see wherein its beauty lies, when he comes to apply that landscape
to an architectural or decorative purpose, such for instance as the
decoration of wall surfaces, stained glass, or what not, will find his
own characteristic way of conventionalising it. His conventionalisation
will be such as is dictated to him clearly by the limitations of the
material in which his design is to be produced, and by questions of
fitness and suitability. And his feeling for true beauty will enable
him to retain the _essentials_ of the beauty in the landscape he is
applying, & to discard what is less necessary. He will suggest the mood
of Nature and convey her influence upon the beholder. He will also, in
his freedom from the influence of long established conventions, be able
unconsciously to impart his own personality and feeling, and so give
real originality to his handiwork.
For him who would practise the art of the architect, a course of
study directed primarily to the strengthening of the power to see
wherein lies the secret of the beauty of one form over another, and
not merely that one form _is_ more beautiful than another, is perhaps
more important than to him who follows any other art appealing to the
eye: for this art is further removed from the influence of Nature’s own
teaching.
I have been obliged to dismiss in a single sentence the training by
means of drawing and studying plants, animals, & the human form, which
I would advocate; and fear I may so have given a very wrong impression
as to the importance I attach to this study. I must ask that this be
not measured by the time I have devoted to it; for I hold it to be
all-important, and the work at it should be long and thorough. In this
work the student could be carried much further in many of the separate
branches of his study I have indicated, than he could be in landscape.
The plants & animals would demand of him a far greater perception
of the subtleties of form than did the landscape, and of course his
drawing would be carried very much further. He would have to apply all
he had learnt of light & shade and reflected light under very much more
complex conditions. Much more subtle distinction of the character of
surfaces and textures would be required of him; and also greater nicety
of perception in local tints. But composition or grouping should not
enter yet into his consideration. Before he thought of these I should
want him to specialise, and decide in what field of artistic labour
his feeling & knowledge were to find expression. I should then require
that he get a complete mastery of the technicalities of this, and of
its methods, restrictions, and capabilities. If he elected to be an
architect, I would have him acquire a comprehensive knowledge of pure
building construction, but no architecture--in so far as it can be
separated from building construction. If possible, I would have him
learn one of the handicrafts for which he is eventually to design,
that he might show forth his feeling for beauty of form modified by,
and in due and proper relation to, complete mastery over methods of
construction. If he were to be a sculptor I would have him next master
the technical side of the art. If a glass painter he should be able to
make a window before he attempted to design one. The embryo painter
should master all the details of the painter’s art; the would-be
textile designer should work at a loom; and the ceramic designer with
wheel, mould, glazes, & kiln. Then at length, each should in his own
line attempt to give expression to his own ideas, his own feeling, and
his own love of beauty, in something really to be used, and for which
there was a definite requirement and a place in the world already
assigned.
And this brings us to what I consider perhaps the most vital point in
the whole system I am advocating. The student is now in a position
to solve the difficulties which will beset him on every hand. In
his own way he sets himself to create that which will best fulfil
certain definite conditions and requirements, and to give it what he
conceives to be the best and most beautiful form in which it can do
this. At this stage, _having first encountered the difficulties_, he
may, with advantage to himself and his work, look round and see how
others before him have met and overcome similar difficulties; and how,
out of the way they have done this, certain historic styles, accepted
forms, and recognised conventions have resulted. As each difficulty
presents itself it will help and stimulate him to study how it has been
overcome in old work, but if he is saturated with knowledge of the
forms and finished result of old work, without first having met the
problems which brought them into existence, he will simply have his own
instincts swamped by them, and will blindly reproduce them without any
feeling for the spirit which prompted them. Really vital design will be
well-nigh impossible to him.
That we substitute suggestion for development is one great defect
in our educational system to-day in all things, but especially in
those things appertaining to the arts. Our schools of art begin their
training in design with an exhaustive study of historic styles of
ornament and applied form of every kind. The course of study laid down
by the Institute of British Architects for its pupils, commences with
“Evidences of Study” of old Greek and Gothic buildings; in all cases
suggestion is substituted for development, and in consequence we have
turned out by the thousand men capable of reproducing works in all
styles, but with no vital appreciation of the spirit and causes which
lead to the existence of any one of them, and not one who can evolve a
really vital work of art among them.
