The Architecture

It is generally conceded that the essential lesson of the Exposition is

the lesson of art. However strongly the industrial element may have

asserted itself in the many interesting exhibits, no matter how

extensive the appeal of the applied sciences may be, the final and

lasting effect will be found in the great and enduring lesson of beauty

which the Exposition so unforgetably teaches.

The visitor is at once stirred by the many manifestations of art,

presented so harmoniously by the architect, the sculptor, the landscape

architect, and the painter-decorator, and his attention is kept

throughout by artistic appeals at every turn. It must be said in the

very start that few will realize what is the simple truth - that

artistically this is probably the most successful exposition ever

created. It may indeed prove the last. Large international expositions

are becoming a thing of the past on account of the tremendous cost for

relatively temporary purposes.

There is still much of the popular conception abroad that the West has

only very recently emerged from a state of semi-civilization inimical to

the finer things of life, and to art in particular. But we may rest

assured that the fortunate outsider who allows himself the luxury of

travel will proclaim that the gospel of beauty has been preached most

eloquently through the Panama-Pacific International Exposition.

The critic who prefers to condemn things will find small opportunity

here, no matter how seriously he may take himself.

The first sight of that great mosaic, from the Fillmore-street hill, at

once creates a nerve-soothing impression most uncommon in international

expositions, and for that matter, in any architectural aggregate. One is

at once struck with the fitness of the location and of the scheme of

architecture. Personally, I am greatly impressed with the architectural

scheme and the consistency of its application to the whole. I fear that

the two men, Mr. Willis Polk and Mr. Edward Bennett, who laid the

foundation for the plan, will never receive as much credit as is really

due them. I hope this appreciation may serve that purpose in some small

way.

It was a typically big western idea, an idea that as a rule never gets

any farther than being thought of, or possibly seeing daylight as an

"esquisse" - but seldom any farther than that. The Burnham plan for San

Francisco was such an unrealized dream, but here the dream has achieved

concrete form. The buildings as a group have all the big essential

qualities that art possesses only in its noblest expression. Symmetry,

balance, and harmony work together for a wonderful expression of unity,

of oneness, that buildings devoted to profane purposes seldom show.

I do not know how many people who visit the Exposition are so

constituted as to derive an aesthetic thrill from artistic balance, but

I imagine that any person, no matter how inexperienced in matters of

art, will rejoice at the fine feeling of orderly arrangement of major

forms which runs through the entire grouping. It is simplicity itself,

and it serves an excellent practical purpose, enabling one to visit the

Exposition without being left a nervous wreck at the end.

The main entrance leads one into the physical center of the Exposition.

From there, on the first visit, one realizes the existence of an equally

large area on either side, covered with objects of interest.

The main exposition, composed of a compactly arranged group of large

buildings of approximately equal size, is symmetrically placed on either

side of the main central court, the Court of the Universe. This sends

out its avenues into two equally proportioned side courts - the Court of

the Four Seasons on the west and the Court of Abundance on the east.

While the main court rests right in the center of the eight buildings,

the side courts fit snugly into the center of the four buildings on

either side. This arrangement of large masses, comprising the bulk of

the Exposition, creates a grateful feeling of repose and of order,

without being in the least uninteresting, for while there is perfect

symmetry, on the one hand, in the larger masses, there is plenty and

ever changing variety in the minor architectural forms and

embellishments. The same balance, the same interesting distribution of

architectural masses, continues on either side of the main building. In

Machinery Hall, on the one hand, and the Fine Arts Palace on the western

side, perfect balance is again maintained. That is, however, not the end

of it all. Loosening up in a very subtle way, we find cleverly arranged

the buildings of the various States of the Union and of Foreign Nations

on the western side of the Fine Arts Palace, while at the other

extremity of the main group, screened by Machinery Hall, is the

amusement section, officially labeled "The Zone."

I do not suspect that the Zone is intended to give any artistic thrills.

