a casket of thought at its best, at its worst it contains records or
human remains of some kind.
The rectangularity, however, is what will influence the designer, from
the spacing of his block or tablet of lettering, to the intricate
arabesque of the most elaborate gold tooling.
The best cover designs are those, to my mind, wherein the feeling of
the angularity of the enclosure is expressed or acknowledged in this
way, but of course it may be felt and expressed in a variety of ways.
In the old stamped leather and pigskin bindings of the early days of
printing of the books from Venice and Basle, for instance, a frequent
and very satisfactory plan was to form a series of borders, one within
the other, from the edge of the book, enclosing a central panel, left
plain except for the title, stamped or inscribed upon the upper part
of this plain panel. The borders were formed of stamps of different
patterns, heraldic devices, scroll-work, emblems enclosed in straight
lines. These designs are often models of scale in book ornament, and
being carefully spaced and composed of repeating elements, have a
delicate and at the same time rich effect.
[Illustration: Binding in Black Morocco, with Medallions and
Coat-of-arms, by Thomas Berthelet (Sixteenth Century)]
I need not dwell upon the splendid jewelled and silver mounted
manuscripts of the scriptures of Byzantine times, which called in the
work of other craftsmen, since I presume one is dealing rather with the
design of surface ornament as a matter of mass and line adapted to the
ordinary conditions of the book-cover.
The method of stamping the coat-of-arms of the owner boldly upon
the centre of the sides in gold upon leather covers, used from the
sixteenth century and onwards, has a dignified effect, and these
stamps, whether heraldic or of abstract ornamental elements, are often
beautiful examples of rich and effective spacing within narrow limits,
the enclosing shape or boundary indicated only by the edges of the
device, which fits into its invisible shell, as it were, without effort
and without any sense of cramping.
The designers of the stamps either blind or in gold must have been in
close touch with the designer of printers’ ornaments--initial letters,
headings, borders, and the like--if not in some cases identical with
them, and to this no doubt we owe that sense of scale and proportion in
the ornamentation of the earlier bindings.
In gold-tooled designs the necessity of their having to be composed
or built up of certain restricted elements, or separate tools, the
ingenious combination of which produces the delicate arabesques of line
and leaf and floral forms we admire as the crown and glory of the
binder’s craft, has also contributed to the preservation of scale,
since the tools must necessarily be limited in size.
[Illustration: Binding in Black Morocco, with Arms of Edward VI, by
Thomas Berthelet (Sixteenth Century)]
Before the recent revival in this craft, in which so much is due to the
taste and skill of Mr. Cobden-Sanderson, there was a tendency towards
over-small, frittered and meaningless detail in gold tooling, and
binders were given to mechanical repeats of stock tools and stamps.
Yet repetition of forms or lines may be used tastefully as well as in a
commonplace way.
Few methods in tooling a book-cover are more appropriate and
satisfactory than the diaper, which is sometimes used all over the
cover, and sometimes covers the inner panel only.
The decoration of the back of the book-cover requires particular care.
In gold-tooled bindings the ornament may effectively be concentrated
upon the back, which of course must include the title, leaving the
sides plain.
When the sides are decorated the back must be the link to connect the
obverse of the book with the reverse--unless we like to say front side
and back side.
[Illustration: Binding in Stamped Calf, with Panels representing the
Emblems of the Passion, with Unicorns as Supporters, and the Arms of
France and England, with Tudor Rose, etc. (Sixteenth Century)]
But I am trespassing upon the binder’s province. The cloth cover
seems to be a sort of compromise, though often agreeable enough. Our
continental neighbours issue their books in limp paper wrappers,
expecting them to be bound as a matter of course. This may account for
the high state of the binder’s craft, as a craft, in France. Here, our
publishers vie with each other in issuing their books in attractive
cloth gilt covers which at one time were intended to rival the
gold-tooled binding. Of late we have seen every kind of eccentricity
upon book-covers both in design and execution, gold, silver, black and
white, and various colours being used in cloth printed covers, and
designers often going far in the pictorial direction. We may see the
influence of the poster, but still more so when we come to the printed
paper cover which imposes still fewer restrictions upon the designer,
in fact, none at all, except that of space--unless his sense of fitness
imposes limits upon himself; yet cloth covers have perhaps shown more
licence than the printed paper cover of late.