If we look round among those who are the leading spirits in the really
great forward movement in art which is going on among us, how many of
them shall we find to be the product of our recognised educational
authorities in art? How many have got their art training on the lines
laid down by our schools of art, for instance? If they come out of
government schools at all, we shall generally find they have acquired
their grasp & mastery _in spite_ of that system, and owe it to
influences arising in some by-path, there, or outside its curriculum
altogether; or to the fact that their own individuality has been too
big to be drowned or stamped out by it. Still we cannot fail to be
struck by the very small percentage of these leading spirits which it
can be claimed are the outcome of any system of training at present
recognised.
The embryo architect is in a somewhat better position than those
intending to follow other arts, for the old apprenticeship system
still obtains in this profession; and in his master’s office he is at
anyrate engaged upon work for a definite purpose and designed to fulfil
definite conditions. He has opportunities to go some depth into the why
and wherefore of things, and must of necessity do so. Very differently
is he situated from one who is patiently acquiring a knowledge of the
outward forms of things in a large technical school. The advocates of
this “Study from the beginning of the best examples,” talk of getting
imbued with the spirit of the old work. It is not for me to go now into
the many reasons why it is not possible for us in these later times to
enter fully into the spirit which prompted the beautiful work of the
past: this one reason, that we have not first met with the difficulties
the overcoming of which brought it into existence, is all that is
within my province at the moment. Get yourself saturated with knowledge
of form, of beautiful form, presented for your study by Nature on
every hand, and apply this in your own way to meeting requirements
and overcoming difficulties which you fully comprehend, which present
themselves to you in the work which _you_ have to do. Be not swamped
with anothers’ ways of fulfilling other (though perhaps similar)
conditions, meeting the requirements of another age, or overcoming
other difficulties which you at best understand very imperfectly.
It would be very easy to give numberless illustrations of the harm
resulting from this very wide-spread and far-reaching error in our
conception and teaching of the duties of the designer, of the way he
should go to work, and the methods he should follow.
We do not now require to be told that to fasten thin strips of wood
to the face of a brick or stone wall in imitation of half-timber work
is bad; but I may just in passing point out, that it was this same
fault in our training and in our conception of the whole question,
which ever made this possible, and rendered us able to tolerate it. We
saw the beauty of old timber and plaster construction, and not seeing
also that that beauty resulted from straightforwardly & honestly using
the best form of construction known for these materials, we thought
of the finished effect only, and imagined we got it by imitating it
in other construction, where the conditions and requirements and the
difficulties to be met and overcome were different. Nor do we need to
think about these things much before we can see that it is wrong to
erect gable, projection, cove, parapet, continuation of a bay window,
or what not, for no useful purpose but solely for the display of even
constructionally genuine half-timber work, that it may, by its echo of
the beauties we have felt to exist in some true art work in the past,
lead us to suppose that it too is beautiful.
But to avoid all possibility of becoming in the least personal, I
will not take my illustrations from recent times, for it is easy to
find them in abundance without. The abominations of the Renaissance
are in themselves enough. These abominations were simply the outcome
of giving the study of the finished result in the beautiful work of
the past undue prominence in men’s minds, and allowing this study to
smother the feeling for what had _constituted_ the beauty in that work.
As all know, the Renaissance came from the revival of the study of
old Greek and Roman work in the 14th, 15th & 16th centuries. Men then
began again to see the beauty that was in a Greek capital, shaft and
base, but had not first learned to see that that beauty was the result
primarily of the simple and direct way in which the pillar fulfilled
its functions, in the form of construction in which it was used; and
they began to use it again, and tried to work it in just as it was, and
at the stage it had reached in the process of its evolution. They began
to introduce it in buildings of a different construction, and in places
where the conditions were very different from those under which it was
so great. It had been beautiful where it supported a roof and cornice,
and stood strong and adequate under their dead crushing weight: but
it was now introduced in conjunction with the dome, the thrust of
which it was entirely unsuited to sustain, therefore chains hidden
in the masonry (like those in our own St. Paul’s Cathedral), were
requisitioned, and we got an apparently stone building so constructed
that it would not stand up in stone, just as we have to-day on every
hand imitation half-timber buildings which would not stand up if of
timber construction. It had been beautiful in the sunny climes of
Greece and Italy, where the shade of the entablature it supported was
needed, and an attribute of beauty: but it was now placed where the
wall could not be set back from it, but must be brought out to it, and
must have windows unshaded by cornice, frieze, & architrave. Therefore
the pillar stood in front of it, carrying nothing, doing nothing, and a
melancholy, painful thing to all who beheld it rightly.
They studied the ornament of the Greeks, but failed to notice how
it was in all cases subordinated to, and explained and enhanced the
general forms and contours and emphasized the construction; and the
result was the meaningless inanity and vapid gracefulness of their
compiled arabesques and ornament on pilasters, their festoons, and all
the rest of the imitative and uninspired artificialities of the style.
