You will find in the illustrations, Figs. 53 to 62, certain suggestions

for various pieces of furniture. They are given with the intention of

impressing upon you the fact that very little carving can be done at all

without some practical motive as a backbone to your fancies. To be

always carving inapplicable panels is very dull work, and only good for

a few preliminary exercises. It is much better to consider the matter

well, and resolve upon some "opus," which will spread your efforts over

a considerable period. When you have decided upon the piece of furniture

which is most likely to be useful to you, and which lies within your

powers of design and execution, then make a drawing for it, and have it

made by a joiner (unless you can make it entirely yourself), to be put

together in loose pieces for convenience of carving, and glued up when

that is finished. You should certainly design the piece yourself, as you

should make all your own designs for the carving. The two departments

must be carried on in the closest relation to each other while the work

is in progress, otherwise their association will not be complete when it

is finished. Take, for instance, the head of the bed in the

illustration. Why should it stand up so high, like the gable of a house?

It is for no other reason than to give an opportunity for carving. A

plain board of half the height would have been just as effective as a

protection to the sleeper. Useless as carving may be from this practical

point of view, it must nevertheless be amenable to utilitarian laws. It

must be smooth where it is likely to be handled, as in the case of the

knobs on top of the posts; and even where it is not likely to be

handled, but may be merely touched occasionally, it should still have an

inviting smoothness of surface. As a matter of fact, all carving on a

bed should be of this kind, with no deep nooks or corners to hold dust.

Here, then, are a number of conditions, which, instead of being a

hindrance, are really useful incentives to fresh invention. Just as the

construction of joiner's work entails concessions on the part of the

carver, so the carver may ask the joiner to go a little out of his way

in order to give opportunities for his carving. A little knowledge of

this subject will make a reasonable compromise possible.

You will find a further advantage in undertaking a fairly large piece of

work. As it is almost certain to be in several parts, each may thus

receive a different treatment, by which means you not only obtain

contrast, but get some idea of the extraordinary power with which one

piece of carving affects another when placed in juxtaposition. Whatever

designs you may decide upon, should you undertake to carve the panels

for a bed, let them be in decidedly low relief. The surface must be

smoothly wrought, doing away with as much of the tool marking as you

can, but this smoothing to be done entirely with the tools, not by any

means with glass paper. Great attention must be paid to the drawing of

the forms, as it is by this that the impression of modeling and

projection will be expressed. A very pleasant treatment of such low

relief when a smooth and even appearance is wanted, is to carve the

ground to the full depth, say 1/8 in., only along the outlines of the

design, and form the remainder into a kind of raised cushion, almost

level in the middle with the original surface of the wood. The whole

design need thus be little more than a kind of deepish engraving,

depending for its effect upon broad lights defined by the engraved

shadows. See Fig. 54 for an example of this treatment applied to

letters.

[Illustration: FIG. 54.]

Now I expect you to make a fresh design. The illustrations in all such

cases are purposely drawn in a somewhat indefinite way, in order that

they may suggest, without making it possible to copy.

[Illustration: FIG. 55.]

Now we come to the mirror frame, Fig. 55. I should suggest that this be

done in some light-colored wood like pear-tree, which has an agreeably

warm tone, or if a hard piece of cedar can be found, it would look well,

but in no case should polish be added except that which comes from the

tool. The construction need not be complicated. Take two 3/4-in. boards,

glue them together to form the width, shape out the frame in the rough.

Put behind this another frame of 3/4-in. thick stuff, and make the

cornice out of wood about 1-1/2 in. thick. The parts to be kept separate

until the carving is finished, and afterward glued or screwed together.

The carving on the body of the frame, that is, in the gable above and

the front of bracket below, should be in very low relief, the lower

part being like the last, a kind of engraving. The fret above may be

sunk about 1/16 in. and the ground slightly cushioned. The carving on

sides and cornice is of a stronger character, and may be cut as deeply

as the wood will allow, while the cornice is actually pierced through in

places, showing the flat board behind. The design for this cornice

should have some repeating object, such as the kind of pineapple-looking

thing in the illustration, and its foliage should be formed with plenty

of well-rounded surfaces, that may suggest some rather fat and juicy

plant.

[Illustration: FIG. 56.]

In Fig. 56 you have a suggestion for carving a bench or settle, the

proportions of which have been taken from one found at a Yorkshire

village inn. The actual measurements are given in order that these

proportions may be followed. It is a well-known fact, that chairs, or

seats of any kind, can not be successfully designed on paper with any

hope of meeting the essential requirements of comfort, lightness, and

stability. Making seats is a practical art, and the development of the

design is a matter of many years of successive improvements. A good

model should therefore be selected and copied, with such slight

changes as are necessary where carving is to be introduced. The main

lines should not be interfered with on any account, nor should the

thickness of the wood be altered if possible. The carving on this settle

is intended to be in separate panels, about two inches apart. These

panels will look all the better if no two are quite alike; a good way to

give them more variety will be to make every alternate one of some kind

of open pattern, like a fret. These piercings need not extend all over

the design in the panel in every case: some may have only a few shapely

holes mixed up with the lines, others again may be formed into complete

frets with as much open as solid. (See Fig. 57.)

The carving should be shallow, and not too fine in detail, as it will

get a great deal of rubbing. The material should be, if possible, oak;

but beech may be used with very good effect--in neither case should it

be stained or polished.

[Illustration: FIG. 57.]