The cover printed in few and frank colours and varnished for protection
from wear has had a considerable vogue for Christmas books of the
lighter sort and for those principally intended for children. These
were, when first introduced, rather shocking to the bookselling mind,
which went by weight and the amount of gold on a cloth cover, in
appraising literary and artistic worth in the market.
When a certain thin square volume for which I was responsible was
modestly offered at 5_s._, the usual test being applied, the answer
was, “This will never do!”--the public, however, was of a different
opinion.
It may be said for the cover printed in colours, when it encloses a
book printed in colours, that it has a certain fitness, and for the
rest must depend largely upon the designer.
[Illustration: Binding of Oak Boards covered with Stamped Calf, with
Panels Representing the Baptism of Christ and St. George and the
Dragon, by John Reynes (Sixteenth Century)]
The illustrated magazine cover has exercised a good deal of artistic
ingenuity, and always presents the problem of the treatment of
lettering as an essential part of the design, as indeed it always
should be. There is something attractive about the angular and abstract
forms of letters used in contrast with the free lines of the human
figure and drapery, or floral ornament, or heraldry, and in a cover
design to be printed from a line block the designer may indulge his
feeling for these contrasting elements.
Here again the influence of the poster has come in, the conditions
of the magazine cover in its struggle for existence on the bookstall
being similar to the struggle for pre-eminence upon the hoarding among
its larger commercial cousins. In the covers of the magazine, the
illustrated weekly journal, and the railway novel we see the popular
side of cover design and decoration, largely intended in the first
place to attract attention, with a view of immediate sale.
Like all competitive processes with a commercial object, while certain
qualities such as a kind of force or eccentricity may be evolved, it
generally leads to deterioration on the artistic side. The final test
of all design, and especially design of book-covers--the apparel of
our companions and friendly counsellors--seems to be wrapped up in the
question: “Can you live with it?”
One may admire the skill and celerity of a juggler and conjurer, but
it would be uncomfortable to sit frequently at table with a professor
of the craft who was given to whisk away one’s dinner napkin, swallow
the knives and forks, or discover the roast mutton in his neighbour’s
pocket.
[Illustration: Binding in Brown Calf, inlaid by the Wotton Binder
(Sixteenth Century)]
So a sensational book-cover may startle us by its audacity, but it is
apt to stare at us horribly upon the drawing-room table--and we can
hardly be expected to re-furnish entirely to suit its complexion.
A painter I know tells me that there are two classes of
pictures--“pictures to live with and pictures to live by.”
Books or book-covers might be divided as books to be taken care of and
books to use.
The aristocracy, in their morocco and gilded coats, seem too costly
and precious to handle every day and be dimmed by London smoke and
dust. Few could duplicate their favourite books, so in the end the
quiet cloth cover with its plain lettering is welcome for work-a-day,
while, do as we may, the motley crowd in paper will press in and flaunt
their little hour, “yellow and black and pale and hectic red,” driven
like leaves before the breath of passing interest, some, perhaps, at
last finding rest, and resurrection, in the portfolios of the careful
collector.
OF THE USE OF GILDING IN DECORATION
The use of gilding in decoration of all kinds seems to be as
fascinating to the artist as its pursuit in the solid form appears
to be to a large proportion of the human race. In both instances,
too, there are risks to be run; in both there is use or abuse of the
material involved.
The uses of gilding in art are manifold. We may regard it as the
most precious and beautiful means of _emphasis in design_. A method
of heightening certain important parts, such as the initial letters
of an illuminated manuscript, where, by raising the letter in gesso,
or gold size and burnishing, an additional richness and lustre is
obtained, especially with the use of full colours, such as ultramarine,
the deep blue and vermilion which warm the heart in looking at the
manuscripts of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. The jewel-like
sparkle, too, of the burnished gold used for raised leaves and fruits
here and there among the delicate arabesque page-borders as in French
manuscripts of the early fourteenth century has a most charming effect,
and contains suggestions for the use of gold in larger kinds of
decorative work.
