At the Palace of Horticulture the architect said: "Here is the Mosque of
Ahmed the First, taken from Constantinople and adapted to horticulture
and to the Exposition. It has a distinct character of its own. It even
has temperament. So many buildings that are well proportioned give the
impression of being stodgy and dull. They are like the people that make
goodness seem uninteresting. But here is use that expresses itself in
beauty and adorns itself with appropriate decoration."
When I mentioned that some people found this building too ornate, the
architect replied:
"There's an intimate and appropriate relation between the ornament and
the architecture. Personally I shouldn't care to see just this kind of
building in the heart of the city, where you'd have it before your eyes
every day. But for the Exposition it's just right. And how fitting it is
that the splendid dome should be the chief feature of a building that is
really an indoor garden and that the most prominent note of the coloring
should be green, nature's favorite and most joyous color. Some joker,"
he went on, "says that this Exposition is domicidal. He expresses a
feeling a good many people have here, that there are too many domes. But
I don't agree. The domes make a charming pictorial effect, and they
harmonize with the general spirit of the architecture. And as for this
dome, it is one of the greatest in the world. See how cleverly the
architects, following the spirit of the French Renaissance, have used
those ornamental shafts. The only criticism that can be made on them is
that they serve no architectural purpose, which ought, of course, always
to be intimately associated with use. Instead of growing from the nature
of the building, they are put on from outside. Now, in the mosque they
were very important in their service. They were the minarets where the
Muezzins used to stand in order to call the faithful to prayer. Those
minarets up there, carrying on the dome motive, on the corners of the
walls of the main palaces are much closer to the old idea."
Our talk turned to the subject of domes in general. The idea had come
from the bees, from the shape of their hives. Prehistoric man used for a
dwelling-place a hut shaped like a hive, as well as an imitation of a
bird's nest. In formal architecture, the dome showed itself early. The
Greeks knew it; but they didn't use it much. The greatest users of the
dome were the Byzantines. It was all dome with them. The first important
dome was built in Rome in the second century, to crown the Pantheon. Of
all the domes in the world the most interesting historically was St.
Peter's, the work of several architects. It was the inspiration of the
dome of St. Paul's in London, built by the English architect, Sir
Christopher Wren. Architecturally the most interesting of the domes was
Brunelleschi's, built for the Florence Cathedral in the fifteenth
century, known throughout the world by the Italian name for Cathedral,
the Duomo.
It was in connection with the Duomo that the architect reminded me of
the celebrated story about Brunelleschi. When the Florentine church
authorities decided to build the Duomo they were puzzled as to how so
mighty a dome should be developed. So they invited the architects to
appear before them in competition, and to present their ideas. One
architect, Donatello, explained that, if he secured the commission, he
should first build a mound of earth, and over it he would construct his
dome. But the authorities replied that there would be great labor and
expense in taking the earth out. He said that he would put coins into
the earth and, by this means, he would very quickly have the earth
removed by the people. When Brunelleschi was asked how he would build
his dome he said: "How would you make an egg stand on end?" They didn't
know how, and he showed them, by taking a hard-boiled egg and pressing
it down at one end, an idea like the one that occurred to Christopher
Columbus about fifty years later.
The Palace of Horticulture as an illustration of French Renaissance
architecture fascinated this observer, in spite of its
overelaborateness. "It's marvelous to think of what the Renaissance
meant throughout Europe," he said, "and how it showed itself in art
through the national characteristics. French Renaissance and Italian
Renaissance, though they have qualities in common, are very different.
And you'll find marked differences even in the Renaissance art of the
Italian cities, such as Rome and Florence and Venice. But the
Renaissance showed that no matter how far apart the people of Europe
might have been they were all stirred by a great intellectual and
spiritual movement. It was like a vast moral earthquake. It meant the
rediscovery and the joyous recognition of the relation of the past to
the present and the meaning of the relation for mankind. It led to a new
kind of self-emancipation and individualism. It created art-forms that
have stamped themselves on the work all over these grounds. In a sense
it was a declaration of artistic independence."
"Is there really such a thing as independence in art?" I ventured to
ask.
The architect began to smile. "I'm afraid there isn't much independence.
If there were this Exposition would not be quite so intimately related
to Europe and the Orient. But wait till we get into Mullgardt's Court of
the Ages. Then you'll find an answer to your question."
At this palace the architect found much to speculate on. "Here is one of
the few buildings in the whole Exposition done in what might be called
the conventional exposition spirit. I like it immensely as an exposition
building, but I should hate it as a public building that I had to see
every day. It's too fantastic. In this place it serves its purpose. But
it might fit into a setting like the Golden Gate Park, where it would be
close to nature. Now this Exposition is very different from most of the
enterprises of the kind that have taken place in Europe. It is probably
the most serious exposition ever known, with the possible exception of
the one in Chicago. If it were in a great European capital, for example,
it would mainly express the spirit of gaiety. But the builders here,
though they have been gay in their use of color, have been tremendously
serious in purpose. They have worked largely for the sake of education."
The use of green on the building was unquestionably one of the most
successful features of the coloring, particularly when it suggested, as
it so often did, old copper. "To me the deeper green that Guerin uses is
the more charming shade, far more charming, for instance, than the light
green applied to Festival Hall. And the suggestion of green in the dome
is altogether delightful. But it's a pity they didn't use another kind
of glass. When people criticise Ryan for not doing more with his
lighting effects-in this dome they evidently don't know that a mistake
was made when the glass was sent and Ryan could do very little with it.
In order to carry out his original plans Ryan would have to apply a coat
of varnish to the interior of the dome, a rather expensive process.
However, it may be done later."