Cinematographic annual : 1930 (1930)

26 CINEMATOGRAPHIC ANNUAL picture are absolutely lacking in luminosity, harsh contrasts will result. The handling of the shadows probably requires the greatest skill. Composition A sense of composition is a peculiar natural gift. It may be defined, simply, as an individual taste for arrangement. This taste is exhibited in most every one, from the arrangement of articles on a desk or the housewife's placing of furniture or hanging draperies, to the finer elements in a work of art. But, certainly, this talent may be developed to a high degree by a careful study of accepted rules. Let us be reminded, again, that these rules are merely the result of a classified study of striking effects in the works of the masters of art. In discussing the subject of composition, we recall to mind, very vividly, an essay on composition by Edgar Allen Poe; and although it is devoted to illustrating the design of a poem or story, it is a beautiful example of how the mind may be trained in assembling the elements of any form of art. This subject, alone, is so extensive that the mere contemplation of it is enough to convince the aspiring cinematographer that his program of study is a severe one. Nor is this all that the cinematographer must know. Let us add, to the foregoing requirements, one of the most complicated branches of chemistry; the problems of color which has been introduced by the use of panchromatic film; the modification of the long used systems of lighting, necessitated by the adoption of incandescent lights in conjunction with the panchromatic film, this same change being also one of the requirements in the proper lighting of the so-called natural color photography; the very diversified field of "trick photography," miniature and process work; then may we begin to measure the responsibility of the cinematographer. Now, when we review all that we have here discussed, we are impressed by the proof of a very dignified matriculation; yet all this does not confirm the claims to art. We now approach the consideration of a somewhat awesome attribute, — a distinct characteristic that artists have zealously and jealously fostered in the mind. We allude to that something which they inject into their work which distinguishes it from the products of merely technical expedients, — an innate motivation for all they do. They call this feeling. After the artist's work is done, with all the technical elements satisfactorily assembled, he still "feels" that there is something lacking. The painter, before his canvas, squints, with half closed eyes; retires and views it from a distance and various angles and different lighting conditions. He studies it with a dreamy, searching vision. He approaches it with a sudden inspiration and resumes his work with feverish interest, — a little atmospheric softening here, an impulsive splash of color there, the deepening of shadow, subduing a highlight; all of which he knows not why, — perchance it violates all the rules of his curriculum, but he "feels" it must be so. The savants view his work and they, being schooled in the phraseology, say it has "feeling". There is something in it that veils all of the academic