SCULPTURING MACHINES
The savage who, with a flint point or bone splinter, laboriously
scratched rude figures on the walls of his cave dwelling, did the best
he was capable of to express the emotions which affect the splendidly
equipped sculptor of to-day; he wished to record permanently some shape
in which for the time he was interested, religiously or otherwise.
The sun, moon and stars figure largely in primitive religions as
objects of worship. They could be easily suggested by a few strokes of
a tool. But when mortals turned from celestial to terrestrial bodies,
and to the worship of human or animal forms--the "graven images" of
the Bible--a much higher level of art was reached by the sculptor, who
endeavoured to give faithful representations in marble of the great men
of the time and of the gods which his nation acknowledged.
The Egyptians, whose colossal monuments strew the banks of the
Nile, worked in the most stubborn materials--basalt, porphyry and
granite--which would turn the edge of highly tempered steel, and
therefore raise wonder in our minds as to the nature of the tools which
the subjects of the Pharaohs must have possessed. Only one chisel, of
a bronze so soft that its edge turned at the first stroke against the
rock under which it was found, has so far come to light. Of steel tools
there is no trace, and we are left to the surmise that the ancients
possessed some forgotten method of hardening other metals--including
bronze--to a pitch quite unattainable to-day. Whatever were their
implements, they did magnificent work; witness the splendid sculptures
of vast proportions to be found in the British Museum; and the yet
huger statues, such as those of Memnon and those at Karnak, which
attract tourists yearly to Egypt.
The Egyptians admired magnitude; the Greeks perfection of outline. The
human form in its most ideal development, so often found among a nation
with whom athleticism was almost a religion, inspired many of the great
classical sculptors, whose work never has been, and probably never
will be, surpassed. Great honour awaited the winner in the Olympian
games; but the most coveted prize of all was the permission given
him--this after a succession of victories only--to erect a statue of
himself in the sacred grove near the shrine of Olympian Jove. Happy
the man who knew that succeeding generations would gaze upon a marble
representation of some characteristic attitude assumed by him during
his struggle for the laurel crown.
Until recently the methods of sculpture have remained practically
unaltered for thousands of years. The artist first models his idea in
clay or wax, on a small scale. He then, if he designs a life-size or
colossal statue, erects a kind of iron skeleton to carry the clay of
the full-sized model, copied proportionately from the smaller one. When
this is finished, a piece-mould is formed from it by applying wet
lumps of plaster of Paris all over the surface in such a manner that
they can be removed piecemeal, and fitted together to form a complete
mould. Into this liquid plaster is run, for a hollow cast of the whole
figure, which is smoothed and given its finishing touches by the master
hand.
This cast has next to be reproduced in marble. Both the cast and the
block of marble are set up on "scale-stones," revolving on vertical
pivots. An ingenious instrument, called a "pointing machine," now
comes into play. It has two arms ending in fine metal points, movable
in ball-and-socket joints. These arms are first applied to the model,
the lower being adjusted to touch a mark on the scale-stone, the upper
to just reach a mark on the figure. The operator then clamps the arms
and revolves the machine towards the block of marble, the scale-stone
of which has been marked similarly to its fellow. The bottom arm is
now set to rest on the corresponding mark of the scale-stone; but the
upper, which can slide back telescopically, is prevented from assuming
its relative position by the unremoved portions of the block. The
workman therefore merely notices the point on the block at which the
needle is directed, and drills a hole into the marble on the line of
the needle's axis, to a depth sufficient to allow the arm to be fully
extended. This process is repeated, in some cases many thousands of
times, until the block has been honeycombed with small holes. The
carver can now strike off the superfluous marble, never going beyond
the depth of a hole; and a rough outline of the statue appears. A more
skilled workman follows him to shape the material to a close copy of
the cast; and the sculptor himself adds the finishing touches which
stamp his personality on the completed work.
Only a select few of the world's greatest sculptors have ventured to
strike their statues direct from the marble, without recourse to a
preliminary model. Such a one was Michelangelo, who, as though seized
by a creative frenzy, would hew and hack a block so furiously that the
chips flew off like a shower, continuing his attack for hours, yet
never making the single false stroke that in the case of other masters
has ruined the work of months. He truly was a genius, and must have
possessed an almost supernatural faculty of knowing when he had reached
the exact depth at any point in the great block of marble from which
his design gradually emerged.
