An overview of Turner's colour

 Taken  generally,  the  chief  characteristics  of  Turner's  colour, whether  in  drawings  or  paintings, considered  only  with  respect  to  truth,  and without reference to composition or beauty, of which at present we can take no cognizance, are those above pointed out, which we shall briefly recapitulate. 

1.  Prevalence,  variety,  value,  and  exquisite  composition  of  greys.  The grey tones are, in the drawings especially, the most wonderful as  well  as  the  most  valuable  portions  of  the  whole  picture.

Some of the very first-rate drawings are merely harmonies of different kinds of grey: Long Ships lighthouse, Land's End, for instance. Several appear to have been drawn entirely with modulated  greys  first,  and  then  sparingly  heightened  with colour  on  the  lights;  but  whatever  the  subject,  and  however brilliant the effect, the grey tones are the foundation of all its beauty.

2. Refinement, delicacy, and uncertainty in all colours whatsoever. Positive colour is,  as  I  before  said,  the  rarest  thing  imaginable  in  Turner's  works,  and  the  exquisite refinement  with  which  variety  of  hue  is  carried  into  his  feeblest  tints  is  altogether unparalled in art. The drawing of Colchester, in the England series, is an example of this delicacy and fulness of tint together, with which nothing but nature can be compared. But I have before me while I write a drawing of the most vigorous and powerful colour, with concentrated aërial blue opposed to orange and crimson. I should have fancied at a little distance, that a cake of ultramarine had been used pure upon it. But, when I look close, I discover that all which looks blue in effect is in reality a changeful grey, with black  and  green  in  it,  and  blue  tones  breaking  through  here  and  there  more  or  less decisively, but without one grain or touch of pure blue in the whole picture, except on a figure in the foreground, nor one grain nor touch of any colour whatsoever, of which it is possible to say what it is, or how many are united in it. Such will invariably be found the case, even with the most brilliant and daring of Turner's systems of colour. 

3. Dislike of purple, and fondness for opposition of yellow and black, or clear blue and white.

4. Entire subjection of the whole system of colour to that of chiaroscuro. I have not before noticed this, because I wished to show how true and faithful Turner's  colour  is,  as  such,  without  reference  to  any  associated principles. But the perfection and consummation of its truth rests in  its subordination to light and shade...

Nature's yellow and black

I think nature mixes yellow with almost every one of  her  hues,  never,  or  very  rarely,  using  red without  it,  but  frequently  using  yellow  with scarcely  and  red;  and  I  believe  it  will  be  in consequence found that her favourite opposition, that which generally characterizes and gives tone to  her  colour,  is  yellow  and  black,  passing,  as  it  retires,  into white and blue. It is beyond dispute that the great fundamental opposition  of  Rubens  is  yellow  and  black;  and,  that  on  this, concentrated in one part of the picture, and modified in various greys  throughout,  chiefly  depend  the  tones  of  all  his  finest works. And in Titian, though there is a far greater tendency to the purple than in Rubens, I believe no red is ever mixed with the
pure  blue,  or  glazed  over  it, which  has  not  in  it  a  modifying quantity  of  yellow.

The infinite and unapproachable variety of Nature

And I wish to insist on this the more particularly, because it is one of the eternal principles of nature, that she will not have one  line  or  colour,  nor  one  portion  or  atom  of space, without a change in it. There is not one of her shadows, tints, or lines that is not in a state of perpetual variation: I do not mean in time, but in space. There is not a leaf in the world which has the same colour visible over  its  whole  surface;  it  has  a  white  high  light somewhere; and in proportion as it curves to or from that focus, the colour is brighter or greyer. Pick up a common flint from the roadside, and count, if you can, its changes and hues of colour. Every  bit  of  bare  ground  under  your  feet  has  in  it  a  thousand such; the grey pebbles, the warm ochre, the green of incipient vegetation, the greys and blacks of its reflexes and shadows, might keep a painter at work for a month, if he were obliged to follow them touch for touch:  how  much  more  when  the  same  infinity  of  change  is carried out  with vastness of object and space. The extreme of distance may   appear  at   first   monotonous;   but   the   least examination will show it to be full of every kind of change; that its outlines are perpetually melting and appearing again, sharp here, vague there,now lost altogether, now just hinted and still confused  among  each  other;  and  so  for  ever  in  a  state  and necessity  of  change. Hence,  wherever  in  a  painting  we  have unvaried  colour  extended  even  over  a  small  space,  there  is falsehood. Nothing can be natural which is monotonous; nothing  true which only tells one story.