Fig. 58 is a clock case. Something of this kind would make an excellent

"opus" such as I have alluded to, and give plenty of scope for

invention. As clocks of this kind are generally hung on a wall, the

brackets, from a practical point of view, are of course unnecessary, but

as it is important that they should _look_ as if they were supported and

to satisfy the eye, something in the way of a bracket or brackets is

generally added. A bracket like the one in the illustration, not being a

real support constructively speaking, but only put there to give

assurance that such has not been overlooked or neglected, becomes a kind

of toy, and may be treated as such by adding some little fancy to make

it amusing, and give an excuse for making a feature of it. This will be

a good place to try your hand at some modest attempt at figure work. In

designing your bracket, should you wish to introduce a little figure of

man or beast, I think you will find it more satisfactory if the figure

is separated from the structural part by a slight suggestion of solid

surroundings of its own. Thus the little roof over, and the solid bit of

wood under, the figure in the illustration serve this purpose, lending

an appearance of steadiness which would be wanting in a bracket formed

of a detached figure. At any rate, never make your figures, whether of

man or beast, seem to carry the clock; you may hunch them up into any

shape you like, but no weight should be supposed to rest upon them.

[Illustration: FIG. 58.]

For sake of the carving, oak will be the best wood to employ in making

this clock, or one like it, but Italian walnut will do equally well. The

size should be fairly large, say about three feet over all in height.

This will give a face of about ten inches in diameter, which face will

look best if made of copper gilt, and not much of it, perhaps a mere

ring, with the figures either raised or cut out, leaving nothing but

themselves and two rings surrounding. This should project from the wood,

leaving a space of about one inch.

[Illustration: FIG. 59.]

If you are inclined to try a heavier piece of work, the bench or

settle-end in Fig. 59 may give you a suggestion. In this there is a bird

introduced in the shape of a cock roosting on the branch of a tree. It

would require to be done in a thick piece of wood, say 3 ins. thick, and

would be best in English oak. The idea will be, to cut away the wood

from the outer lower portion, leaving only about 1-1/4 or 1-1/2 in.

thickness, but at the top retaining the full thickness; in which the

bird must be carved, the outer edges being kept full thickness in order

to give the structural form and enclose the carving. The inside of this

upper part, toward the seat, should also be carved, but with a smooth

and shallow pattern of some kind, as both may be seen together, and in

contrast to each other.

[Illustration: FIG. 60.]

The introduction of figures leads me to a subject which it will be

better to discuss in the next chapter, i.e., the question as to how far

it is possible or consistent with present conditions to attempt

anything that may bear the character of humor. But in the meantime here

are three more subjects upon which fancy and ingenuity may be expended

with profit. In Fig. 60 you have a heraldic subject. In all such cases

the heraldry should be true, and not of the "bogus" kind. This shield

represents a real coat of arms, and was done from a design by Philip

Webb, being finally covered with gesso, silvered and painted in

transparent colors.

Figs. 61 and 62 are suggestions for wooden crosses, oak being the best

material to use for such a purpose. The carving should be so arranged as

to form some kind of pattern on the cross. In Fig. 62 the black trefoils

are supposed to be cut right through the thin pieces of wood forming the

center portion, and the carving on that part is very shallow.

[Illustration: FIG. 61.]

[Illustration: FIG. 62.]

CHAPTER XIX

THE GROTESQUE IN CARVING

Misproportion not Essential to the Expression of Humor--The Sham

Grotesque Contemptible--A True Sense of Humor Helpful to the

Carver.

The dullness which comes of "all work and no play" may be said to affect

the carver at times. He tires of carving leaves and ornaments: what more

natural than to seek change and amusement in the invention of droll

figures of men or animals? The enjoyment which we all feel in

contemplating the outcome of this spirit in ancient work, leads us to

the imitation of both subject and manner, hoping thereby that the same

results may be obtained; but somehow the repetition is seldom attended

with much success, while of original fancies of the same sort we are

obliged to confess ourselves almost destitute. Who can behold the

fantastic humors of Gothic carvings without being both amused and

interested? Those grotesque heads with gaping mouths recall the stories

of childhood, peopled with goblins and gnomes. It is all so natural, and

so much in keeping with the architecture which surrounds it, the carving

is so rude and simple, that it seems absurd when some authority on such

matters makes a statement to the effect that all such expression of

humor has become forever impossible to ourselves.

This important part of the question must be left to your own meditation,

to settle according to your lights; experience will probably lead you

ultimately to the same opinion. Meantime, the point I wish to impress

upon you is this, that until you feel yourself secure, and something of

a master of various branches of your craft, you should not attempt any

subject which aims at being decidedly grotesque. There are very good and

practical reasons for this; one is, that while you are studying your

art, you must do nothing that may tend to obscure what faculties you

have for judging proportion. Now, as all grotesque work is based more or

less on exaggeration, it forms a very dangerous kind of exercise to the

beginner, therefore I should never allow a pupil of mine to so much as

attempt it. Do not think that I wish to discourage every effort which

has not an ultra-serious aim. On the contrary, I am but taking a rather

roundabout way to an admission that the humorous element has, and must

have at all times, a powerful attraction for the wood-carver; and to the

statement of an opinion that it should not be allowed to take a

prominent place in the work of a student; moreover, that it is quite

possible to find in nature a varied and unfailing source of suggestion

in this respect (more, in fact, than we are ever likely to account for),

and which requires no artificial exaggeration to aid its expression.

Some tincture of the faculty is absolutely necessary to the carver who

takes his subjects from birds or beasts, in order that he may perceive

and seize the salient lines and characteristic forms, of which the

key-note is often to be found in a faint touch of humor, and which, like

the scent of a flower, adds charm by appealing to another sense.

The same argument applies to the treatment of the human figure. Let no

student (and I may include, also, master-carver) think that a grotesque

treatment will raise the smile or excite the interest which is

anticipated. The "grotesque" is a vehicle for grim and often terrible

ideas, lightly veiled by a cloak of humorous exaggeration; a sort of

Viking horse-play--it is, in fact, a language which expresses the mixed

feelings of sportive contempt and real fear in about equal proportions.

When these feelings are not behind the expression, it becomes a language

which is in itself only contemptible.

