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Henri Matisse, Exactitude is Not Truth, 1945, from Chipp, Theories of Modern Art, pp. 137-39.

Among these drawings, which I have chosen with the greatest of care for this exhibition, there are four-portraits perhaps-done from my face as seen in a mirror. I should particularly like to call them to the visitors' attention.

 These drawings seem to me to sum up observations that I have been making for many years on the characteristics of a drawing, characteristics that do not depend on the exact copying of natural forms, nor on the patient assembling of exact details, but on the profound feeling of the artist before the objects which he has chosen, on which his attention is focused, and the spirit of which he has penetrated.

 My convictions on these matters crystallized after I had verified the fact that, for example, in the leaves of a tree-of a fig tree particularly-the great difference of form that exists among them does not keep them from being united by a common quality. Fig leaves, whatever fantastic shapes they assume, are always unmistakably fig leaves. I have made the same observation about other growing things: fruit, vegetables, etc.

Thus there is an inherent truth which must be disengaged from the outward appearance of the object to be represented. This is the only truth that matters.

The four drawings in question are of the same subject, yet the calligraphy of each one of them shows a seeming liberty of line, of contour, and of the volume expressed.

Indeed, no one of these drawings can be superimposed on another, for all have completely different outlines.

In these drawings the upper part of the face is the same, but the lower is completely different. In no. 158, it is square and massive; in no. 159, it is elongated in comparison with the upper portion; in no. 160, it terminates in a point; and in no. 161, it bears no resemblance to any of the others. [See illustration.]

Nevertheless the different elements which go to make up these four drawings give in the same measure the organic makeup of the subject. These elements, if they are not always indicated in the same way, are still always wedded in each drawing with the same feeling-the way in which the nose is rooted in the face-the ear screwed into the skull the lower jaw hung-the way in which the glasses are placed on the nose and cars-the tension of the gaze and its uniform density in all the drawings, even though the shade of expression varies in one.

It is quite clear that this sum total of elements describes the same mana to his character and his personality, his way of looking at things and his reaction to life, and as to the reserve with which he faces it and which keeps him from an uncontrolled surrender to it. It is indeed the same man, one who always remains an attentive spectator of life and of himself.

It is thus evident that the anatomical, organic inexactitude in these drawings, has not harmed the expression of the intimate character and inherent truth of the personality, but on the contrary has helped to clarify it.

Are these drawings portraits or not?

What is a portrait?

Is it not an interpretation of the human sensibility of the person represented?

The only saying of Rembrandt's that we know is this: "I have never painted anything but portraits.

Is the portrait in the Louvre, painted by Raphael and showing Joan of Aragon in a red velvet dress, really what is meant by a portrait?

These drawings are so little the result of chance, that in catch one it can be seen how, as the truth of the character is expressed, the same light bathes them all, and that the plastic quality of their different parts-face, background, transparent quality of the spectacles, as well as the feeling of material weight-all impossible to put into words, but easy to do by dividing a piece of paper into spaces by a simple line of almost even breadth-all these things remain the same.

Each of these drawings, as I see it, has its own individual invention which comes from the artist's penetration of his subject, going so far that he identifies himself with it, so that its essential truth makes the drawing. It is not changed by the different conditions under which the drawing is made; on the contrary, the expression of this truth by the elasticity of its line and by its freedom lends itself to the demands of the composition; it takes on light and shade and even life, by the turn of spirit of the artist whose expression it is.

L'exactitude n'est pas la vérité.