The basis of grey under all of Turner's vivid hues

Throughout the works of Turner, the same truthful principle of delicate and subdued colour is carried out with a care  and  labour  of  which  it  is  difficult  to  form  a conception.  He  gives  a  dash  of  pure  white  for  his highest light; but all the other whites of his picture are  pearled  down  with  grey  or  gold.  He  gives  a  fold  of  pure crimson  to  the  drapery  of  his  nearest  figure,  but  all  his  other crimsons will be deepened with black, or warmed with yellow. In one deep reflection of his distant sea, we catch a trace of the purest  blue,  but  all  the  rest  is  palpitating  with  a  varied  and delicate gradation of harmonized tint, which indeed looks vivid blue  as  a  mass,  but  is  only  so  by  opposition.  It  is  the  most difficult,  the  most  rare  thing,  to  find  in  his  works  a  definite space, however small, of unconnected colour; that is, either of a blue which has nothing to connect it with the warmth, or of a warm colour, which has nothing to connect it with the greys of the whole; and the result is, that there is a general system and under-current of grey pervading the whole of his colour, out of which his highest lights, and those local touches of pure colour, which are, as I said before, the keynotes of the picture, flash with the peculiar brilliancy and intensity in which he stands alone.

Nature discrepancy between the attainable brilliancy of colour and light

It is to be observed, however, in  general, that  wherever in brilliant  effects  of  this  kind,  we  approach  to
anything like a true statement of nature's colour, there  must  yet  be  a  distinct  difference  in  the impression   we   convey,   because   we   cannot approach her light. All such hues are usually given by  her  with  an  accompanying  intensity  of  sunbeams  which dazzles  and  overpowers  the  eye,  so  that  it cannot  rest  on  the actual colour, nor understand what they are; and hence in art, in rendering  all  effects  of  this  kind,  there  must  be  a  want  of  the ideas of imitation, which are the great source of enjoyment to the ordinary observer; because we can only give one series of truths, those of colour, and are unable to give the accompanying truths of  light;  so  that  the  more  true  we  are  in  colour,  the  greater, ordinarily, will be the discrepancy felt between the intensity of  hue and the feebleness of light.

But the painter who really loves nature  will  not,  on  this  account,  give  you  a  faded  and  feeble image, which indeed may appear to you to be right, because your feelings  can  detect  no  discrepancy  in  its  parts,  but  which  he knows   to   derive   its   apparent   truth   from   a   systematized falsehood.  No;  he  will  make  you  understand  and  feel  that  art cannot  imitate  nature;  that  where  it  appears  to  do  so,  it  must malign her and mock her. He will give you, or state to you, such truths as are in his power, completely and perfectly; and those which he cannot give, he will leave to your imagination. If you are acquainted with nature, you will know all he has given to be true, and you will supply from your memory and from your heart that  light  which  he  cannot  give.  If  you  are  unacquainted  with nature, seek elsewhere for whatever may happen to satisfy your feelings;  but  do  not  ask  for  the  truth  which  you  would  not acknowledge and could not enjoy.