[Illustration: FIG. 63.]

If, carried away by fancy, you must find vent for its impulses, and

carve images of unearthly beings, at least make them cheerful looking;

one can imagine such demons and goblins as being rather nice fellows

than otherwise. A grim jest that fails is generally a foolish one--at

least its perpetrator neither deserves nor receives sympathy for his

discomfiture. Now, I shall show you one or two examples which may make

this matter a little clearer to you, if you are at all inclined to argue

the position. I think, at any rate, they will prove that the expression

of humor does not always depend upon exaggeration, and may exist in a

work which is, one may say, almost copied from nature. Fig. 63 is an

example to this effect. The little jester just emerging from a flower,

one of the side-pieces to a Miserere seat carving, is undoubtedly a true

portrait, carved without the slightest attempt at exaggeration. The

quiet humor which it evinces required only sympathy to perceive and

skill to portray on the part of its carver. He had nothing to invent in

the common acceptation of the word. The carving of the mendicant, which

comes on the other side, is equally vivid in its truth to nature. It is

so lifelike that we do not notice the humorous enjoyment of the artist

in depicting the whining lips and closed eyes of the professional

beggar. Observe the good manners of it all--the natural refinement of

the artist who leaves his characters to make all the fun, without

intrusion from himself other than to give the aid of his skill in

representation. Now, subjects of this class will, in all probability,

present themselves until the end of the world; but artists like this

Gothic one are not so likely to be common. Great technical skill, a

large fund of vitality, and many other controlling qualities are

necessary to the production of such an artist; but he gives a clue to

the right action, which we may with safety accept, even if we can not

hope to equal his performance.

[Illustration: FIG. 64.]

[Illustration: FIG. 65.]

The center-piece, Fig. 64, tells a little story of Samson. It is

noticeable in these medieval picture subjects, how, when a story has to

be told, the details are treated in a broad and distinct fashion, as if

the story could take care of itself, and only required to be stated

clearly as to facts. The detached ornamental parts, on the contrary,

receive a degree of careful attention not given to the picture,

seemingly with the object of making their loneliness attractive.

The broad-humor characteristic of the companion picture of medieval

life, in the little domestic scene, Fig. 65, is equally free from forced

exaggeration or intentional misproportion. Scale and anatomy, to be

sure, have had little consideration from the carver, but we readily

forgive the inaccuracies in this respect, on account of his quick wit in

devising means to an end.

Before we leave this subject, look at Plate II, in which you will see a

curious use of misproportion--intentional, too, in this case--and used

for quite other than humorous purposes. This is a little ornamental

figure from the tomb of Henry IV, in Canterbury Cathedral. You will see

that the body is out of all proportion; too small for the head which

surmounts it, or too big for the feet upon which it stands. Now, what

could have induced the carver to treat a dainty little lady thus? It

certainly was not that he considered it an improvement upon nature, nor

was it a joke on his part. It could only be done for some practical

reason such as this: that the little figure does part duty as a bracket,

hence, more appearance of solidity is required at the top, and less at

the foot, than true proportions would admit. It is all done so

unostentatiously that one might look for hours at the figure without

noticing the license. Not that I should advise you to imitate this

naive way out of a difficulty. The childlike simplicity of its treatment

succeeds where conscious effort would only end in affectation.

[Illustration: FIG. 66.]

[Illustration: FIG. 67.]

In Fig. 66 you will see another little figure doing duty in connection

with a stall division in the Lady Chapel at Winchester Cathedral. Its

smooth roundness of form is very appropriate to the position it

occupies; while its polished surface bears ample testimony that it has

given no offense to the touch of the many hands which have rested upon

it.

Fig. 67 shows another example of the same sort, but perched on a lower

part of the division. This one is from the cathedral at Berne, each

division of the stalls having a different figure, of which this is a

type.

CHAPTER XX

STUDIES FROM NATURE--BIRDS AND BEASTS

The Introduction of Animal Forms--Rude Vitality Better than Dull

"Natural History"--"Action"--Difficulties of the Study for

Town-Bred Students--The Aid of Books and Photographs--Outline

Drawing and Suggestion of Main Masses--Sketch-Book Studies,

Sections, and Notes--Swiss Animal Carving--The Clay Model: its Use

and Abuse.

Nothing enlivens or gives more variety of interest to wood-carving than

the introduction of animal forms. They make agreeable halting-places on

which the eye may rest with pleasure. They are, in general, both

beautiful in their shapes and associated with ideas which appeal

strongly to the imagination, thus affording in masses of abstract

ornament the pleasantest kind of relief by adding to it points of

definite lineament and meaning.

To carve animals as they ought to be carved, one must have something

more than a passing interest in their forms; there must be included also

an understanding of their natures, and some acquaintance with their

habits. A cattle-drover is likely to know the salient points of a

bullock, a horse-breeder all those connected with a horse, and so on. We

students, however, not having the advantage of such accurate and

personal knowledge, must make shift in the best way we can to discover

and note the points so familiar to trained eyes. To see animals in this

way, and, with knowledge of their forms and habits, treat their

sculptured images according to the laws of our craft, is no light task.

If choice were to be made between a rude manner of carving--but which

familiarity with the subject invested with lively recognition of

character--and a more cultured and elaborate, but lifeless study in

natural history, there should be no hesitation in making choice of the

former method, because animal forms, without some indication of

vitality, are the dullest of all dull ornaments.