If so, I would propose to call it "The Limit," and so I drop it as a

subject for further artistic, reference. It is invaluable, however, as

an object lesson in showing the fatal results of the utter disregard of

all those fundamental laws of balance, harmony, and unity so uniformly

and persistently applied through the seriously designed main body of the

Exposition. There is no harmony whatever in the Zone anywhere, either in

the form, style, or color, unless it be the harmony of ugliness which is

carried through this riotous mêlée of flimsiness and sham. I cannot help

but feel that this hodgepodge will convince the most doubting Thomas who

might believe in the mob rule of hundreds of conflicting tastes. The

Zone is not an improvement on similar things in former Expositions. Save

for certain minor exceptions at the entrance, it will serve as a

wonderfully effective illustration of the taste of the great masses of

the people, and as a fine business investment.

So far, we have moved only along the east and west axis of the

Exposition. The north and south development is not without its charm.

The terraced city of San Francisco, on the south, without a doubt looks

best on a densely foggy day. With its fussy, incongruous buildings - I

hesitate to call them architecture - it serves hardly as a background

for anything, let alone a group of monumental buildings. The opposite

side, where nature reigns, atones for multitudes of sins that man

committed on the city's hills. But how great an opportunity there was

lost! There are, however, some indications at the western end of

Broadway that give fine promise for the future.

The bay and its background of rising hills and blue mountain sides

provide, the wonderful setting that so charmingly holds the Exposition.

The general arrangement of the Exposition pays its respects to the bay

at every possible angle. The vistas from the three courts towards the

bay are the pièces de résistance of the whole thing. It was a fine idea,

not alone from an economic point of view, to eliminate the two arches

which appeared in the original plan at the end of the avenues running

north from the Court of the Four Seasons and the Court of Abundance.

There is hardly anything more inspiring than to stand in any of the

three courts and to look north through those well proportioned

colonnades over the blue bay towards the purple foothills of Marin

County, crowned by the graceful slopes of Mount Tamalpais on one side

and the many islands of the bay on the other. It is surprising into how

many enchanting vistas the whole arrangement resolves itself. For the

city-planner the Exposition contains a wonderful lesson. What fine

cities we might have if some artistic control could be exercised over

the buildings which are to stand opposite the junction of one street

with another, not only at right angles, but also at lesser degrees - for

instance, in all cases of streets running into Market street from the

northwest.

To point out some particularly fine vistas, among many, we should

mention that from the Orchestral Niche in the Court of the Four Seasons,

looking toward the bay, or from the same court toward the Fine Arts

Palace - and many more. The natural background seems to have been

considered always, even in the arrangements of the smallest apertures.

One should not overlook the two open courts which run off the main

avenue, like charming coves in an island, into the main group of

buildings, connecting at their ends with the Court of the Four Seasons

at the west and the Court of Abundance toward the east. These two, the

Court of Palms and the Court of Flowers, have not so much the charm of

seclusion of the more centrally located courts, but their architecture

makes them of great interest.

As to the style of the architecture of the main group of eight

buildings, it has been called classic. If one means by that something

excellent, something in good taste, we must admit that it is classic

indeed. However, on closer examination it becomes very evident that the

individuality of many men has found expression in the architectural

structural forms, as well as in the minor and decorative forms.

The main Tower of Jewels, by Carrère and Hastings, marking the center of

the whole scheme, has a distinct character of its own. There is no doubt

that it is effective, but while its chief merit lies in its colossal

proportions and its relative position, I feel that it lacks that oneness

of conception that characterizes almost every other architectural unit

in the Exposition. One feels too much the stacking up of story after

story, that effort to fill the requirements of a given great height,

very much as a boy sets up blocks of diminishing size, one on top of the

other, until he can go no further because there are no smaller blocks.

The whole effect of the tower is too static. Of its architectural

motives, almost too many seem devoid of much interest, and like the

column motive, repeated too often. The very effective and decorative

employment of "jewels" tends to loosen up and enliven the structure very

much. On a sunny day the effect is dazzling and joyous. The tower has a

feeling of dignity and grandeur, commensurate with its scale and

setting. However, its great height is not apparent, owing largely to its

breadth of base. The Sather Campanile in Berkeley looks higher, though

it is actually one hundred and thirty-three feet lower. The side towers

at the entrances of the Court of Palms and the Court of Flowers, while

not so imaginative as the main tower, are far more sky-reaching. As

towers go, John Galen Howard's tower at the Buffalo Exposition in 1901

stands unsurpassed in every way as an Exposition tower.