[Illustration: Appartamenti Borgia, Vatican, Rome, showing
Pinturicchio’s fresco: “The Salutation” and a Portion of the Decoration
of the Vault
From a Photograph by Anderson]
[Illustration: Appartamenti Borgia, Vatican, Rome, showing Portion of
“The Salutation” fresco, with Enrichments raised in Gesso
From a Photograph by Anderson]
Gold, too, may be used _as light_ in drawing, as a heightening to take
the place of white on a dark-toned paper. Burne-Jones revived this
method with fine results.
Gold is a most valuable means of harmonizing different colours used in
the same design or decoration, and is often useful _as an outline_ in
flat decoration, and while it can be effectively used with the full
range of colour where very rich effects are sought, it also combines
well with any single colour in decoration.
The late G. F. Watts told me he considered _blue and gold_ to be the
typical colours of the universe.
Certainly they form one of the most--if not the most--beautiful of
harmonies.
In the Appartamenti Borgia in the Vatican at Rome--a series of vaulted
rooms decorated by Pinturicchio--the prevailing harmony is blue and
gold, the field of the vaulting being blue with raised arabesques
in gold emphasizing the ribs, while the arched spaces formed by the
vaulting on the side walls are filled with figure subjects in fresco,
in which the gold note is re-echoed by certain parts such as armour,
weapons and caskets being raised in gesso and gilded. The whole has a
very rich and splendid but quiet effect. There is a reproduction to
scale of a portion in South Kensington Museum--and also one of the room
of Isabella d’Este at Mantua, which has a rich ceiling in gold and
colour.
[Illustration: Palermo: Cappella Reale, Interior
From a Water-colour Sketch by Walter Crane]
The lining of a certain dining-room in Prince’s Gate lately sold
and removed might be quoted as a modern instance of blue and gold
decoration. It is supposed to have cost an architect his reason, and
both the painter and the patron more than either bargained for, as well
as their friendship, but the result was most artistic, original and
beautiful. Need I say the motive was the peacock, and the artist Mr.
Whistler?
“There is safety in a swallow-tail,” says Carlyle in “Sartor Resartus.”
That there is safety in white and gold appears to be the creed of the
modern decorator. I heard a lady say she liked white and gold; it
“always reminded her of champagne,” possibly it may remind others of
a balance at their bankers. There is a well-known firm of architects
in New York by the name of Mackim, Meade and White, who have been
re-christened in the profession as “Mackim, White and Gold,” owing to
their fondness for that blend in interior decoration, in association
with what is called “old colonial” architecture.
One can obtain every variety of metallic tint related to gold by
lacquering over silver leaf. I adopted this method in a room, using
a coffered ceiling with the design of a vine in relief, and a frieze
panelled with figure subjects (Æsop’s “Fables”). The light came from
a large bay window at one end of the room, and so the edges of the
reliefs caught the light. The general effect being subdued silver and
bronze tones, relieved by touches of ruddy gold. (See illustration, p.
261.)
[Illustration: The Double Cube Room, Wilton House. Showing the Inigo
Jones Decoration of the Walls, with the Vandyke Portraits in the Panels
From a Photograph by Brooks and Son, Salisbury]
The use of _gold as an isolator_ has long been established in the form
of picture frames--the gilded “flat” or moulding clearing a picture
from its surroundings more effectually and easily than any other known
method; but the picture frame, as I think I have before said, is only a
relic of the architectural relation of the picture to the wall, where
it originally formed a panel, as may be seen, for instance, in the
Vandyke room at Wilton House.
Gold also forms a most valuable field or ground for colours, as in
decorative painting and mosaic work, or may be used in painting with
charming effect as a _colour_, as the early painters used it, for
rich brocades and patterned stuffs, rays of light, the emblazoning of
heraldic devices, inscriptions, and small fine details of all kinds.
Gold in Byzantine art always seems to have been used with a sense of
dignity and of solemnity. The gold tesseræ which form the field of
the mosaic decoration in the subdued light in St. Mark’s at Venice
impress one with an effect of quiet splendour. There is nothing gaudy
or flaming. The light falls through the narrow windows of the dome,
and moves softly over the concave gilded surface, reflected backwards
and forwards in every variety of tone as the sunlight travels, and the
great figures and emblems loom majestically and mysteriously upon the
gold field.