It is quite impossible to describe in words the kind of "action" which

is most appropriate to sculpture, it being much more a question of

treatment, and the guiding spirit of the moment, than a subject which

can be formulated. As a broad and general principle which may be taken

for guidance, you will always find yourself on surer ground in the

attempt to indicate the _capacity_ for energy and the suggestion of

_movement_, than you will if your aim is the extremity of action in any

direction. You may, with some justice, point to the illustration given

in Fig. 65, and which appears to contradict this statement, as being an

example in which violent action is the key-note. You must notice,

however, that the two figures, although struggling, are for the moment

still, or may be supposed so. There is enough suggestion of this

pause to excuse the attitudes and save the composition from

restlessness--even the raised hands may be supposed to remain in the

same position for a second or two. This imaginary pause, however

infinitesimal, is essential to the dignity of the sculptor's art, as

nothing is more irritating to the mind than being forced to recognize

the contradiction between a motionless image and its suggestion of

restless action. It is necessary to observe the same rule in the

expression of actual repose, as some clue must be given, some completed

action be suggested, in order to distinguish dormant energy from

downright inertia. I should like to impress upon you the importance of

making a special study of the characteristic movements of animals. You

will in time become so far familiar with them that certain standards of

comparison and contrast will be established in your mind as aids to

memory. Thus you will be all the better able to carve with significance

the measured and stately action of a horse, if you have in your mind's

eye at the same time a picture of the more cumbrous and slower movements

of a cow; and you will be helped in the same way when you are carving a

dog, by remembering that the movements of a cat afford a striking

contrast, in being stealthy where the other is nervous and quick.

For the unfortunate town-bred student or artist, who has had few

opportunities to study birds and beasts familiar to the country

schoolboy, there is no other way but to make the best of stuffed birds,

photographs, etc. Much may be done with these aids if a little personal

acquaintance with their habits and associations is added like salt, to

keep the second-hand knowledge sweet and wholesome.

In the absence of opportunity for study from the life, no pictures of

animals can compare in their usefulness to the carver with those by

Bewick. They are so completely developed in essential details, so full

of character and expressive of life, that even when personal

acquaintance has been made with their various qualities, a glance at one

of his engravings of birds or beasts conveys new meaning, either of

gesture or attitude, to what we have previously learned. Every student

who wishes to make a lively representation in carving of familiar beast

or bird should study Bewick's engravings of "Quadrupeds" and "Birds."

Drawings made for the purpose of study need not be elaborate: indeed,

such drawings are only embarrassing to work from. The most practical

plan is to make a drawing in which the main masses are given correctly,

and in about the same relative position that they will occupy in the

carving. I give you in Plate VII an example of this in a drawing made by

Philip Webb, who, by the study of a lifetime, has amassed a valuable

store of knowledge concerning animals, and acquired that extraordinary

skill in their delineation and the expression of character which is only

to be attained by close observation and great sympathy with the subject.

The drawing in question was made for myself at the time I was carving a

lion for the cover of a book (given in Plate VIII). It was made, in his

good-natured way, to "help a lame dog over a stile," as I had got into

difficulties with the form. This drawing is all that a carver's first

diagram should be, and gives what is always the first necessity in such

preliminary outlines--that is, the right relationship of the main

masses, and the merest hint of what is to come in the way of detail; all

of which must be studied separately, but which would be entirely

useless if a wrong start had been made. In Fig. 68 I give you tracings

from some notes I made myself while carving the sheep in Plates V and

VI. The object was to gain some definite knowledge of form by noting the

relation of planes, sections of parts, projections, etc., etc. The

section lines and side-notes are the most valuable part of the

memoranda. In the same manner the illustration, Fig. 69, shows diagrams

made from a heron, giving section lines of beak, etc.

The side-notes about the colors are valuable, as, although not

translatable into carving, they do to some extent influence the manner

of interpreting forms.

Photographs must not be despised, but they are only of use if read by

the light of previous knowledge. For this reason you can not make too

many notes of sectional structure through heads, necks, and legs, which

will help to explain the mystery common to all photographs.

The bear shown in the frontispiece is traced from a photographic

illustration which appeared in the Westminster Budget some time ago. By

the merest accident it is suggestive of a subject almost ready for the

carver's hand.

[Illustration: FIG. 68.]

[Illustration: FIG. 69.]

Until tourists began to explore the beauties of Switzerland, there were

no better carvers of animals than the serious but genial craftsmen of

that noble country, more especially of such animals as were familiar to

their eyes. This preeminence shows distinct signs of soon becoming a

thing of the past in the endeavors to meet the demands created by

thoughtless visitors. Still, it is possible to obtain a little of the

traditional work, uninfluenced by that fatal impetus originating in

modern commerce. A piece of this kind is shown in Fig. 70, bought by a

friend only a year or two ago in the Grindelwald, and which, although

forming part of the usual stock of such things made for tourist

consumption, was picked out with judicious discrimination from a number

of stupid and trivial objects which displayed neither interest of design

nor other than mechanical skill of carving. This little bear, a few

inches in size, is carved in a way which shows long experience of the

subject, and great familiarity with the animal's ways. The tooling of

the hair is done with the most extraordinary skill, and without the

waste of a single touch. Now, a word or two more on studies from the

life before we leave this subject. I have given you examples of

diagrams made for this purpose, but much may be done without any

drawings, further than a preliminary map of the general masses. In the

case of such an animal as the horse, which can be seen in every street,

I have myself found it useful to follow them in my walks, taking mental

note of such details as I happened to be engaged upon, such as its legs

and joints, its head or neck; another day I would confine my attention

to eyes, ears, mane, etc., always with reference to the work

immediately in hand, as that is the time to get the best results from

life study; because the difficulties have presented themselves, and one

knows exactly what to look for. Five minutes spent thus after the work

has been started (provided the start has been right and involves no

mistake in the general masses) is more valuable than hours of labor in

making preliminary drawings.

[Illustration: FIG. 70.]

