VIII

THE ANATOMY OF COLOR

NEWTON was the first to decompose white light by the prism and to
recompose it. By various experiments he concluded that white
light was not homogeneous but formed of seven lights, unequally
refrangible, which he called simple or primitive lights. Owing to
the difference in refrangibility they became separated in
traversing the prism.
 Newton in his experiments used daylight; but nowadays the modern
Mazda lamp also shows a continuous spectrum. In other words, it
has all the colors of the rainbow in it, although when the light
is contrasted with daylight, it appears slightly yellow, while
pigment colors do not appear quite the same under this
illumination as they do when viewed in daylight. Nevertheless,
the change is not so marked that it needs to be regarded as far
as the stage is concerned, for there the contrast need never be
made.
 There are a few simple rules pertaining to colors that every one
who has any dealing with them should understand. In pigments the
three primary colors are red, blue and yellow. From mixtures of
these the seven secondaries are obtained. But the three primary
colors of light are red, blue and green, the proper mixture of
these producing white. If one is in excess, color results.
 Objects have no color of their own. The color of an object
changes with the incidental light; it is seen by the illumination
it reflects to the eye. Thus, a red object in white light appears
red because it reflects the red rays; a red light falling on a
red object shows the color in its full value. Red or amber light
falling on a green object is absorbed and the object appears
dark.
 For the direct production of colored light in the theatre--that
is, other than by reflectors--we use either a dipped lamp or an
intervening gelatine sheet of the desired color. These gelatines
act as filters, allowing the particular ray we want to pass
through them. Hence, if we wish to obtain a blue light we use a
blue gelatine. This does not turn the white blue, but it absorbs
all the other rays except the blue. The same action characterizes
all the other colors. By this process much of the original
intensity of the light is lost. With some blue filters as much as
ninety-five per cent is absorbed.
 In many instances an understanding of these fundamentals saves
time; but I have found by experience that in the theatre the best
way to create proper values is to experiment with the materials
under the lights. This gives us a great deal of latitude in which
to make our adjustments.
 The Old Masters did not have any of the brilliant colors we have
to-day. Their colors, when scrutinized separately, appeared dull;
but they obtained brilliant effects, nevertheless, by placing
their colors in severe contrast with each other. Part of their
problem was that they had to grind their own pigments. To-day
chemists produce the colors for us, from almost as many different
chemical compositions as there are colors and shades, and grind
them better. Pure color, however, remains practically
unobtainable.
 By pure color I refer to the color itself and not the material
of which it is composed--in other words, the true color as it
appears in the solar spectrum. That which is termed blue may be
any color that looks like blue, but which contains other colors.
Hence, with the different mixtures available, it is sometimes
difficult to define color. The artist who paints the scenery uses
some of these groups. The dyes used in the materials for the
costumes belong to other groups, and the aniline in the gelatine
belongs to another. If we tried to bring all these together by
reducing them to a scientific formula, I am afraid the outcome
would be sheer conglomeration.
 In theory, all shades and tints can be made from the three
primary colors; but in practice they are not mixed this way. On
the scenic artist's palette there may be found as many as thirty
tints from which he makes mixtures, thus multiplying the already
numerous gradations.
 Many of these colors are nothing more than dyes mixed with other
bodies which act as a base or support for them. In some cases the
base is starch, which gives us two elements of an entirely
different nature, starch being a vegetable and aniline a mineral
product. Some of the other bases contain alkalis, while still
more are derivatives of acid. Thus, the colors we use are all
chemical compounds. Many are of a crystal formation of different
shapes, some being prismatic as one may see plainly through a
microscope, using polarized light. I use such an apparatus
constantly in my laboratory at the theatre.
 The subject is far too lengthy to discuss in a book of this
kind. I have touched upon it merely to show the reader how
advanced a person would have to be in the different sciences if
he or she really wished seriously to determine the color values.
The precise relationship of light and color offers a great
fascination for those who want to make a study of it; but I do
not believe that it is of any vital importance in the theatre. In
fact, if we carry it too far, it is apt to prove detrimental for
the simple reason that art cannot be reduced to a theory.
 There is such a thing as system in art; but it is only a working
theory or base from which to start. All true artists have what
they term systems; but they are creations of their own
imagination. The successful artist creates through his
imagination impressions that appeal to our imagination, but which
we ourselves are incapable of expressing.
 That is why it is so great a mistake to call David Belasco a
realist. It is a misnomer because there is no such a thing as
realism on the stage. Instead, it is the imagination with which
he clothes these exaggerations that make them appear natural to
the audience. Neither the scenic artist, the decorator, nor the
electrician furnishes this quality to him; they provide merely
the bare groundwork on which he builds his imaginative structure.
He obtains his values by using his accessories in the proper
proportions; and he fixes their relationship one to another and
one to all, so that it coincides with the text of the play and
the mood and character of the situations.
 There is no single branch of the theatre that is important in
itself. "The play's the thing"--and the accessories are important
only as they contribute toward a proper atmosphere. Theory or
engineering does not teach us this. It is acquired by experience,
coupled with imagination and a bit of common sense. To do
anything well requires diligent application and hard work, a rule
excepting no branch of theatrical art.
 There are some sure-fire lighting effects that are simple to
produce and which never fail to elicit applause from the
audience. On the other hand, some that have taken great time and
thought to evolve, seem to go unnoticed. In the former class is
the moonlight scene with the transparent drop, which shows either
houses with illuminated windows or the lights of a distant city.
Then there is the combination of moonlight, orange-colored
lanterns and a water ripple. Almost any specimen of this type of
exterior lighting makes an effective splurge. Interior settings,
no matter how well they are designed and lighted, belong to the
latter class.
 To furnish and light an interior so that it has a proper
atmosphere, requires much more skill than to produce an
effectively lighted exterior setting. Audiences do not applaud an
interior setting, but they will give a worthy attempt their
favorable comment; and this sometimes has a more lasting value
than applause accorded to an effective flash appealing solely to
the eye and showing no truly creative ability.