Another splendid example, and again chiefly a harmony of blue and gold,
is seen in that exquisite gem of architecture and mosaic decoration,
the Cappella Palatina in the Royal Palace at Palermo.
[Illustration: The Double Cube Room, Wilton House
From a Photograph by Brooks and Son, Salisbury]
The opposite principle in the use of gilding is illustrated in St.
Peter’s at Rome, and in many renascence interiors when the mouldings,
capitals, cornices, and architectural enrichments of all kinds in
relief are picked out in gold. The splendour may be there--if only in
the impression of costliness--but it seems of a more obvious kind,
more conscious and self-assertive, and when the principle is carried
thoroughly out of gilding every prominence, the effect may easily
become ostentatious and vulgar.
I think it is important not to lose the sense of preciousness in the
use of gilding, and, as with costly marbles and beautiful materials of
all kinds, one should be careful not to put them to base uses, or lose
their artistic value by excess.
It is comparatively easy to offer up pious opinions on the use of
gold; but the real problems only begin in front of the particular work
in hand, and the conditions under which the decorative artist works
continually vary. One may be guided by certain principles, but much
more by feeling and judgement, which go to form what is called taste.
Every work must be finer in proportion to the thought and feeling put
into it, but no amount of gold-leaf will cover the absence of taste and
sense of proportion.
OF RAISED WORK IN GESSO
Decorative design in gesso stands, it may be said, midway between
painting and sculpture, partaking in its variations of the characters
of each in turn--the child or younger sister of both, holding, as it
were, the hands of each, playful, light-hearted, familiar, associated
in its time with all kinds of domestic furniture and adornment.
With an origin perhaps as ancient as the other arts, its true home
is in Italy. We find it at Pompeii, with its relatives, stucco and
plaster-work, in association with architecture, which also are seen
in such choice forms in the decoration of the ceilings and walls
of Roman tombs, such as the famous examples of the Via Latina. We
find gesso work also in direct association with painting in the
devotional pictures of the early Italian schools, used for the diapered
backgrounds and nimbi of saints, and raised emblems and ornaments. It
reappears in our own country in the painted rood-screens of Norfolk
and Suffolk. At Southwold, for instance, there is a notable screen
with panels, painted with figures of the apostles, the backgrounds
consisting of diapers in raised gesso.
The revival of classical taste and love of classical lore and
ornamental detail at the time of the renascence in Italy led to later
and highly ornate development of gesso and stucco, of which we may see
elaborate examples in the ceilings of the Doria palace at Genoa, for
instance; and in the fine decorative scheme of Pinturicchio in the
Appartamenti Borgia in the Vatican, gilded gesso is used for caskets,
weapons, and other details in the frescoes painted on the walls, gilded
relief work and blue grounds being carried out on the vaulted ceilings
above, in arabesques and medallions.
A beautiful model of part of the Appartamenti, by Signor Mariani, may
be seen in the Victoria and Albert Museum, where also choice examples
of gesso work may be found in picture and mirror frames, and gilded
coffers or cassones. There are several of these from Florence with
figures in relief on flat backgrounds, punctured or stamped with
patterns on the paste, and afterwards gilded with rich ornamental
effect.
Then again we find gesso used underneath the burnished gold letters and
leaf work of the mediaeval illuminators.
The Italian craftsman’s skill in gesso seems to survive in the Italian
confectioner with his freehand decorations squeezed out in the form of
raised ornaments of plaster and sugar on birthday cakes and such like;
and Italian workmen are still the masters of the craft and mystery of
all manner of plaster-work, including moulding and casting.
Now there are various kinds of gesso and recipes for making it, and
it can be worked in different ways, and on different scales, and in
different degrees of relief.
For fine work on a small scale, such as might be used for caskets or
small panels in cabinets, and the decoration of furniture generally,
Gesso Duro is the best.