The use of experimental models in clay or wax has, of course, its

advantages, but it will be well to know just how far such an aid is

valuable, and at what point its use becomes hurtful to one's work. It is

a common practise in large carving shops for one man to design the

figure or animal subjects in clay, while another carves them in stone or

wood. Now, apart from the difference in material and the unnatural

"division of labor," which we have discussed before, it is beyond

question that a model of this kind has even a more paralyzing effect on

the actual carver than a drawing would have. Of course, the work is more

certain to reach a recognized standard, and the risk of total failure is

reduced to a minimum, but there is literally nothing left for the

carver to invent; who, if he is a man with a turn for that kind of

thing, and of a nervous temperament, must suffer untold irritation in

its execution. The good and bad results of the use of a modeled pattern

attend in a modified degree even where both are done by the same hand,

but for all that it is a useful and convenient way of making experiments

in doubtful passages of the work. The "how far" a model is to be carried

must be regulated by the amount of confidence the carver has in his own

foresight, but in any case it is always well to remember the difference

of treatment required in plaster, clay, and hard wood, which lead to

such different results that often fresh difficulty arises in having to

translate the one manner into the other. For the purpose of roughing out

the general scheme, the clay, if it must be resorted to, should be used

in soft masses, then a drawing in outline made from this; but all

doubtful detailed work should be carved, not modeled, and for this

purpose the clay should be allowed to harden until it is nearly dry.

The opinions of the well-known wood-carver, Mr. W. Aumonier, on this

subject, will be of value to you; he says with regard to the best

method of going to work: "A fresh piece of wood-carving executed without

a model is distinctly a created work," and that much good work may come

by "chopping boldly at a block without any preconceived design, but

designing as you go on." But he thinks it is best to work from drawings;

"rough, full-size charcoal cartoons, which give the effect wanted by

their light and shade." He also says that he "strongly protests against

the too frequent use of clay or plaster models, because they are often

worse than useless, and not infrequently absolutely immoral in their

tendency, because they absorb time and money, which ought more

legitimately to be spent on the carving itself."

CHAPTER XXI

FORESHORTENING AS APPLIED TO WORK IN RELIEF

Intelligible Background Outline Better than Confused

Foreshortening--Superposition of Masses.

I have spoken of the necessity for careful balance between the outlines

of subject and background: that both should be agreeable in shape. This

becomes complicated and more difficult to arrange when we admit into our

design anything resembling what painters call foreshortening, and the

awkwardness is felt even in the placing of such a small thing as an

apple-leaf, which may be treated in such a way that the intention of the

drawing is entirely lost in the confusion which arises between the

inferred and the actual projection.

In designing such subjects it will be good to bear in mind as a guiding

principle that no matter what excuse there may be in the nature of the

inferred position of the leaf or limb, the outline against the

background must be at once agreeable and explanatory.

Every kind of work in relief develops a species of compromise in the

expression of form, lying somewhere between the representation of an

object on a perfectly flat ground, as in a painting, and the complete

realization of the same form, copied from nature in some solid material,

without any background whatever. In proportion to the amount of actual

projection from the background, of course the necessity diminishes for

that kind of foreshortening which is obtained by delineation. It might

be inferred, therefore, that in very low relief--which is more nearly

akin to the nature of a picture--more liberty may be taken in this

direction. It is not so, however, for where actual depth or projection

exists, as in carving, be it only so much as the depth of a line, it

makes foreshortening well-nigh impossible, except to a very limited

extent. There must be, of course, _some_ appearance of this quality, so

a certain conventional standard has been set up, beyond which one only

ventures at one's own risk. Thus, care is taken that every object

composing the subject lies with its _longest lines_ parallel to the

background. In this way the least possible violence is done to the

imagination in completing the picture. As an example, no single leaf

should be represented in relief as turning or coming forward more than

it would do if plucked from the tree and laid loosely down upon a sheet

of paper. A, Fig. 71, is an outline of an apple-leaf pressed out flat. B

is an attempt to present it in violent foreshortening, showing its back

to the spectator, while its point is supposed to be buried in the

background. C is the same leaf turned the other way, and supposed to be

projecting forward; both are exceedingly awkward and unintelligible as

mere outlines, and if expressed in relief would not be any more

convincing as portraits of the thing intended--rather less so, in fact,

than the diagram, which has no projection to interfere with the drawing.

So we must turn our leaf until it presents its long side more or less to

the spectator, as in D; but even here part of the edge is so thin at _a_

that it will be better to turn it a little farther, as in E, showing

more of its surface, as at _b_.

[Illustration: FIG. 71.]

Again, if we take as another example two apples, one partly covering the

other, as in _a_, Fig. 72, where one apple is supposed to be behind the

other, and so implies distance. There is no means of expressing this

distance in carving. Lowering the surface of the hindmost apple would

merely throw out the balance of masses without giving a satisfactory

explanation of its position, while to cut a deep groove between the two

would be an equally unsightly expedient. The difficulty should, whenever

it is possible, be avoided by partially separating the two forms, as in

_b_, where the center of the hindmost apple clears the outline of the

other; thus making it possible to get a division without awkwardness.

[Illustration: FIG. 72.]

[Illustration: FIG. 73.]

A good expedient, where leaf or scroll forms are to be carved, and when

very truthful drawing is necessary to explain their convolutions, is

that adopted by Professor Lethaby at the Royal College of Art. It

consists in cutting the leaf out of a piece of stiffish paper, and with

a knife or pen-handle curling it into the required form. The main lines

will thus be seen in true relation to one another, and all the

distortion avoided which arises from disconnection of parts; not only

that, but it is a useful aid to the invention, as much variety can be

hinted at by a skilful manipulation in curling its lobes. Fig. 73 was

drawn from a paper model of this kind. Of course, it is quite without

the necessary veins or minor articulations, but is useful as a

suggestion of main lines. With regard to subjects containing figures of

men or animals, the same principle governs the placing of the whole body

in the first instance, then of the different members, so that heads,

arms, and legs take up a position as nearly as may be with a piece of

background all to themselves. Thus, no two bodies should be

super-imposed if it can be in any way avoided. (I am speaking now of

moderate and low relief, although even in high relief the best masters

have always respected the principle.) The temptation to imitate effects

of foreshortening for its own sake is not without some excuse, as it is

quite possible to make presentable pictures in this way. A horse, for

instance, may be carved in low relief, presenting either its head or

hindquarters to the spectator, and yet not look absolutely absurd.

