Elementary Instruction in the Art of Illuminating and Missal Painting on Vellum: A Guide to Modern Illuminators

In Short

This book serves as both a technical manual and a spirited manifesto for the mid-Victorian revival of book illumination. At once a guide to mixing pigments and handling gold leaf, it also frames the practice as a "labour of love" that connects the modern student to a sacred artistic heritage. By blending practical instruction—from preparing vellum to mastering the agate burnisher—with a deep appreciation for the aesthetic grace of ancient missals, the work aims to elevate manuscript painting from a fleeting Victorian fashion into a permanent, disciplined, and spiritually rewarding endeavor.

The Story

The narrative of this guide begins with a lament for a lost era. The author posits that while the printing press dealt a "fatal and decisive blow" to the hand-painted manuscripts of the middle ages, the nineteenth century has provided a path to redemption through chromo-lithography. This technological advancement, he argues, has sparked a public hunger for the beauty of illuminated texts, a trend he seeks to steer away from mere "fashionable" whim and toward a serious, lasting engagement with the art form.

He unfolds the history of illumination not as a dry academic subject, but as a living bridge to the past. He traces the evolution of the craft from the crude, early Christian scripts on papyrus to the "exquisite perfection" achieved by masters like Giulio Clovio in the fifteenth century. By contrasting these ancient achievements with the modern potential for a new "nineteenth-century school," he sets a high bar for his readers. He encourages students to move beyond the "grotesque" and "untutored" designs of the early medieval period, advocating instead for a more refined, naturalistic approach that aligns with the sensibilities of his own time.

The progression of the book then shifts from historical context to the mechanics of the studio. The author moves through the necessary tools—the compasses, the ruling pens, and the essential "cake" colours—with the precision of a master instructor. He guides the reader through the foundational steps of copying, arguing that to become an original artist, one must first learn the grammar of the masters. He emphasizes that the student should not attempt to reinvent the wheel, but rather study the treasures hoarded in the British Museum or his own provided outlines.

As the argument deepens, the author addresses the philosophy of the craft, defending the use of "casting shadows" and "relief" against the "pedantry of modern philosophy." He argues that such techniques, while perhaps contested by purists, add a "bewitching reality" to the work. The text concludes by grounding its lofty artistic goals in the practical reality of professional life. He demonstrates how the art can be a "lucrative profession" for a "worthy class of female artists" whom he employs. Ultimately, he presents his own published series of Shakespearean illustrations and biblical texts as the culmination of his vision, inviting the reader to see these works as a way to harmonize the "fleeting thoughts" of the poet with the solid, radiant tradition of the illuminator.

How It Unfolds

The historical catalyst The text establishes the decline of illuminated painting following the invention of the printing press, framing its current revival as a necessary cultural correction. It argues that modern interest is driven by a genuine religious and aesthetic desire to reclaim a lost, high art form.

The instructional foundation The author introduces the "cake" color system as the most reliable medium for beginners, cautioning against the difficulty of moist colors or powders. He provides a detailed, color-by-color guide for handling pigments like vermilion and emerald green, emphasizing the need for patience and steady, even application.

The path to mastery The guide outlines a pedagogical progression for the student, starting with the purchase of a basic kit of tools and the use of pre-printed, lightly lithographed outlines. It encourages the shift from simple copying to original composition, while providing a rigorous warning against "gingerbread" styles and over-ornamentation.

The professional horizon The final movement connects the individual student to a broader, organized community of practitioners. By showcasing his own publishing work and the employment of professional lady artists, the author demonstrates that this "labour of love" is also a viable, modern career path.

The People

The book is driven by the voice of D. Laurent de Lara, who positions himself as a mentor and an authoritative bridge between the medieval masters and the aspiring amateur. He is pragmatic, slightly dogmatic about the superiority of cake colors, and deeply invested in the dignity of his profession. He wants to save the art of illumination from the "capricious ebb and flow of the tide of fashion" by grounding it in rigorous, classical study.

Opposing him, in a sense, are two groups: the "pedantic" modern critics who reject the use of shadows and relief in illumination, and the "uninitiated" beginners who believe they can achieve success without proper instruction or models. De Lara treats these groups with a mix of condescension and pity, viewing them as obstacles to the development of a "new school" of artistic excellence.

Standing alongside the author are the "lady artists," a group of professional pupils he champions. These women represent the realization of his goal: they have transformed a "beautiful branch of female accomplishment" into a "lucrative profession." They occupy the space between the medieval monk and the modern commercial artist, effectively executing the designs he oversees and proving that the art is neither dead nor merely a hobby.

In Its Own Voice

"The beautiful 'Art of Illuminating,' which sprang up with the early dawn of Christianity, and attained its highest perfection in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, owes its total extinction to that powerful instrument of modern civilisation, the Printing Press."

The author provides this historical context to explain the long dormancy of the art form he seeks to revive.

"Beginners should not be too ambitious; let them be, therefore, contented to copy first, before attempting original designs,--it will give them experience and method."

He offers this advice as a foundational rule for students, emphasizing the importance of discipline over raw, unguided creativity.

"Whether, in the present day, we can again produce such glowing scarlet or brilliant orange, remains a matter of doubt; but enough has been done already to make us hope that much more may be expected."

This reflection on the limitations of modern materials highlights the author's cautious optimism regarding the technical potential of his century.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book explores the intersection of tradition and modernity. It asks whether an "obsolete" medieval craft can be successfully adapted to the requirements and sensibilities of the nineteenth century without losing its soul. The argument centers on the belief that art is a "labour of love" capable of moral and intellectual elevation, provided it is guided by "conscientious artists" rather than market trends. By treating the illumination of texts as a "grammar of ornamental art," the work explores the tension between imitation and innovation. It posits that true originality is not the product of spontaneity, but the result of mastering the "classical models" of the past and applying them to contemporary subjects like Shakespeare and the Bible.

Why Read It Today

Readers who love the history of the book, Victorian material culture, or the tactile nature of analog crafts will find this volume deeply engaging. It offers a rare, intimate look at the nineteenth-century amateur’s studio, filled with the specific, often antiquated, concerns of the period—such as the proper way to burnish gold with an agate or the debate over "cake" versus "moist" pigments.

The prose is earnest and warm, reflecting a Victorian belief in the transformative power of beauty. However, the modern reader should be prepared for the author's strong, occasionally condescending opinions, particularly regarding "grotesque" medieval monsters or the "unlucky purchaser" of inferior art supplies. The book’s structure is also reflective of its time, shifting abruptly from artistic philosophy to lists of color manufacturers and subscription fees for circulating libraries.

What stays with you is the author’s genuine, infectious desire to connect the domestic sphere of the nineteenth-century parlor to the grand, silent cathedrals of medieval manuscript production. It captures a moment when technology—the lithographic press—was used not to replace the handmade, but to invite the public into the quiet, patient discipline of the artist's hand. It is an honest, unvarnished portrait of a man trying to build a bridge across centuries.