature when we are already in full enjoyment of it?" Good questions.

In answer to the first question we offer an explanation by a distinguished art historian in the essay below.

In answer to the second question we believe that for a variety of reasons most of us no longer interact with nature and therefore lack a full enjoyment of it. Too frequently our unfamiliarity allows destructive behaviors that not only place in peril 'those other critters' who inhabit our planet, but ourselves as well. You should view Naturalism in Art, Beginnings to the Present a pictorial guide as well.

George Jakobi, President, The Good Tern Foundation

Fritz Novotny. "Naturalism in Art," in New Dictionary of the History of
Ideas by Maryanne Cline Horowitz (editor) C 2003. Republished with
permission of the Gale Group, Stamford, CT.

NATURALISM IN ART
By Fritz Novotny

Taken in a historical sense, "naturalism in art" designates certain fairly obvious features to be met with in the fine arts and in the literature of various periods. In ordinary usage, as found in dictionary definitions, "naturalism" denotes a theory or doctrine of art that specifies "conformity to nature" as the primary criterion of a work of art. The trouble with all such general definitions is that they are too vague: "conformity with nature's external appearances" would be more exact.

Another vagueness is the way "naturalism" is used interchangeably with "realism," especially in French and Italian. (In art history neither term has much of a connection with philosophers' usage of the same terms.) In modern German, this vagueness is somewhat mitigated using "realism" for the more general meaning of any sort of fidelity to nature--including the subject matter of works of art--reserving "naturalism" for works in which "realism" is carried to extreme, for example, in the treatment of detail. In German, Verismus (from the Italian verismo) denotes a still more extreme fidelity to the actual appearance of the subject as found in nature.

Obviously, without a more exact definition, the term is of limited value; it has advantages as well as disadvantages. The principal value of "naturalistic" as a cursory description of a work of art is that it evokes comparisons with some model in nature. So far as it goes, this usage offers a useful basis for comparison, though it is a purely quantitative one. The trouble is, no one can state clearly where the presumed "closeness to nature" exactly begins or ends. In extreme cases, there is no argument, but within these rather wide limits (of exact fidelity to and unmistakable departure from the model in nature), "naturalistic" suffers the same shortcomings as all designations of quantity or degree. Moreover, it is possible to make a rough yet decisive distinction between a partial naturalism that refers only to portions of a representation, and a thoroughgoing or total naturalism. This total naturalism, in contrast to partial naturalism, includes the principal elements of visual reality, such as the illusionist treatment of space (whether linear or aerial perspective) and of light. Therefore total naturalism does not appear until relatively late in the history of painting, whereas a partial naturalism can be found in so-called "pre-perspective" representations, as for example, in ancient Egyptian and Assyrian relief's. It is clear that it is possible to single out certain comparatively naturalistic features. We find greater or lesser care in rendering anatomy and physiognomy, the structure, surfaces, and textures of living and inanimate things alike. "Partial" naturalism is far commoner in the history of art than "total" naturalism. The latter appears to be a very late development within any artistic tradition.

So much, then, for the relatively short history of the term's usage. We have now to go on to the much lengthier and more involved matter of what the term designates, whether within a given artistic period, a given style, a given artistic genre, or a given single work of art. This must lead to the question of where "naturalism" stands in relation to other artistic elements.

One of the most striking observations to be made, even in the most cursory survey, is how often naturalism turns up cheek-by-jowl with other artistic practices, even of the seemingly most unrelated or opposed sorts. We have already mentioned Egyptian and Assyrian reliefs. In them, the naturalism or closeness to nature, is in the treatment of the figures, whereas everything else, including their overall rhythmic organization, derives entirely from other sources or traditions. The figures are set in the void, and there is no equivalent striving for perceptual accuracy anywhere else in these works. We find something very similar in the art of the late Middle Ages in Europe, as for example in the manuscript illustrations of ca. 1400, as well as in the painting from the Van Eycks. Here the richest naturalism in the treatment of visual detail is combined with age-old obedience to general principles of symmetry and compositional organization profoundly at odds with naturalism; although to some extent a nascent concern for perspective begins to make itself felt.

Perhaps the next most important effort at a strict naturalism occurs in the portraits of Hans Holbein the Younger. Here, too, painstaking naturalism in the representation of the human body--as well as of inanimate objects--is linked with compositional schemes of an entirely different inspiration; yet the gulf between the two grows narrower. At least where the pictorial scene represents rooms within houses, the perspective employed is closer to our habitual ways of seeing.