Again, a front face may be carved in the same way, notwithstanding the

difficulty presented by the projection of the nose. Neither of these

experiments can ever be said to prove entirely successful. It is not so

much that they are either difficult or impossible, as that a more

suitable method, one more natural to the technique of the carver, is

being neglected, and its many good qualities sacrificed for sake of an

effect which can never be fully realized in sculpture. To so dispose the

various masses, great and small, that they fall easily into groups, each

having some relation to, and share of the background, is a true carver's

artifice. A skilful use of this arrangement makes it quite unnecessary

to encroach upon the domain of another art in the imitation of an

effect which may be successfully rendered with the pencil, but only so

to a very limited extent with the carving tools.

You have all seen the actors, when called before the curtain at the

close of the play, how they pass before it one by one, and perhaps

joining hands make their bows _in line_, to all appearance, on a very

narrow platform. The curtain is your background, while the footlights

may stand for the surface of your wood. In illustration of this

principle, let me call your attention to the arrangement of the animals

in Plate VI, where economy of space, and a desire to display each detail

to advantage, are the leading motives. I give it as the readiest example

to hand, and because it fairly illustrates the principle in question.

You must excuse the apparent vanity in making choice of one of my own

works to exemplify a canon of art. The sheep at the top is supposed to

be scampering over rocks; the ram below may be any distance from the

sheep that you choose to imagine--the only indication of relative

position is _separation_, by means of a ridge that may pass for a rock.

The head of the ram is somewhat foreshortened, but there was enough

thickness of wood contained in the big mass of the body to allow of

this being done in the smaller mass of the head, without leaving too

much to be supposed. The heads of the sheep in the fold have been as

closely packed as was consistent with showing as much of each as

possible, as it was considered better to give the whole head and no body

than to show only a part of both: most of the bodies, therefore, are

supposed to be hidden behind the wall, only one showing in part.

It is a general axiom of the craft, that every mass (be it body or leaf)

must be made as complete in itself as the circumstances will allow; but,

if partly hidden, the concealment should be wilful, and without

ambiguity. Thus, a dog's head may be rightly carved as being partly

hidden in a bucket, but ought not to be covered by another head if it is

possible to avoid it.

CHAPTER XXII

UNDERCUTTING AND "BUILT-UP" WORK

Undercutting as a Means and as an End; its Use and

Abuse--"Built-up" Work--"Planted" Work--"Pierced" Work.

By undercutting is meant the cutting away of the solid portions of

projections in such a manner as to make them invisible, thus throwing

the carved surface work into more complete relief by detaching it from

the background. This device has often been carried so far, where the

projection was sufficient, that entire groups of figures and foliage

have been practically detached from the background, like pieces of

separate sculpture carved all round. This desire for completeness of

relief was more or less a departure from the orthodox aims of the

carvers' craft, and led ultimately to what is known as "built-up"

work--that is to say, work in which the projecting parts were composed

of many different pieces of wood, each carved separately, and afterward

glued or pinned together to form the composition. Many of the most

elaborate carvings by Grinling Gibbons are of this kind; they have a

charm of their own, but it is one of quite separate interest, and

belongs to a category entirely removed from the art of carving objects

in a solid piece of wood. Apart from this distinction, the difficulty of

the method requires the most accomplished mechanical skill and a highly

trained eye to either carve or compose such work in a way to command

respect. I shall therefore dismiss this branch of the subject as being

outside of our present limits.

Undercutting, on the other hand, is an expedient distinctly

characteristic of solid wood-carving, and some experiments ought to be

made by you in designing work in which it can be used. It may be either

partial or complete--complete, of course, only up to a point; that is to

say, the connection with the background must in every case be not only

maintained but visibly demonstrated. Partial undercutting applies to

such portions as the sides of leaves, the receding parts of heads,

wings, etc., where the wood between the object and its background is cut

away on an inward bend, either completing the projecting form, as in

the case of a head, or merely to hide the superfluous wood in the case

of a leaf. All this presupposes a certain amount of elevation in the

relief; indeed, it is only in such cases that the process is necessary

or can be carried out. The use of undercutting of this kind is like

every other technical process, liable to abuse through too much being

made of its effects. Fortunately the time it consumes is a safeguard

against any tendency to run riot in this direction. The point at which

it should in all cases stop, and that relentlessly, is where it begins

to cause a separation between any entire mass of ornament and its

background. If _portions_ are thus relieved almost to complete

detachment, but visibly reconnect themselves in another place, a certain

piquancy is gained which adds charm without destroying character. A

curious use is made of undercutting in the bunch of leaves given in

Plate XI from a Miserere seat in Winchester Cathedral; it may be said to

be completely undercut in so far that the whole bunch is hollowed out

under the surface, leaving from 1/4 to 1/2 in. thickness of wood, in

which the leaves are carved, so that you may put your finger in at one

hole and see it at the bottom of another. The only end all this extra

labor seems to have attained is that of changefulness in the shadows of

the holes between the leaves, in which one sees dark rims with light at

the bottom, a condition which certainly adds a mysterious lightness to

the whole mass. It is a very refined and appropriate use of

undercutting, but would only be possible where time could be spent to

secure a variant of such epicurean delicacy, as all the superfluous wood

must be taken out through the spaces between the leaves, and in this

case they are not overlarge for that purpose.