The main Court of Honor, or Court of the Universe, as it is also called,

designed by McKim, Mead and White, impresses by its tremendous

dimensions, which operate somewhat against its proper enjoyment. I

believe that the court is too large - so many things are lost in it, and

it does not convey the quality of shelter that the two lesser courts

possess in such marked degree. The Court of the Universe will never be

the resting place of the masses of the people, in spite of the recently

added attraction of the band stand, a mixture of Roman and Arabic

architecture out of keeping with the surroundings. The conventional

architectural motives of this great court do not help very much in

tempting one to stay, and if it were not for the great arches on the

east and west and the very fine view toward the Column of Progress, I

would feel tempted to classify it as a piece of architectural design of

the stereotyped variety. It has all the great qualities and faults of

the court in front of St. Peter's in Rome. There is too little play of

landscape gardening in and near the Court of the Universe, a condition

which will remedy itself with the breaking into bloom of the great

masses of rhododendron which have been installed in the sunken garden in

the center.

Like all careful interpretations in the classic architectural

traditions, the Court of the Universe has a great feeling of dignity and

grandeur, which gives the visitor a feeling of the big scale of the rest

of the architecture. The court lacks, however, the individual note of

the two side courts.

Toward the west, passing through a very characteristic avenue, in the

style of the happiest phases of the Italian Renaissance to be found in

Florence, one enters the Court of the Four Seasons, by Henry Bacon of

New York. The chief quality of this court is that of intimacy. While by

no means so original as the Court of Abundance, it has a charm all of

its own, in spite of its conventional architectural characteristics,

which are really not different from those of the main Court of Honor.

However, a very happy combination of gardening effects and architecture,

together with the interesting wall-fountains, screened by stately rows

of columns, make for a picture of great loveliness. Of all the courts,

it has the most inviting feeling of seclusion. The plain body of water

in the center, without statuary of any kind, is most effective as a

mirror reflecting the play of lights and shadows, which are so important

an asset in this enchanting retreat. During the Exposition it will serve

as a recreation center for many people who will linger in the seclusion

of the groups of shrubbery and watch the shadows of the afternoon sun

creep slowly up the surrounding walls.

As an Exposition feature, the Court of the Four Seasons is a decided

innovation. At St. Louis, for instance, in 1904, everything seemed to

have been done to excite, to overstimulate, to develop a craving for

something new, to make one look for the next thing. Here, in the Court

of the Four Seasons, one wants to stay. Most emphatically one wants to

rest for awhile and give one's self over entirely to that feeling of

liberation that one experiences in a church, in the forest, or out on

the ocean. I could stay in this court forever. To wander into this Court

of the Four Seasons from any one of the many approaches is equally

satisfactory, and it will prove a very popular and successful Exposition

innovation.

Speaking of the courts, one is bound to yield to the individual note of

Louis Mullgardt's Court of Abundance, on the east of the Court of the

Universe. Of all the courts it has, without a doubt, the strongest

individual note. It seems on first acquaintance to be reminiscent of the

Gothic, of which it has, no doubt, the quality of lightness, the

laciness, and the play of many fine apertures and openings. It has,

however, neither the Gothic arch nor the buttresses of that period, and

so far as its ground plan goes, it is thoroughly original. It looks as

if carved out of a solid block of stone. This monolithic quality is

particularly well brought out in the tower on the north. While not quite

so intimate as the Court of the Four Seasons, it conveys, a feeling of

shelter and seclusion very well by showing an uninterrupted wall motive

on all sides. The sculpture symbolism of this court is particularly

fine. We shall return to it in a consideration of sculpture.

The two minor courts by George Kelham are particularly fortunate in

their open location toward the south. Their sheltered and warm

atmosphere is quite in keeping with the suggestion of Spanish

Renaissance which has been employed in the constructive and in the many

decorative motives. The western court, or Court of Palms, is made

particularly attractive by a sunken garden effect and pool. The effect

of the Court of Flowers is similar in every way to its mate on the east.