[Illustration: Method of Working with the Brush in Gesso]
It is a mixture of whitening soaked in cold water till quite soft,
glue or gelatine, boiled linseed oil, and a little resin, mixed well
together to the consistency of cream. There is also a gesso used by
frame-makers composed of whitening and parchment size.
Supposing it is desired to work a design on a panel of wood, the
wood had best have a coat of shellac or varnish first. Then having
determined your design lay on the paste with the point of a
long-pointed sable brush--the kind known as a “rigger,” or small
water-colour brush will answer--lightly dropping the gesso from the
point of the brush or slowly dragging it, so that the gesso may flow
from its point, as the design may require, and adding more of the paste
where greater relief is required.
[Illustration: Filling for Picture-frame, in Gesso Duro
Designed by Walter Crane]
Gesso Duro takes some days to dry, but dries, as its name implies, very
hard. It can then be scraped down if necessary, and worked on again
or touched on to any extent; and the peculiar quality of the relief
given by brush work is, perhaps, best left untouched, or at least only
added to, and not taken away from by scraping down, although a very
fine finish could be obtained in this way, giving the work almost the
look of ivory, though, I think, in that case, departing from its true
character.
The frame margin given was worked in Gesso Duro, from a design of mine,
by Harold Weeks.
The design for a bell-pull was modelled in gesso by Osmund Weeks, for
reproduction in electro silver, the sea-horse being in copper.
I have also used for work of about this scale simply a mixture of
plaster of paris or thin glue, which answered fairly well if done with
directness, as the mixture dries very quickly, and is apt to crack off
the ground when dry.
[Illustration: Design for a Bell-pull, Modelled in Gesso
By Walter Crane]
The device for the Art Workers’ Guild is an example of this method,
also worked with a brush, and afterwards tinted with lacquers reduced
to pale tints by methylated spirit. The lacquer, of course, hardens the
surface.
For bolder work and higher relief I have used plaster of paris with
thin glue or gelatine. In this, in proceeding to model the design, you
dip small pieces of cotton-wool pulled out finely, and having saturated
them in the mixture, you build up your design on the panel, which may
be of fibrous plaster, and suited for insertion in wall, frieze, or
ceiling, or fireplace. It is important to wet the ground or shellac it
to stop the suction, before laying on the gesso. It will dry slowly
enough to be modelled with the fingers or tools, and added to when dry,
or finished with brush work. It dries very fast, and the fibre of the
cotton-wool makes it cling to the panel.
I have worked figures on a frieze with a brush on a fibrous plaster
panel, and had them cast afterwards, since plaster and glue on large
surfaces without fibre is apt to crack off. “The Dance” was a frieze
panel worked in this way.
There are various patents and materials in the market for working
in gesso. One of the best I have met with is called “Denoline.” It
consists of a fine powder, sold in tins, which only requires to be
mixed with cold water to convert it into a paste of any consistency
required. Flour appears to be an ingredient, and wheat flour, I
believe, was used by the old Italian gesso workers.
[Illustration: Gesso Panel
Designed by Walter Crane]
[Illustration: The Dance: Frieze Panel in Gesso
Designed by Walter Crane]
The frame border was worked in this material, the gesso mixed as
stiffly as possible, laid on and modelled with an ordinary modelling
tool. It dries slowly and can be retouched. It is a little too
sticky, and no doubt requires, like all the different varieties of
gesso, its own peculiar treatment.
[Illustration: Picture-frame in Oak with Gesso (“Denoline”) Filling
Designed by Walter Crane]
It might seem at first sight that such a material had no particular
limitations or natural laws which in all art are so serviceable in
evolving what we call style. Yet elastic as it appears to be, and
possessing such considerable range of effect, experience soon teaches
us that it has its own most fitting characteristics and tendencies
in ornament. The artist, so far from desiring to disguise the real
conditions of the work, would rather emphasize their peculiar
characteristics. For instance, in laying on and modelling any design
in gesso with a brush, he will find the brush and the paste conspire
together to favour the production of certain forms of ornament,
delicate branch and leaf and scroll work, for instance, and dotted
borderings.
[Illustration: Treatment of Form in Gesso Decoration
By Walter Crane]