MP I, p. 289

Tone and climate

"...for  wherever  climate changes, tone changes, and the climate changes with every 200 feet of elevation, so that the upper clouds are always different in tone from the lower ones; these from the rest of the landscape, and  in  all  probability,  some  part  of  the  horizon  from  the  rest. And  when  nature  allows  this  in  a  high  degree,  as  in  her  most gorgeous effects she always will, she does not herself impress at  once with intensity of tone, as in the deep and quiet yellows of a July  evening,  but  rather  with  the  magnificence  and  variety  of associated colour, in which, if we give time and attention to it, we shall gradually find the solemnity  and the depth of twenty tones instead of one. Now, in Turner's power of associating cold with warm light no one has ever approached or even ventured into the same field with him. The old masters, content with one simple  tone,  sacrificed  to  its  unity  all  the  exquisite  gradations and varied touches of relief and change by which nature unites her hours with each other. "

MP 1, p. 275

Grammatical accuracy of tone

And  the  best  proof  of  the  grammatical accuracy of the tones of Turner is in the perfect and unchanging influence of all his pictures at any distance. We approach only to follow the sunshine into every cranny of the leafage, and retire only to feel it diffused over the scene, the whole picture glowing like a sun or star at whatever distance we stand, and lighting the air between us and it; while many even of the best pictures of  Claude must be looked close into to be felt, and lose light every foot that we retire. The smallest of the three sea-ports in the National Gallery is valuable and right in tone, when we are close to it; but ten yards off, it is all brickdust, offensively and evidently false in its whole hue.

MP I p. 274

Two qualities of light

Light,  with  reference  to  the  tone  it  induces  on  objects,  is either  to  be  considered  as  neutral  and  white, bringing out local colours with fidelity; or coloured, and consequently modifying these local tints with  its own. But the power of pure white light to exhibit local  colour  is  strangely  variable.  The  morning  light  of  about nine or ten is usually very pure; but the difference of its effect on different   days,   independently   of   mere   brilliancy,   is   as inconceivable    as    inexplicable.    Every    one    knows    how capriciously the colours of a fine opal vary from day to day, and how  rare  the  lights  are  which  bring  them  fully  out.  Now  the expression of the strange, penetrating, deep, neutral light, which, while it alters no colour, brings every colour up to the highest possible pitch and key of pure harmonious intensity, is the chief attribute  of  finely  toned  pictures  by  the  great  colourists,  as opposed  to  pictures  of  equally  high  tone,  by  masters  who, careless of colour, are content, like Cuyp, to lose local tints in the golden blaze of absorbing light.
....
 the positive hue, namely, which it may itself possess, of course  modifying  whatever  local  tints  it  exhibits,  and  thereby rendering   certain   colours   necessary,   and   certain   colours impossible. Under the direct yellow light of a descending sun, for  instance,  pure  white  and  pure  blue  are  both  impossible; because the purest whites and blues that nature could produce would  be  turned  in  some  degree  into  gold  or  green  by  it.

MP I, p. 270

"There  are  two  qualities  of  light  most  carefully  to  be  distinguished  in speaking of the tone of a picture. 1st. Its own actual colour, which falls more or less  on  everything  which  it  touchesŕneutralizing  the  colours  existing  in  the objects themselves. Such is the well-known pure rose-colour which the rays of the  sun  assume  five  minutes  before  sunset.  This  colour  is  scarcely  ever  seen except on mountains and clouds, for the sun is too low before the tint is taken to permit its falling clear upon objects on a level with it, but sometimes, with a sea horizon, and a perfectly clear sky, it may be seen low. I adduce it as the most  positive  and  overpowering  tint  of  light  I  know,  for  no  colour  stands  before green or blue or whatever it may be, all are turned nearly pure rose by it. It is of course seen in its greatest purity on the Alps, but often occurs very pure on the highest clouds, not the cumuli, but the streaky uppermost bars at sunset. I have   seen   it   once   at   Venice,   of   extraordinary   intensit, so   totally overwhelming  every  local  tint  within  its  reach,  as  to  admit  of  nothing  like  a guess at their actual colour, the rose appearing inherent and positive in them. The  trees  in  the  Botanic  Gardens,  especially,  which  were  of  a  pure  pale green (it was May) became not merely russet but pure red."