A consideration of these two courts, with their towers, leads easily

into a study of the outer façade, which, so to speak, ties all of the

eight Palaces together into a compact, snug arrangement, so typical of

the Exposition.

Bliss and Faville of San Francisco are responsible for the very skillful

use of simple, plain surfaces, accentuated and relieved here and there

by ornate doorways, wall-fountains, niches, and half-domes. On the

south, along the Avenue of Palms, are found some very fine adaptations

of old Spanish doorways, which deserve to be preserved. It is

regrettable that we have no large museum on the coast where these fine

doorways in the outer walls of the Palace of Varied Industries could be

preserved permanently. The travertine marble has nowhere been used more

effectively than in just such details. The entrance of the Palace of

Education at the western end of the south façade is also of great beauty

of design.

On the western end two huge niches or half domes command attention by

their noble beauty and fine setting amidst great clumps of eucalyptus.

On the north, no special effort has been made. There is, however, a

decorative emphasis of the doorways along the entire front. On the east,

facing the Palace of Machinery, some very fine doorways, very much like

some of the minor ones on the south, furnish the decoration. It was no

small task to bridge the many diversified architectural motives which

penetrate into the outer wall from within, in the shape of many avenues

and courts, and one can appreciate the difficulties of the designer who

met so well these conflicting requirements.

Of the detached palaces outside of the eight forming the rectangular

block nucleus, the Palace of Machinery attracts by its enormous size. I

am not interested in how many kegs of nails and iron bolts and washers

went into its anatomy. They add nothing to the artistic enjoyment of

this very massive building. One point, however, in connection with the

liberal use of the raw material is of artistic significance, and that is

that the internal structural aspects of this great palace, as well as of

the others, are not without charm and interest. It is only in recent

years, and particularly in America, that the engineer has dared to

invade the realm of the artist by attempting to make the constructive,

anatomical material, like uprights, bracings, trusses, and beams, assume

artistic responsibilities. It has been for many years the custom to

expect the engineer to do his share in obscurity with the idea that it

ultimately will be covered up by the work of the architect. The

extraordinary development of engineering in this country, to meet new

and original problems, sometimes of colossal proportions, particularly

in the field of concrete design, has resulted in some conditions

heretofore entirely unknown. I feel with much satisfaction that the

unobscured appearance of the wood construction in the Palace of

Machinery is very pleasing, owing to its sound constructive elements, as

well as to a very fine regard for pattern-making in the placing of the

bolts and braces. Here we discover the engineer in the role of the

artist, which he seems to enjoy, and which offers endless new

opportunities, particularly in the field of concrete construction, as

well as in wood. The great size of the Machinery Palace is much more

enjoyable from within, on account of the constructive patterns left in

the raw, than from without, where there is not enough animation in the

many plain surfaces of the outer walls. I do not know that it is

customary to put the engineer's name, together with that of the

architect, on a building; the time s approaching very rapidly when we

shall be in duty bound to do so.

Aside from the structural charm of the inside, the outer façade of

Machinery Hall is not entirely devoid of architectural interest. Its

general forms are apparently those of an early Christian church,

although its decorative motives are all indicative of the profane

purposes for which it is used.

Festival Hall, by Farquhar, of Los Angeles, at the east end of the south

gardens, does not look particularly festive, and it is not original

enough to shine by itself, like its very happy mate at the south end,

the Horticultural Palace. There is nothing like this Horticultural

Palace anywhere on the grounds in its gorgeous richness of decorative

adornment. It has no relation to any other building on the site. It is

very happy, with its many joyous garlands, flower-baskets, and

suggestions of horticultural forms - all very well done - so very much

better done than so many of the cheap period imitations so common to our

residence districts. It is so decidedly joyous in character that people

looking for Festival Hall wander over to the Horticultural Palace,

attracted by the very joyousness of its scheme.

Good rococo ornamentation is rare abroad and even rarer in this country,

which is essentially opposed in its tendencies and in its civilization

to those luxurious days of the French kings who created the conditions

under which this very delightful style could flourish.