In naturalism of the baroque era, the compositional scheme is altered to accommodate lifelike, true-to-nature figures and details. We see this in Caravaggio, who also contributes a new element to the "naturalistic" repertory: the representation of light and dark. By and large, however, baroque painting as a whole is not characterized by so extreme a pursuit of naturalistic effects. Another example is the art of Vermeer van Delft. What is so special about Vermeer's naturalism, as also about Caravaggio's, is the way fresh attention to light as found in nature leads to further modifications of the general compositional scheme, within which the naturalistic elements seem more at home than in the Netherlandish primitives or in the Renaissance masters. The secret of this mode of composition is its adaptability to perspective as perceived in nature. Vermeer's naturalism could almost be called a "total" (rather than a "partial") naturalism, were it not for the extraordinary stillness and splendor of his predominant forms.

Like the older modes of composition that survived down to the Middle Ages and into the Renaissance, Vermeer's naturalism has its source in a kind of creative aim other than in a mere striving for fidelity to nature in the individual figure. And there is something more, the peculiar contribution to the baroque: painterly illusionism. The latter will be discussed below, in reference to the sort of baroque naturalism most importantly represented by Velázquez and Frans Hals.

We encounter much the same combination of naturalism, in the treatment of certain details and certain forms, with an essentially antithetical ("idealistic") structure, in some classicist works of the late eighteenth century in France. One of the most striking of these is Jacques-Louis David's Death of Marat, the whole point of which lies in its attempted synthesis of naturalistic detail with a grander sort of formal conception. This work influenced artists for a long time and produced important results, above all, in French painting, e.g., Géricault's Raft of the "Medusa" and the work of Ingres. The few examples we give here--it being understood that in some cases one great name stands for a group--show how a naturalism of detail was subordinated to a conception of pictorial form, and how the two were more or less fully and adequately blended.

In the treatment of landscape and human figure in the romantic movement of the early nineteenth century, the attempted synthesis was often successful, especially in the landscapes of Caspar David Friedrich and Ferdinand Olivier. Their assiduous pursuit of naturalism proved not incompatible with the "idealistic" character of their approach to the subject.

At the same time, however, such success as was achieved along this line was destined not to be perpetuated indefinitely. In particular, the relationship between the general composition and "partial" naturalism began to change, and the moment of balance passed. The successful synthesis lasted longer, however, in the explicitly naturalistic landscape painting of the Biedermeier period, one of the high points in nineteenth-century naturalism in art. The most striking examples are the landscapes and townscapes by Waldmüller and Rudolf von Alt in Austria, Eduard Gärtner's cityscapes in Germany, and the landscapes by Wilhelm Eckersberg and Christen Købke in Denmark.

In Biedermeier genre painting, on the other hand, a considerable conventionalism becomes apparent in the composition, as also in the historical painting around mid-century. The artistic unity of the pictorial whole appears most clearly threatened, however, wherever naturalism is put at the service of a programmatically "idealistic" figurative painting, e.g., in the art of an Anselm Feuerbach. This development occurred concomitantly with the growing importance of realism and naturalism in the arts, at the expense of such more "intellectual," perhaps even idealistic "intellectual" painting as that of the Pre-Raphaelites and the first stirrings of "Jugendstil" (Art Nouveau) Such movements represented a reaction to naturalism: a more symbolic treatment of nature and history, a new formalism in composition. The art of Fernand Khnopff supplies an especially revealing case in point.

Gradually a basic antagonism was beginning to take shape between naturalistic modes of representation and a new attention to the super- or extra-natural

properties of a subject, an antagonism that had not arisen at earlier stages in the history of art. Occasionally in the painting of the second half of the nineteenth century, there are to be found individual instances of an unmistakable, seemingly naive, yet amazingly vigorous naturalism of the older, more poised variety, especially evident in Wilhelm Libel's works (those of his so-called "Holbein period") and in works by Edgar Degas and Adolf Menzel.