The formation of artistic _models_ will always require the master's
hand; but the _reproduction_ of the cast in marble or stone can now be
performed much more expeditiously than is possible with the pointing
machine. We have already two successful mechanisms which in an almost
incredibly short time will eat a statue out of a block in faithful
obedience to the movement of a pointer over the surface of a finished
design. They are the Wenzel Machine Sculptor and Signor Augusto
Bontempi's _Meccaneglofo_.
THE WENZEL SCULPTURING MACHINE
In the basement of a large London business house we found, one
dark November afternoon, two men at work with curious-looking
frameworks, which they swayed backwards and forwards, up and down,
to the accompaniment of a continuous clattering of metal upon stone.
Approaching nearer, we saw, lying horizontally in the centre of the
machine, a small marble statue, its feet clamped to a plate with deep
notches in the circumference. On either side, at equal distances, were
two horizontal blocks of marble similarly attached to similar plates.
The workman had his eyes glued on a blunt-nosed pointer projecting from
the middle of a balanced frame. This he passed slowly over the surface
of the statue, and simultaneously two whirring drills also attached to
the frame ate into the stone blocks just so far as the movement of the
frame would permit. The drills were driven by electric power and made
some thousands of revolutions per minute, throwing off the stone they
bit away in the form of an exceedingly fine white dust.
It was most fascinating to watch the almost sentient performance of the
drills. Just as a pencil in an artist's hands weaves line into line
until they all suddenly spring into life and show their meaning, so did
the drills chase apparently arbitrary grooves which united, spread, and
finally revealed the rough-hewn limb.
Every now and then the machinist twisted the footplates round one
notch, and snicked the retaining bolts into them. This exposed a fresh
area of the statue and of the blocks to the pointer and the drills. The
large, coarse drills used to clear away the superfluous material during
the earlier stages of the work were replaced by finer points. The low
relief was scooped out, the limbs moulded, the delicate curves of cheek
and the pencilling of eyebrows and lips traced, and in a few hours the
copies were ready for the usual smoothing and finishing at the hands of
the human sculptor.
According to the capacity of the machine two, four, or six duplicates
can be made at the cost of a little more power and time. Nor is it
necessary to confine operations to stone and marble, for we were shown
some admirable examples of wooden statues copied from a delicate little
bronze, and, were special drills provided, the relations could be
reversed, bronze becoming passive to motions controlled by a wooden
original.
"Sculpturing made easy" would be a tempting legend to write over the
Wenzel machine. But it would not represent the truth. After all, the
mechanism only _copies_, it cannot originate, which is the function
of the sculptor. It stands to sculpturing in the same relation as
the printer's "process block" to the artist's original sketch, or
the lithographic plates to the painter's coloured picture. Therefore
prejudice against machine-made statues is as unreasonable as objection
to the carefully-executed _replica_ of a celebrated painting. The
sculptor himself has not produced it at first hand, yet his personality
has been stamped even on the copy, for the machine can do nothing
except what has already been done for it. The machine merely displaces
the old and imperfect "pointing" by hand, substituting a method which
is cheaper, quicker, and more accurate in its interpretation of the
model.
It is obvious that, apart from sculpture proper, the industrial arts
afford a wide field for this invention. In architecture, for instance,
carved wood and stonework for interiors and exteriors of buildings have
been regarded hitherto as expensive luxuries, yet in spite of their
cost they are increasingly indulged in. The architect now has at his
disposal an economical method of carving which will enable him to
utilise ornamental stonework to almost any degree. Sculptured friezes,
cornices, and capitals, which, under the old régime, would represent
months of highly paid hand labour, may now be reproduced rapidly and
in any quantity by the machine, which could be adapted to work on the
scaffolding itself.
What will become of the stonemasons? Won't they all be thrown out of
work, or at least a large number of them? The best answer to these
questions will be found in a consideration of industries in which
machinery has replaced hand work. Has England, as a cotton-spinning
nation, benefited because the power-loom was introduced? Does she
employ more operatives than she would otherwise have done, and are
these better paid than the old hand weavers? All these queries must
have "Yes!" written against them. In like manner, if statuary and
decoration becomes inexpensive, twenty people will be able to afford
what hitherto was within the reach of but one; and an industry will
arise beside which the output of the present-day monumental mason will
appear very insignificant. The sculpturing machine undoubtedly brings
us one step nearer the universal House Beautiful.