The Horticultural Palace is a great success as an interpretation of a

style which rarely finds a sympathetic expression in this country. I do

not feel at all that it ought, but in a case of this kind where a

temporary purpose existed, it was happily chosen.

Of all isolated units, none causes greater admiration than the Fine Arts

Palace. It presents the astounding spectacle of a building which

violates the architectural conventions on more than one occasion, and in

spite of it, or possibly for that very reason, it has a note of

originality that is most conspicuous. Everybody admits that it is most

beautiful, and very few seem to know just how this was accomplished.

Many of the "small fry" of the architectural profession enjoy themselves

in picking out its faults, which are really, as suggested above, the

reason for its supreme beauty. Save for Mullgardt's court, it is the

only building that seems to be based on the realization of a dream of a

true artistic conception. With many other of the buildings one feels the

process of their creation in the time-honored, pedantic way. They are

paper-designed by the mechanical application of the "T" square and the

triangle. They do not show the advantage of having been experienced as a

vision.

With Bernard Maybeck's Palace of Fine Arts, one has the feeling that

this great temple is a realized dream; that it was imagined irrespective

of time, cost, or demand. Like all of Maybeck's buildings, it is

thoroughly original. Of course the setting contributes much to the

picturesque effect, but aside from that, the colonnades and the

octagonal dome in the center of the semicircular embracing form of the

main building present many interesting features There is a very fine

development of vistas, which are so provided as to present different

parts of the building in many ever-changing aspects. On entering the

outer colonnade one forgets the proximity of everyday things; one is

immediately in an atmosphere of religious devotion, which finds its

noblest expression in that delicate shrine of worship, by Ralph

Stackpole, beneath the dome. This spiritual quality puts the visitor

into the proper frame of mind for the enjoyment of the other offerings

of art within the building. Mr. Maybeck has demonstrated once again that

his talent is equal to any task in the field of architectural art. I

wish we had more of his rare kind and more people to do justice to his

genius.

Not far from the Palace of Fine Arts, on the shores of the bay, the

monumental tower of the California building fits well into the scheme of

things. Seen from a distance, from numerous points across the lagoon, it

offers a great many effective compositions in connection with some very

decorative groups of old acacia trees, the legacy of an old amusement

park of the bygone days of San Francisco - the old Harbor View Gardens.

In the shade of these old trees a fine old formal garden of exquisite

charm, screened from the eyes of the intruder by an old clipped Monterey

cypress hedge, really constitutes the unique note of this typically

Mission building. The architect, Mr. Burditt, deserves great credit for

an unusually respectful treatment of a very fine architectural asset.

This very enchanting old flower garden, with its sundial and cozy nooks,

has an intimate feeling throughout, and it furnishes the delightful

suggestive note of old age, of historical interest, without which it

would never have been convincing.

Aside from the outdoor features, the building, exclusive of the county

annex, discloses a very fine talent in a very happy combination of

classic tradition and modern tendencies. The building is altogether very

successful, in a style which is so much made use of but which is really

devoid of any distinct artistic merit. Most of the examples of the

so-called "Mission style" in California are very uninteresting in their

decorative motives, however big their ground plans may be in their

liberal use of space.

The Oregon building is just across the way from the California building,

and as an object of artistic analysis it is a most interesting single

unit. Personally, I am not enthusiastic over it. It was most decidedly a

very illogical idea to select a building to represent Oregon from a

country which has nothing whatever in common with this northern state.

One could hardly discover a more arid country, devoid of vegetation,

particularly of trees, than Greece; and to compare it with the

apparently inexhaustible wealth of virgin forests of Oregon makes the

contrast almost grotesque. Besides, a building like the Parthenon,

designed to grace and terminate the top of a hill, is surely not adapted

for a flat piece of ground like the Exposition field. And in the choice

of material used in its construction it shows a lack of appreciation for

the fitness of things generally. The Parthenon was designed to be made

in stone, as much for the construction as for the light color effect of

the marble. Only the light color play of its exterior would do against a

placid blue sky to relieve the otherwise exceedingly simple rigidity of

its massive forms of construction. To make an imitation of this great

building in uncouth, somber, almost black pine logs of dubious

proportions is hardly an artistically inspired accomplishment.

