It is a recognized principle that every medium of art expression
should be treated with due regard to its nature and properties.
The sculptor varies his technique according as he works in wood,
granite, or marble; the painter handles his water-color in quite
another manner than that he would employ on an oil-painting of
the same subject; and the architect, with the subtle sense of the
craftsman, carries this principle to such a fine issue as to impart
an individual expression even to particular woods. He knows that
what may be an admirable design when executed in brass may be a
very bad one in wrought-iron and is sure to be an absurdity in
wood. An artistic motive for a silver flagon, too, is likely to
prove ugly for pottery or cut-glass, and so on. There is a genius,
born of its particular properties, in every medium, which demands
individual expression. Observe, therefore, that Art is not satisfied
with mere unrelated beauty of form or color. It requires that the
result confess some sensible relation to the means by which it has
been obtained; and in proportion as it does this, it may claim
to possess that individual and distinctive charm which we call
"Style." It may be said, therefore, that the technical limitations
of particular mediums impose what might properly be called natural
conventions; and while misguided ambition may set these conventions
aside to hammer out effects from an unwilling medium, the triumph
is only mechanical; Art does not lie that way.

[Side note: _The Province of the Pen_]

Ought the pen, then, to be persuaded into the province of the brush?
Since the natures of the two means differ, it does not stultify
the water-color that it cannot run the deep gamut of oil. Even if
the church-organ be the grandest and most comprehensive of musical