Work which has its background entirely cut away, and which is afterward

glued or "planted" on a fresh background to save labor, can not be

called "undercut"; this method has generally a cheap look, as it is used

with the object of saving time and expense. Carving which is treated in

this way, but instead of being "planted" close to the background, is

fixed at a little distance from it (as is the case with the lace-like

designs fitted into the hollow moldings of fifteenth-century

choir-screens), is of quite a different order, although even in this

case it can not be strictly described as undercut: it is more nearly

akin to pierced fretwork. It has, however, all the general effect of

undercut work, and is the only possible way of obtaining this effect in

wood where a large quantity of such ornament is required. The face of

such carving is generally a little convex, while the back is hollowed

out to give an equal thickness of section. The ornaments in Figs. 75,

76, and 77 are of this description, and are calculated to give great

play of light and shade, and be seen well at a considerable distance.

Undercutting in the strict and more laborious sense must be reserved for

occasions where the labor is repaid by the additional charm. It must be

considered in the light of a _tour de force_, which, on account of its

cost in the matter of time, should only be used under exceptional

circumstances, care being taken to make it clear that it is _an

exception_ to the general rule of solid carving on a solid background.

CHAPTER XXIII

PICTURE SUBJECTS AND PERSPECTIVE

The Limitations of an Art not Safely Transgressed--Aerial

Perspective Impossible in Relief--Linear Perspective only Possible

in a Limited Way.

Those vague and shadowy boundaries which separate the domains of the

different arts are being perpetually called in question. By what

landmarks such indefinite frontiers may be distinguished, and how far

they may be extended or transgressed, will always be a matter of

dispute. Excursions of conquest are continually being made, and

conspicuous among these, one which animates the hopes of many sculptors

and modelers. Its aim is the appropriation of those charms which are the

peculiar property of the graphic arts, more especially their power of

expressing the effects of distance by means of linear and aerial

perspective.

The background of a piece of carving is so obviously solid and

impenetrable that any attempt to imitate an appearance of distance is

sure to defeat its own ends, the loss being greater than the gain. If

there are limits to be observed in the foreshortening of a single leaf,

how much more must they apply to the representation of whole landscapes?

Properly speaking, there is no _distance_ available in the carver's art;

its whole interest lies near the surface, and in the direct rays of the

light which illuminates it. There is even a distinct pleasure to be

derived from the sense that it is all carved out of a block of such and

such thickness, pointing to the reasonable conclusion that this

thickness should never be lost sight of, the carving ever and anon

returning to the surface as a measure of music does to its key-note.

This is exemplified in all the great works of antiquity, among which the

Parthenon frieze may be quoted as evidence. On the other hand, all

pictorial sculpture, such as carved landscapes with figures diminishing

both in scale and projection, necessarily fail to uphold this sense of

solidity, as there must occur large spaces which are hollowed out far

below the surface to give another plane on which to carve the more

distant objects in low relief, in the vain hope of making them appear to

recede. Work in which perspective of this kind is used must be viewed

as nearly as possible from the point of vision produced by its

vanishing-lines; this point is intelligible enough in the case of a

painting, but when it comes to be carved into relief, if it happens to

be seen from any other point of view, it necessarily looks all wrong,

because every part is thrown into false relationship.

All this, of course, forms no argument against the use of explanatory

landscapes with trees, buildings, etc. It only means that all such

features must be treated in a way entirely different to that adopted by

the painter--that is to say, in detached groups, each having some due

relation to the original surface of the wood, and only very little to

their perspective positions. In Fig. 74 are two diagrams of a landscape

composition. The one is appropriate to a painted picture and the other

to carving; both have pretty nearly the same number of features, except

that in the carving there is no _effect_ of distance attempted, whereas

in the painting everything leads to this one particular distinction. The

road goes _into_ the picture, the bridge is seen end on, the house and

mill are diminished in size, and the horizon is strongly enforced by a

shadow echoed in the sky. The carving looks ridiculous beside the

painting, but it is a severe test, as it is not a subject which should

be carved at all in that condensed way.

[Illustration: FIG. 74.]

CHAPTER XXIV

ARCHITECTURAL CARVING

The Necessity for Variety in Study--A Carver's View of the Study of

Architecture; Inseparable from a Study of his own Craft--Importance

of the Carpenter's Stimulating Influence upon the

Carver--Carpenter's Imitation of Stone Construction Carried too

Far.

That the study of wood-carving should be confined to the narrow field of

its own performances would be the surest way to bring contempt upon an

art which already offers too many temptations for the easy embodiment of

puerile motives. Such a limited range would exclude all the stimulating

lessons to be derived from the many other kinds of carving and

sculpture; forgetful that they are, after all, but different forms of

the same art, differing only in technique and application. It would take

no note of the stately sculptures of Greece--the fountain-head of all

that is technically and artistically perfect in expression of form--or

of the splendor of imagination displayed in the ivories of Italy. Many

another source of inspiring impetus would be neglected, including the

greatest of all, the influence of architecture, and through it, the

dignified association or the carver's art with all that is noble in the

life of mankind.

The dry and uninviting aspect which a serious study of architecture

presents to some minds is such that it is too often avoided as both

useless and wearisome. Much of this diffidence is due to a misconception

of the aims which should govern the student of decorative design in

making an acquaintance with its principles. The study should not be

looked upon as pertaining exclusively to the functions of an architect,

nor as having only an accidental connection with particular crafts. It

must be remembered that in the old days mason and carpenter were both

craftsmen and architects, and the sculptor and wood-carver had an equal

share in creating every feature which gives any distinction of style to

the buildings that were the outcome of their united efforts. So,

instead of looking upon the subject as only a study of dates for the

antiquary, and rules of construction for the architect, the carver

should take his own view, and regard architecture for the time being as

what in some sense it really is: a very large kind of carving, which

includes and gives reason for his own particular branch. The importance

of the subject is proved by the experience of centuries; history showing

plainly how the two arts grew in strength and beauty only when closely

associated, and shared each other's fate in proportion to their

estrangement.