Throughout the nineteenth century, however, a type of naturalism makes its appearance in painting that can hardly be mentioned in the same breath with what we have been describing so far. This is what has come to be known as impressionism, i.e., a painterly illusionism that turns up in very different forms and in very different degrees. Its earliest, "classical" manifestation is found in the art of Constable and Corot (again, we are letting single names stand for larger groups), and its final stages extend well beyond the impressionist movement proper into the twentieth century. It will not do to speak of "illusionistic naturalism," however, for the naturalism we have so far mentioned is also quite illusionistic, and intended to be so. The difference is that the new illusionism is characterized by a loosening of pictorial forms, and so is illusionistic in a twofold sense, in two layers, so to speak. The mode of representation with compact, closed forms and lightly modeled bodies of course implies a certain negation, an attempt to make us forget the picture plane, whereas in the more "open" treatment with the brush-strokes showing, a further process of optical projection is added; the viewer is expected continuously to combine the tiny "microstructures" into an illusion of bodies and space. Here we cannot, of course, go into much detail, but the difference can also be defined as that between a relatively simple or naïve illusionism, corresponding to the way we actually see the world around us, and a more complicated illusionism. This is not intended to be taken as a value judgment; only insofar as nineteenth-century impressionism represents the most radical type of illusionism does it have historical validity. In principle, naturalistic illusionism has a long history, the main stages are to be found in late antique art, progressively diminishing in the painting of the early Middle Ages and then, after a long interruption, emerging in the centuries of baroque painting.

At the same time, ever since the classical age and continuing down through the Middle Ages, there had been a non-naturalistic, "idealistic" strain in Western art, which had no room for individuality as such, due either to obedience to religion or to theological preoccupations with the cosmos, the "whole." Even after the late Middle Ages, when Western art became increasingly concerned with individual things as such and with the external appearance of nature for their own sakes, so that what we have called "partial" naturalism began to come to the fore, the ultimately transcendental strain in Christian thought still held sway, by no means to the detriment of creativity. Only with the development of a "total" naturalism in the course of the nineteenth century was Western art at last secularized, and antagonism expressed in quarrels between "idealists" and "realists"--ultimately between "idealists" and "naturalists." And yet the "profane" (as opposed to the "divine") view of the world, the "earthly" sort of naturalism, held its own for a comparatively short time only. It soon gave rise to a worldly view that subordinated individual man and particular nonhuman phenomena to general laws. And recently, when a type of naturalism once again appeared on the scene, namely the surrealist art of our century, it was again a "partial" naturalism, this time bound within the limits of the spheres of fantasy.

The foregoing rapid survey of naturalism's ups and downs in the evolution of art--of European art, for there is no parallel current in the art of extra-European cultures--has told us next to nothing about the essence of naturalism in art, nor about its function in the process of artistic creation. All we have done is to view it externally, noting that it reached a sort of culmination in all the arts in the course of the nineteenth century beyond anything hitherto seen. The nineteenth century was "realistic" and "naturalistic" par excellence.

Accordingly it is reasonable to suppose that we shall get at what is essential in naturalism most readily by concentrating on nineteenth-century art and theories of art. Looking back over the long conflict between the antithetic ideologies of idealism and naturalism-- irresolvable because involving basic differences concerning the nature of creative activity--we can see that idealism (taking this term in its broadest sense) has kept its dominant position, whereas naturalism has been put on the defensive. Nonetheless, it has to be pointed out that most of modern Western art's significant achievements were conceived of as being "on the side of" naturalism, that is, enlisted under its banner .Realism and naturalism forged ahead in all the arts in self-conscious opposition to whatever was the prevailing "idealistic" art, penetrating first neo-classicism, then romanticism. It is instructive to examine the record here, to discover just how this state of affairs came about. During the so-called Age of Enlightenment, the era of Winckelmann, Lessing, Kant, Schiller, and Goethe, more firmly constructed theories of art were produced than any that had been attempted since the Renaissance. These theories gave explicit recognition to the autonomy of art as a human activity. As never before, attention was drawn to creative capacities as such in this particular sphere, and to actual works of art explicitly distinguished from the world of reality. In its expression, however, this insight was greatly influenced by the prevailing neo-classicism of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, a rather simplifying aesthetic program. In reaction to it, champions of naturalism could attempt only an even simpler program, following the slogan "be true to nature," "be true to life." However, this implies that the ultimate or essential source of creativity lies in the artist's experience with nature. Thus the program of the naturalists was much less pretentious and more primitive than that of their adversaries.

