[] And now I want to bring my view into sharper focus by contrasting it with its principal

competitors. They are:

(one) the Illusion view, which holds that a picture represents whatever it does in

virtue of giving the spectator the false perceptual belief that he is in the

presence of what it represents;

(two) the Resemblance view, which holds that a picture represents whatever it does in

virtue of being like what it represents - or, a variant, in virtue of producing an

experience which is like the experience of looking at what it represents;

(three) the Make-believe view, which holds that a picture represents whatever it does in

virtue of our correctly making-believe that we see face-to-face what it

represents;

(four) the Information view, which holds that a picture represents whatever it does in

virtue of giving us the same information as we should receive if we saw face-

to-face what it represents;

(five) the Semiotic view, which holds that a picture represents whatever it does in

virtue of belonging to a symbol System which, in the course of laying down

rules or conventions linking marked surfaces or parts of marked surfaces with

external things and relations, specifically links it or some part of it with what it

represents.

Each one of these views can be faulted on points peculiar to it. So it is a grave objection to the

Semiotic theory that it cannot account for the evident fact of transfer. By the term 'transfer' I

mean, for instance, that, if I can recognize a picture of a cat; and I know what a dog looks

like, then I can be expected to recognize a picture of a dog. But on the Semiotic view this

ought to be baffling. It should be s baffling s if, knowing that the French word 'chat' means

a cat, and knowing what dogs look like, I should, on hearing it, be able to understand what the

word 'chien' means.

But the basic divide within views of representation is between those views which ground what

a painting represents in the kind of visual experience that the representation will cause in a

suitably informed and sensitive spectator and those views which do not. Those views which

do not ground representation in visual experience disqualify themselves on the spot. Those

which do are, my view apart, the Resemblance view and the Illusion view, but both these

views misconceive the crucial experience. The Illusion view identifies it with the sort of

experience that a spectator is likely to mistake for seeing the represented thing face-to-face,

and the Resemblance view identifies it with the sort of experience in which the spectator

compares, in some unspecified respect, what is in front of him with something that is absent.

The Resemblance view gives the visual experience a gratuitous complexity, whereas the

Illusion view denies it the special complexity that it has: that is, twofoldness. []

Representation, I have claimed, depends upon a highly specific visual capacity that we

humans have and which there is reason to believe is innate. I call this capacity 'seeing-in'; and

what is unique to seeing-in is the kind of visual experience in which it manifests itself. For

when (say) I see a face in a picture, the experience that I have has two aspects, which are

distinct but inseparable. On the one hand, I recognize a face: on the other hand, I am visually

aware of the surface of the picture. I call this all-important characteristic of the experience

'twofoldness'.

I say 'when I see a face in a picture' by way of example. But a picture of a face is, of course, a

representation, and my claim has been that seeing-in is prior to representation: prior to it, both

logically and historically. Logically, in that I can see objects in things that neither are nor are

believed by me to be representations such as clouds, or damp stains on walls, or the

silhouettes of cast shadows: and historically, in that I am sure our remotest ancestors could do

this before they thought of adorning their caves with the images of animals they hunted.

Representation comes into being when someone an artist, for short marks a surface

intending that a spectator should see something in it: say, a face. The difference that

representation makes to the natural capacity of seeing-in is that it imposes on it a standard of

correctness and incorrectness. For, if the artist succeeds in his intention so that a face can be

seen in the surface, then the spectator sees the surface correctly if he sees a face in it:

otherwise he sees it incorrectly.

What a particular picture represents can now be defined in terms of seeing-in plus a standard

of correctness, where this standard invokes the intentions of the artist in so far as they are

fulfilled. Holbein's famous portrait which has come down to us in many variants is a portrait

of Henry VIII because two conditions are satisfied: Henry VIII can be seen in it, and, even

though others may also be visible in it - Charles Laughton to old film buffs - seeing Henry

VIII is the visual experience that Holbein was interested in our having. In other words, Henry

VIII can be correctly seen in it: hence it represents Henry VIII.

And let me remind you of a final point on representation and seeing-in. The cases that I have

cited are cases of seeing a figure in a surface or of figurative representation. But figuration is

not a requirement either of seeing-in or of representation. I can see a mere shape in a surface,

and most abstract paintings are representational. []

Richard Wollheim: What the spectator sees, Princeton 1987, p. 76-77, 101.