The work became lifeless & compiled. In a Gothic cathedral, of the
times before the Renaissance tainted our northern work, one feels the
mason honestly developing the resources of his material, age by age.
Behind one of Wren’s spires one always sees the man with paper and
drawing instruments, hard mechanical lines laboriously measured off on
a drawing board, with mathematical calculations of proportion figured
all round the margin.
And apropos of all this, may I be allowed parenthetically to say, that
there is a movement on foot to make architecture a close profession. I
do not propose to enter here into this, or into the question whether
any true standard of qualification in architecture, or any other art,
can possibly be secured by examination; but all I have been saying has
a very distinct bearing on the policy of those who advocate that all
who would enter the profession of an architect, should go through the
same course of study as definitely laid down by them; a course which
begins with the study of ancient work, and, in so far as it includes
at all those things which constitute the true training, brings them
forward in the reverse order from the one indicated above. But this
is not the point I wish to show; I wish emphatically to say that to
train all would-be architects in such a way that they can pass the same
examinations is bad enough; but for all to go through the same mill in
preparation for these examinations, not allowing those who have other
ideas of what an architect’s training should be a free hand to act
upon their own convictions, can only have most disastrous results to
architecture, as it would to any other art.
It is well to think earnestly of our education in art, and to fit
ourselves for true appreciation; but when we have done this, if we come
to actively practise an art, to keep a watch upon our motives is our
only true guide. Everything depends on this. If the motive is unworthy
the art will be unworthy. Unless we create any work of art, unless we
write, paint, design, or whatever it may be, first with a desire to
create an influence for good, to bring home to others something of the
true & beautiful which might otherwise escape them, our art will be
unworthy.
The first thing that must go to the making of an artist is not that he
shall have the power to express himself, but that he shall have that
within him which needs expression. The artist’s duty is a very grave
and solemn one; it is for him to rouse in others the power of seeing
truth and beauty, “The best impart the gift of seeing to the rest.”
BARRY PARKER.
ART AND SIMPLICITY.
“Ability to live without furniture, without impedimenta, with
the least possible amount of neat clothing, shows more than the
advantage held by this Japanese race in the struggle of life;
it shows also the real character of some weaknesses in our
civilization. It forces reflection upon the useless multiplicity of
our daily wants.” _Kokoro, Lafcadio Hearn._
Looking over some colour prints from Japan, I have been much impressed
by the extreme simplicity which characterizes the interiors of Japanese
houses as depicted in them. Print after print shows us a room almost
bare, the walls in some delicate brown or grey tint, with the wood
framing exposed: this latter consists of bamboo cane or simple squared
posts and beams, with now and then a door head slightly arched.
For the elaborately ornamented screens and bric-à-brac which are
associated with Japan one searches these prints in vain: the rooms are
characterized by an almost complete absence of mere ornament. There is
in one a single panel of the wall or screen adorned with a landscape
very slightly suggested; in another a blind or hanging of some sort
bears a text or painted floral decoration; or a vase standing on a
slightly raised dais, holds a carefully arranged spray of flowers; or
ajar on the centre of a wall displays a single peony or chrysanthemum
exquisitely poised; but beyond this there is no ornamentation.
There is considerable variety in the shape of the rooms shown, none
seemingly being just four-square. A complete absence of furniture
characterizes them, and only such things as are actually being used
find a place there. Yet the whole suggestion conveyed is one of refined
and elegant life: the lady arranging flowers does not have the sprays
from which she is to select on the floor by her, but on a beautifully
lacquered tray; while all the utensils one sees represented, such as
boxes, candle-sticks, tea-cups, or platters, are elegant in shape and
colour and often much ornamented. They are quite obviously in the room
for use however, not for ornament.
Judging from these prints, the refinement of Japan seems to result in
no desire for beautiful ornaments or elaborate decorations, but rather
in the demand that everything that is required for use shall be elegant
or even highly ornamental. Their æstheticism evidently does not bring a
craving to be always surrounded by innumerable articles of _vertu_, but
rather a demand that such things as must come to their hands justified
by their use, shall come also graced by beauty.
In contrast with the extreme simplicity of the rooms is a lavish
display of bright colour and ornament on the dresses of the ladies, as
they are represented chatting or working; this tells with wonderful
effect against the soft grey or brown, or the pale green of the dried
rush matting, which are the prevailing colours shown on the walls and
floors.