One among many passages that might be cited is Corot s argument: In painting, the art comes to no more than the representation of those objects that the artist himself sees and touches..[I also take the line that painting is essentially a concrete art; there is no more to it than the representation of real, actually existing things"). This down-to-earth, plain man's attitude is not so remote as then seemed from the classical philosophic conception of mimesis or imitation of nature--a conception that antedates all subsequent reflection on the visual arts. A number of nineteenth-century thinkers--Schopenhauer, among others--were not overwhelmed by this sort of "strict realism," which Plato had long since questioned. The question arose: What, then, is the purpose of adding an image of nature or reality to what we are already in full enjoyment of? As Panofsky pointed out, the theory of art now reached an antinomy: aesthetics was at loggerheads with itself. Throughout the nineteenth century, the long controversy was softened by remembering how the thinkers of the Enlightenment had assured artists of "being on their own," and in the late nineteenth century theories of art were formulated by Konrad Fiedler and Alois Riegl who stressed the artist's specific functions with respect to imagination and formal structure. However, theoretical justifications of this type are as valid for one kind of work of art as another: the naturalistic vision is merely one kind of vision, naturalistic art merely an art "like any other."

At present we can view nineteenth-century naturalism in perspective, so that it is possible to look at the works themselves and ask just what sets them off from the other kinds of art; in just what does their particular contribution consist. Let us assume, not unreasonably, that the true criteria of a work of art lie in its basic conception, in its overall construction, in a Kunstwollen (as Riegl put it) on the part of the working artist.

On the basis of such criteria, however, how can the extreme naturalistic work hope to rate very high? In a really thoroughgoing piece of naturalism, what room is left for the artist's ordering will, in any truly creative sense? Applying such criteria we are confronted with the question: Is naturalism just indifferent to the more inventive aspects of art, or is it actively hostile to them? Following this line of reflection, we may perhaps reduce all such questions to one: What makes an extreme naturalistic work, presented as such, a full-fledged work of art "despite everything"? Here we might recall Théophile Gautier's famous exclamation when he stood in front of that great picture, Velázquez's Las Meninas, one of the masterpieces of naturalism: Où est donc le tableau? ("But where's the picture?") In relation to the above questions, his exclamation must be regarded as a criticism.

Needless to say, there is an answer to the question: What makes a naturalistic work a work of art? Why, its quality, of course! There is a good deal of truth in this, but also a  certain glibness: as is well known, "quality" evades precise definition. It is not the ultimate answer; in any case not a full one. Moreover, though the discrimination of quality is fundamental in all art appreciation, it is not a discrimination that sheds much light upon naturalistic works as opposed to other kinds of work: some abstract or fantastic works, for example, are also incontestably better than others in the same category. Obviously, to grasp the specific character of naturalistic art, we have to descend from the theoretical heights to the actual works themselves.

Paintings like the Laughing Cavalier by Frans Hals (1624) in the Wallace Collection, London, and Wilhelm Leibl's Three Women in Church (1878-82) in the Hamburg Kunsthalle are of remarkable artistic intensity and stand out as leading examples of pictorial naturalism. At first glance they look about even on the score of attention to external physical appearances--logically speaking, all outspokenly naturalistic works should be at the same level--yet closer examination reveals basic differences.

Seemingly, in its entirety as in every single one of its parts, Leibl's picture exhibits a masterly attention to detail, a "literalness" in the rendering of substances and surfaces, without the slightest lapse into a painterly technique, which attracts the viewers' attention. In his main works of this period Leibl was consciously going back to such a model of late-medieval, Netherlandish naturalism as well as Holbein. The Hals portrait shows the same type of naturalism especially in the rendering of the head, but in other parts, especially the clothing, he had recourse to an "indirect" naturalism of the more painterly, illusionistic sort. The difference is most apparent when the two works are viewed up close; stand back a bit from the Hals treatment of the clothing blends perfectly with that of the head. (In his early group paintings, above all the two officer's banquets of 1627, Hals had employed the "illusionistic" technique throughout with virtuoso skill to create a breathtaking "lifelike" effect. His other technique, for achieving a more "direct" sort of naturalism is much rarer in the works by him that have come down to us; the face of the Laughing Cavalier is the most notable example of it.)