There must always be a certain regard for the use of the right material

in the right place. A wooden bridge will disclose its material even to

the uninitiated at a very great distance, because everybody knows that

certain things can be done only in wood. A stone, concrete, iron, or

cable bridge, for example, will each always look its part, out of sheer

material and structural necessity. A log house would have been far

better and more successful than this pseudo Parthenon. It is in the same

class with the statues of Liberty made from walnuts that are the great

attractions in our autumnal agricultural shows. The State of Oregon,

however, is well represented by a fine immense flagpole, which could

hardly have been cut anywhere else than on the Pacific Coast.

Of other state buildings in this neighborhood, a number are impressive

by their cost, like the New York building; others, again, by historical

suggestions of great charm. There are several which reflect in a very

interesting way the Colonial days of early American history; and

buildings like those of New Jersey and Virginia, in spite of their

unpretentiousness, are very successful. Nobody would take them for

anything else but what they represent.

The Pennsylvania building shows a very fine combination of the classic

and of the modern. It was originally designed to hold the Liberty Bell.

In order to avoid the necessity of building a fireproof building, the

open hail was adopted, with its inviting spaciousness, and two lower

enclosing wings at the side. The arrangement of the Pennsylvania

building is formal, owing to its symmetry, but not at all heavy. Its

decorative detail is full of interest, and to discover Hornbostel of New

York, the designer of the Oakland City Hall, as the author of this

building, is a pleasant surprise.

Of most of the other state buildings, really nothing original could be

claimed. They are, on the whole, dignified in their classic motives, and

in most cases, in better taste than the many foreign buildings.

Among these, the buildings representing Sweden, Denmark, Norway, Italy,

and Bolivia, must claim particular attention. It must seem strange that

the three northern countries named first should excel in originality of

architecture, as well as in the allied arts.

The Swedish building, designed by Ferdinand Boberg, presents admirably

his great talent. The name "Boberg" means nothing to most people out

here, but anybody at all familiar with the development of modern

architecture abroad will always think of Boberg as the greatest living

master of Swedish architecture. His very talented wife, Anna Boberg, is

equally well represented in another department, that of the Fine Arts.

The plan of the Swedish building is unsymmetrical, but well balanced,

nevertheless. The typical northern wood tower, at one side, has a very

fine outline, and like the roof, has a very fine decorative shingle

covering, interesting in pattern as well as in color. I am very much

tempted to speak of the treasures found inside of this building, but we

must go on to Denmark's building.

This building, situated near the southern end of the Fine Arts

Colonnade, has a far more advantageous location than the Swedish

building. Situated on a narrow tongue of triangular shape, the architect

has taken the fullest advantage of this original piece of ground. The

building gives a very good idea of some of the very best tendencies in

the modern art of Europe, without being bizarre, like some recent

American attempts, in the most wrongly labeled of all art expressions -

the "Art Nouveau."

The Norwegian building, somewhat remotely situated, back of the French

building and near the Presidio entrance, has very much in common with

the Swedish building, and offers the same attractive features of wood

and stone construction as the building representing its sister state.

Historical traditions and everything else are so much alike in these two

countries that it must not surprise one to find the two buildings have

so many points of interest in common.

The north of Europe has given to the world many very excellent and

genuine expressions of architecture, which, owing to their fine

constructive qualities, have been absorbed wherever wood is the

principal building material. The art contributions of Sweden, Norway,

and Denmark will long remain in the memory of all Exposition visitors.

Holland makes considerable pretensions as to originality of style in a

curiously incongruous creation at the north of the Fine Arts Palace.

During the last twenty years a peculiarly inadaptable type of building

has been developed in Holland by a group of younger architects. Many of

these buildings are suggestive of stone rather than of brick

construction, and they do not fit in very well into the architectural

traditions of the Dutch - builders traditionally of the finest brick

structures in the world.

The Holland building at the Exposition is not typical of that great and

independent people. It looks cheap and has all the faults of the Art

Nouveau, which has, unfortunately, been much discredited, by just such

things in our own country, where classical traditions are so firmly and

so persistently entrenched.