A complete list of the things which the versatile "Wenzel" can
perform would be tediously long. Let it therefore suffice to mention
boot-lasts, gun-stocks, moulds, engineering patterns, numeral letters,
and other articles of irregular shape, as some of the more prosaic
productions which grow under the buzzing metal points. Some readers
may be glad to hear that the Wenzel promises another hobby for the
individual who likes to "use his hands," since miniature machines are
purchasable which treat subjects of a size not exceeding six inches in
diameter. No previous knowledge of carving is necessary, and as soon as
the elementary principles have been mastered the possessor of a small
copier can take advantage of wet days to turn out statuettes, busts,
and ornamental patterns for his own or friends' mantelpieces. And
surely a carefully finished copy in white marble of some dainty classic
figure or group will be a gift well worth receiving! The amateur
photographer, the fret-sawyer, and the chip-carver will have to write
"Ichabod" over their workshops!
The Wenzel has left its experimental stage far behind. The German
Emperor, after watching the creation of a miniature bust of Beethoven,
expressed his delight in a machine that could call a musician from
lifeless stone. The whole of the interior decoration of the magnificent
Rathaus, Charlottenburg, offers a splendid example of mechanical wood
carving, which tourists would do well to inspect.
We may now pass to
THE BONTEMPI SCULPTURING MACHINE,
for such is the translation of the formidable word _Meccaneglofo_. This
machine is the invention of Signor Augusto Bontempi, a native of Parma,
who commenced life as a soldier in the Italian army, and while still
young has won distinction as a clever engineer.
His machine differs in most constructional details from the Wenzel. To
begin with, the pressure of the drills on the marble is imparted by
water instead of by the hand; secondly, the block to be cut is arranged
vertically instead of horizontally; thirdly, the index-pointer is
not rigidly connected to the drill frame, but merely controls the
valves of hydraulic mechanism which guides the drills in any required
direction. The drills are _rotated_ by electricity, but all their other
movements come from the pressure of water.
[Illustration: A SMALL WENZEL AUTOMATIC SCULPTURING MACHINE
This cuts statuettes, two at a time, out of stone or wood, the cutters
being guided by a pointer passed over the surface of the model by the
girl.]
Undoubtedly the most ingenious feature of the Bontempi apparatus is the
pointer's hydraulic valve, which gives the drills a forward, lateral,
or upward movement, or a compound of two or three movements. When the
pointer is not touched all the valve orifices remain closed, and the
machine ceases to work. Should the operator pull the pointer forwards
a water-way is opened, and the liquid passes under great pressure to a
cylinder which pushes the drill frame forward. If the pointer be also
pressed sideways, a second channel opens and brings a second cylinder
into action, and the frame as a whole is moved correspondingly, while
an upward twist operates yet a third set of cylinders, and the workman
himself rises with the drills.
As soon as the sensitive tip of the pointer touches an object it
telescopes, and immediately closes the valves, so that the drills bore
no further in that direction.
The original and copies are turned about from time to time on their
bases in a manner similar to that already described in treating the
Wenzel. As many as twenty copies can be made on the largest machines.
Quite recently there has been installed in Southwark, London, a
gigantic Bontempi which stands 27 feet high, and handles blocks 5 feet
6 inches square by 10 feet high, and some 20 tons in weight. Owing to
the huge masses to be worked only one copy can be made at a time;
though, doubtless, if circumstances warranted the expense, a machine
could be built to do double, triple, or quadruple duty. The proprietors
have discovered an abrasive to grind granite--ordinary steel chisels
would be useless--and they expect a great demand for columns and
monumental work in this stubborn material, as their machines turn out
finished stuff a dozen times faster than the mason.
An interesting story is told about the early days of Signor Bontempi's
invention. When he set up his experimental machine at Florence, the
workmen, following the example of the Luddites, rose in a body and
threatened both him and his apparatus with destruction. The police had
to be called in to protect the inventor, who thought it prudent to move
his workshop to Naples, where the populace had broader-minded views.
The Florentines are now sorry that they drove Signor Bontempi away, for
they find that instead of depressing the labour market, the mechanical
sculptor is a very good friend to both proprietor and employé.
NOTE.--For information and illustrations the author has to thank Mr.
W. Hanson Boorne, of the Machine Sculpture Company, Aldermary House,
London, E.C., and Mr. E. W. Gaz, secretary of the Automatic Sculpture
Syndicate, Sumner Street, Southwark.