As for the compositional elements of these two pictures that prove decisive from the strictly formal point f view, one of these is quite obvious. Both pictures are very emphatically composed to contrast figures portrayed in depth against an absolutely flat back- round. The contrast may be a trifle less marked in the Hals portrait simply because the motif is a less complex one. Nonetheless, the cavalier's pose is so aggressively striking that it is quite as effective compositionally as the arrangement of three figures in Leibl's painting. Though more complex, the latter is easy to grasp, and we are in no doubt about the careful planning that went into it (one painted sketch survives, as evidence of this point, though only two of the figures appear in it). There are any number of carefully though-out parallels, interlocking, and other interrelationships in the way the rather constricted picture space has been filled; for example, the curves at the ends of the pew reflect curves in the female figures--especially the figure in the middle, or the way the three figures gradually turn their bodies towards us, accentuating the development in depth. At the same time there is one departure from correct perspective, as has frequently been pointed out. The figure of the young peasant woman in the foreground is disproportionately large, especially her hands in relation to her face. It is hardly surprising that a representation of such fidelity to natural models should be criticized for something less than accuracy on the score of perspective.

This might then be the appropriate place to ask: Just how is the naturalistic accuracy here related to the overall artistic effect? The painter himself does not seem to have been bothered by the exaggerated size of the one figure nor by the inaccuracy of the perspective'. A little later, when he painted the group of figures entitled "Poachers" he was so dissatisfied that he cut up the picture into individual portraits. The latter-day viewer is not disturbed by these inaccuracies, either; they do not detract from his experience of the picture as a work of art. Rather he accepts them as part of the distortions of any close-up view, which here actually enhance the effect of depth. Thus, in this composition based on large silhouettes, the role of the formal pattern, i.e., one purely artistic element of form, is perfectly clear. Furthermore it is quite strong enough to suffice of itself to make this picture a work of art. And yet there still remains the question raised earlier, which we have not yet an- answered: What is the role of the "microstructures" in such a work; how do they contribute to the overall pictorial naturalism? This is by no means easy to say, because where all the details are rendered with all but "photographic" precision, the carefully painted detail work is swallowed up in the total effect.

Here we should note the difference of the Leibl from the key passage in the Hals portrait, where unprecedented impressionistic technique is so conspicuously at odds with the more traditional illusionistic naturalism. The Leibl is so remarkable for the way the intellectual ordering power of the picture as a whole is combined with something like a higher power in the capturing of visual detail. The result ought not to be so perfectly homogeneous, but it is. (It is pertinent here to recall the somewhat different example of David's Death of Marat. The clarity is classic--a clarity beyond that of classicist painting generally, much less cold and bloodless, much more vivid. But beyond the clarity there is a naturalism of detail which, because less literal than Leibl's, demands less in the way of explanation to account for the picture's perfection. Ingres' so-called "classicist naturalism" ought also to be evoked in this connection.) More to the point notice in the Leibl picture that one area is much more stylistically rendered than the rest: the peasant girl's apron, especially the folds and pleats at the bottom.

You nearly always find especially carefully worked out details of this sort in German painting of the Renaissance period--in Dürer and Holbein, most notably. The point may be trifling, but let us focus on it; it may help us eventually to get down to the matter of even less conspicuous details of brushwork, namely, the differences, however, "trifling," which do in fact turn up on more or less microscopic examination. Is it, in fact, a leading trait or characteristic of naturalistic art that quantitative, mathematical consistency really has nothing to do with it, because artistically speaking, really tiny things do not exist in naturalistic painting, or, at least, that in naturalistic art such matters are not to be judged by the usual standards?

Perhaps this is one of the solutions to the question. In all naturalistic art this microstructure, which influences the character of the painting as a work of art, is something specifically unnaturalistic. From this point of view naturalistic works of art would be works of art like any others, except insofar as they persuade us to search out tiny deviations or departures from their models in nature. Yet trying to grasp the artistic content of a naturalistic work solely by isolating what is not naturalistic in it must surely be unsatisfactory. No doubt naturalistic works of art project "ideal" values, whether in terms of symbolic significance or mere mood, but neither individual oeuvres nor the art of such an epoch as, for example, seventeenth-century Holland (as Seymour Silve has pointed out) would be well served by such an approach. Something remains to be said about what inspires the creation of naturalistic works. In various periods of artistic development, inner vision was variably combined with the power of perception. This power of perception need not be a dominant element of creativity; however it would be arbitrary and one-sided to ignore it. Where a naturalistic work is concerned, we should never ignore the experience of nature in the life of the artist, which the picture revives. The

important thing, perhaps, is not so much the more or less exact reproduction of nature, but the artist's capacity for making us share his experience with him.