While structurally this building is of a peculiar, affected,

ultra-modern note, the general scheme of decoration inside as well as

outside compels much praise. The general feeling of refinement, of

serenity, that so strongly characterizes the interior is due to the able

work of Hermann Rosse, a capable decorator-painter, who designed and

supervised the entire color scheme.

The color scheme inside the Holland building, while daring, is most

original in using an unusual combination of steel-blue and warm grey

silver tones. These two relatively cold notes are enhanced in a

complementary color sense by touches of orange and yellow. A

constructive stencil pattern based on the two national plants of

Holland, the orange tree and the tulip, add richness to the general

effect. Mr. Rosse's very decorative wall painting opposite the main

entrance represents the Industries of Peace. While somewhat severe, it

adds dignity in motive as well as in treatment.

On the outside some fine decorative tile panels reflect one of the chief

industries of the Dutch and also tell of the influence that Dutch art

has long received from Holland's East Indian possessions. These tile

panels are very decorative. To us, out here, they suggest artistic

ceramic possibilities for architectural purposes of which we have taken

little advantage. Considering the fact that we have quantities of good

clay and that so much original good decorative design is lying idle,

this inactivity in architectural ceramics in California is distressing.

So far as I know, Batchelder, in Pasadena, still has the monopoly on

architectural tiles for the entire Pacific coast.

Other European countries besides Holland are interestingly represented.

The Italian building is a dignified building of pure Florentine

Renaissance lines, with here and there a modern note.

This should rather be called a group of buildings, since it is a

combination of some of the finest bits of Italian Renaissance

architecture. The architects of this building succeeded admirably in

giving a feeling of antiquity to the general treatment of the whole

arrangement, which, under the blue sky of California, brings one

straight back into the land of sunshine and artistic tradition. The

whole arrangement of this Italian group seems somewhat bewildering at

first, but on closer inspection resolves itself into a very interesting

scheme which takes full advantage of the irregularly shaped site.

There is a most impressive noble dignity in the hall of the main

building, where mural decorations of figural character add much to the

sumptuousness of the general effect. It is remarkable how in this age of

low ceilings a return to great height for rooms, as in these, Italian

chambers, produces a marked note of originality. The light effect

created in this way, in all of these replicas of the mansions of the

wealthy of the Renaissance period, is most helpful in the display of a

multitude of lovely objects - furniture, jewelry, ceramics, tapestries,

and yet more. The sculptural imitations of so many old pieces of

statuary are not in very good taste. They bear too much the traces of

the pneumatic drill, and most of them are cold and devoid of the spirit

of the original. Some of the very modern marbles in the various rooms

are almost pathetic in their disregard for the standards established by

the forefathers of their creators.

France, unfortunately, does not rise above the commonplace, in an

extensive building hastily constructed. And Portugal is shining in all

the glory of wedding-cake ornamentation that the plaster of Paris artist

could produce.

South America appears in a very typical building representing Bolivia.

It is evident that it was not a costly building, but its dignified

Spanish façade and the court effect inside are far more agreeable than

the pretentious palace erected by the Argentine Republic.

The Orient, with the oldest art traditions in the world, can justly be

expected to outdo the rest of the world. We find Japan again, as on

previous occasions, excelling in its typical arrangement of a number of

small pavilions in an irregular garden. The entire Japanese display,

architectural and all, is so perfect a unit that one cannot speak of the

buildings alone without thinking of the gardens. The Japanese sense of

detail and love of the picturesque are disclosed at every turn. We still

have with us in San Francisco, as a memento of the Midwinter Fair of

1894, the Japanese Garden in Golden Gate Park, and while this new

creation at the Exposition is not so extensive, it is none the less

charming.

In contrast to the Japanese wonderland near the Inside Inn, the new

Republic of China seems to be very unhappily represented, not very far

away. The whole Chinese ensemble seems a riot of terrible colors, devoid

of all the mellow qualities of Oriental art. If China's art was retired

with the Manchu dynasty, then I hope the new Republic will soon die a

natural death.