Such rooms as these are obviously thought of mainly as the back-ground
to the people and their life. There is evidently in the Japanese no
lack of love for the beauty of Nature and of ornament; only there is
a dignity which makes them demand a suitable setting for their lives;
and a very rare refinement which teaches them to prefer the complete
realization and enjoyment of the beauty of a few simple things, to
the superficial appreciation of many elaborately beautiful ones;
which leads them to spend their thought rather in showing to the best
advantage the utmost beauty of one spray, than in finding places for a
basketful of rare flowers.
How different is the common estimate of art and refinement here in
the west. When we think of the elaborately upholstered houses of our
‘artistic circles,’ the people of taste--crowded as they are with
costly decorations and ornaments; when we find that one of the most
refined of our modern painters is in danger of being remembered as much
for the gorgeous palace in which he lived as for the works of art he
painted; what wonder if philosophers and moralists tell us that art is
the enemy of simplicity, the fosterer of luxury!
If the love of art did really result in making more and more elaborate
collections of beautiful things necessary to us, then indeed it would
be the enemy not alone of simplicity but of liberty also. Then would
it be but an added burden, still more terribly dividing those who work
from those who enjoy, and further enslaving the one to the other; but
another millstone hung about the neck of miserable man to keep him
from rising above the slough of mere material wants and entanglements,
in which he is already well-nigh engulfed. But the accumulation of
beautiful things from all the ends of the earth is no sign that a deep
love for art exists, and the admiration of them in itself is no sign of
much refinement. Rather does this result from our utter lack of true
art, from our complete inability to make the things we need beautiful.
It is a sign too of our entire want of refinement that we are content
to use such ugly things as we do make, if only we may have a few of the
beautiful things that other people have made, to look at. Fancy a Greek
carrying water in a galvanized iron pail, and thinking it artistic
to put his pitcher on a bracket in his hall! The Greek required his
pitchers for water carrying, and made them for that purpose, made them
as comfortable and easy to carry as possible; and that his work in the
making of them might be to him somewhat of an interest, he made them
as beautiful as he could in form, and decorated them with suggestions
of the things his mind loved to dwell upon. And so was art to him both
a solace to labour and an expression of his interest in his work. And
to the one who used the things made, what was it but a pure added
joy in his life; suggesting to him the pleasure of that worker, and
starting in his mind thoughts of gods or heroes on which he also liked
to dwell. This is the origin of all true art, springing from some joy
in the maker and giving to all who use the thing made some suggestion
of this joy. Or it may be, in the higher branches, springing from
some great thought demanding expression or great emotion yearning for
sympathy, & in the beholder ever after stimulating something of that
thought or emotion. Instead of being an added burden to men it may be
an added joy; may gladden the hours of toil to the maker; and for the
user may lift the every-day affairs of life out of the commonplace,
satisfying his taste with the comeliness of all the implements he uses
and cheering him with the beautiful suggestions of their ornament.
Art such as this must be in close touch with simplicity; for, under its
influence, ornament that has no message of suggestion, that conveys
no memento of a maker’s pleasure, would not exist; and if you come to
think of it, why should it? There is no virtue in mere ornament: far
otherwise. It is not easy to create a decoration more beautiful than
the play of sunlight or firelight on a whitewashed wall; and unless
some one has joy in doing it, or can give us something more constantly
pleasing or suggestively helpful, why should it be attempted? Certainly
refinement does not demand it; for it is refinement that teaches us to
appreciate the subtle colouring of the varying light and to be content
with it.
In other ways also the growth of the æsthetic faculty will lead to
simplicity, & will help to produce those changes in the conditions of
life and work, without which there is no hope for any great revival of
art on the lines just sketched. Until recently the beautiful feathers
of the heron, the so-called ospreys or egrets, were a favourite
decoration for the head dress; but since the cruelty attendant on the
obtaining of them has been generally known, they have vanished alike
from the plume of the soldier and the bonnet of the gentle lady. Their
beauty brings no more pleasure; it is marred by the mental picture of
the bleeding heron and its starving young: none but the ignorant or
vain can wear them now. As our appreciation of beauty becomes, if I may
so use the term, intensive as well as extensive, many similar changes
will be brought about. For one must not forget that the appeal of
beauty, of art, to us is not solely a matter of the senses. A work of
art does not cease to touch us the moment it is out of our sight; nay,
we may even get more pleasure and help from it after than when actually
gazing at it. But if it is to continue to please us, beauty must bear
to be thought about. If we cannot dwell with satisfaction on the origin
or production of the beautiful object, its beauty ceases to please, we
feel it to be superficial.