To mention another famous case in point, consider Brueghel's winter landscape with hunters trudging through the snow (1565), in the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna. It is only naturalistic, really, in comparison with all other landscape paintings of the sixteenth century, but it is naturalistic in details like the black blackbird against the winter twilight sky and the snow-covered hills. It is also "naturalistic" in that formal analysis alone cannot do justice to it; some remotely comparable experience has to be brought to it.

What has made it so hard to be fair to naturalistic art is this: that in it the material or content always threatens to overpower our sense of the artist's mastery of it. Ought not the painter to do something utterly un- or non-naturalistic, give us lessons in drawing, color, and composition? Naturalistic works of art seemingly or actually distract attention from the artistic accomplishment as such; but surely, so to distract us, the artist must have managed some especially subtle or skillful reshuffling between what we think of as the "materials of art" and their "spiritualization." Great naturalistic works are perhaps the most mysterious of all.

In conclusion, we may attempt to give answers in defense of naturalism to some questions raised earlier. Is the naturalistic work somehow of a lower rank than other kinds of art? No, and certainly not necessarily. Where are we to look, in naturalistic works, for the traditional criteria of a work of art? Well, by the way they have been hidden away, or the viewer's eye distracted from them. Does the artist's tendency to naturalism impair his own imagination and his other creative qualities or has it no bearing on them? The latter, surely, not the former; indeed, it has been claimed that there is no such thing as naturalism in art; naturalism can go too far, as in excessive pursuit of the trompe-l'oeil, but then so can every kind of art.

And one last question, the one that sums up all others: How can an explicitly, extremely naturalistic work nevertheless be a work of art in the full sense of the term? The answers to the preceding questions may have provided at least the beginning of an explanation.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

     Rudolf Arnheim, Art and Visual Perception: A Psychology of the Creative Eye (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1954; 1960)

     Johannes Dobai, Die Kunsttheorien des 18. Johrhunderts in England (Vienna, in print).

      Max Dvorák, Idealismus und Naturalismus in der gotischen Skulptur und Malerei  (Munich and Berlin, 1918).

      K. Fiedler, Gesammelte Schriften über Kunst (Leipzig, 1896; 1971).

     Hanns-Conon von der Gabelentz-Altenburg, "Zum Begriff `Naturalismus' in der bildenden Kunst, Versuch einer Klärung," in Anschauung und Deutung--Willy Kurth zum 80. Geburtstag (Berlin, 1964).

     Etienne Gilson, The A. W. Mellon Lectures in Fine Arts (1955), Painting and Reality, 2nd ed. (London and Princeton, 1957).

     Ernst Gombrich, Art and Illusion: A Study in the Psychology of Pictorial Representation (New York, 1960).

     René Huyghe, Dialogue avecle visible (Paris, 1955).

     Ernst Kris and Otto Kurz, Die Legende vom Künstler: Ein geschichtlicher Versuch (Vienna,1934).

     Erwin Panofsky, Idea. Ein Beitrag zur Begriffsgeschichte der älteren Kunsttheorie. Studien der BibliothekWarburg, Vol. 5 (Berlin, 1924); trans. Joseph Peake as Idea:A Concept in Art Theory (Los Angeles, 1968).

     Alois Riegl, Die spätrömische Kunstindustrie (Vienna, 1901; 1927); idem, Stilfragen (Berlin, 1893).

     Georg Schmidt, "Naturalismus und Realismus. Ein Beitrag zur kunstgeschichtlichen Begriffsbildung," Festschrift für Martin Heidegger zum siebzigstenGeburstag (Pfullingen, 1959).

     Seymour Slive, "Realism and Symbolism in Seventeenth-Century Dutch Painting," Daedalus, 91, 3 (Summer, 1962).

     Franz Wickhoff, DieWiener Genesis (Vienna, 1895). Heinrich Wölfflin, Kunst- geschichtliche Grundbegriffe. Das Problem der Stilentwicklung in der neueren Kunst (Munich, 1925); trans. as Principles of Art History, The Problem of the Development of Style in Later Art (reprint Gloucester, Mass., no date).

Fritz Novotny (b. Vienna 1903 -d.1983), Art Historian.
Athor of Painting and Sculpture in Europe, 1780 to 1880, London, 1971
and numerous scholarly articles including "Naturalism in Art", in The Dictionary of the History of Ideas.

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