In this place I can say but very little upon such a vast subject; all I

can do is to call your attention to one or two examples of carved work

combined with structural carpentry, in order that you may see for

yourselves what a power of effect lies in that union, and how by

contrast it enhances the value and interest of both. I do this in the

hope that it may possibly lead you to a more complete study of

architecture, for which there is no lack of opportunity in books and

museums, but more especially in what remains of the old buildings

themselves, with which a familiar and personal acquaintance will be

much better than a theoretical or second-hand one.

No carver with a healthy ambition can long continue to make designs and

produce them in wood without feeling intensely the want of some

architectural occasion for his efforts. Had he only a barge-board to

carve, or the canopy of a porch, it would be such a relief to turn to

its large and general treatment after a course of the panels and

ornaments peculiar to domestic furniture. Look, for instance, at the

carved beams of the aisle roof in Mildenhall Church given in Plate III,

and think what a fund of powerful suggestion lay in the bare timbers

before they were embellished by the carver with lion, dragon, and

knight. Even the carpenter became inspired with a desire to make

something ornamental of his own department, and has shaped and carved

(literally carved) his timbers into graceful moldings. Then, again, in

the roof of Sall Church, Norfolk, shown in Plate IV, you have a noble

piece of carpentry which is as much the work of an artist as the carved

figures and tracery which adorn it--indeed it is all just as truly

carved work as those figures, being chopped out of the solid oak with

larger tools, ax and adze, so that one knows not which to admire most,

carved angels or carved carpentry.

Plates XI and XII are details of the carvings which fill the spandrels

of arch and gable in the choir stalls and screen at Winchester

Cathedral. There are a great many of these panels similar in character

but differing in design, some having figures, birds, or dragons worked

among the foliage. They are comparatively shallow in relief, and this

appears less than it really is owing to the fact that many parts of the

carving dip down almost to the background, giving definite but not deep

shadows. The main intention seems to have been to allow only enough

shadow to secure the pattern, and then to emphasize this by means of a

multitude of little _illuminated_ masses. The leading lines run through

the pattern as continuously as possible, but the surface of the leafage

is divided up into numbers of little hills and hollows. The sides of

these prominences catch and reflect light more readily than they produce

shadow, so that it is possible to trace the pattern at a considerable

distance by means of the lights alone. Unfortunately for all believers

in the historical evidence of ancient handicrafts, this work was

overhauled some half century ago, and in parts "_restored_." The old

work has been imitated in the new with surprising cleverness, but for

that, no one who has a clear sense of the true function of the carver's

art, or of the historical value of its witness to past modes of life,

will thank those who carried out the "restoration," so confusing is it

to be unable to distinguish at a glance the old from the new, so

depressing to find such laborious efforts wasted in pleasing a childish

desire for uniformity of treatment when it could only be achieved at the

cost of deception, and, I may add, so irritating to find oneself for a

moment deceived into accepting one of the "restored" parts as genuine

old work. To add to the deception, the whole of the old woodwork, as

well as the new, was smeared over with a black stain in order the better

to hide the difference of color in old and new wood, thus forever

destroying its soft and natural color, as well as the texture of its

surface, so dear to the wood-carver.

The fifteenth century in England was a period of great activity among

wood-carvers, and many beautiful choir-screens were added about this

time to the existing churches, all in the traditional Gothic manner, as

the Renaissance influence was a full century at work in other countries

before its power began seriously to affect the national style. The West

of England (Somerset and Devon in particular) is rich in the remains of

this late Gothic carving, some details of which are shown in the

accompanying illustrations, Figs. 75, 76, 77.

[Illustration: FIG. 75.]

[Illustration: FIG. 76.]

[Illustration: FIG. 77.]

As a general rule the supporting carpentry of these screens bears a

strong resemblance to stonework; so imitative is it in treatment, that

it is only by the texture of the wood and its lightness of construction

that the distinction is made evident. Now a certain degree of modified

imitation, where one craft models its forms of design upon those of

another, using a different material, as in the case of woodwork

imitations of arches, tracery, etc., is not only legitimate, but very

pleasing in its results. To attain this end, the carpenter need only be

true to his own ideals--there is no occasion to abandon the methods of

his own craft in order to copy the construction which is peculiar to

another. The resources of carpentry offer an infinite field for the

invention of new and characteristic forms, and these may be made all the

more attractive if they show, to some extent, the influence of an

associated craft, but never fail to become wearisome if essential

character has been sacrificed for the sake of an ingenious imitation.

The structural parts of some of these screens are composed of elaborate

imitations of stone vaulting and tracery, so closely copied as to be

almost deceiving, therefore they can not be taken as good examples of

suggestive opportunity for the wood-carver.

The carved work, on the other hand, is marked by a strong craft

character, essentially _woody_ both in design and execution. The

illustrations referred to are typical examples of this kind of work,

and, although the execution can not be indicated, they at least give the

disposition of parts, and some idea of the contrast obtained by the use

of alternate bands of ornament differing in scale, or, as in some cases,

the agreeable monotony produced by a repetition of almost similar

designs, varied slightly in execution.

Another prominent feature of church woodwork, which developed about this

time into magnificent proportions, was the font cover and canopy. Many

of these were, however, more like glorifications of the carpenter's

genius for construction than examples of the carver's art, as they were

composed of a multitude of tiny pinnacles and niches, the carver's work

being confined to a repetition of endless crockets, tracery, and

separate figures or groups. However, in Plate XIII an example is given

of what they could do when working together on a more equal footing;

although much mutilated, enough remains to show how the one craft gains

by being associated with the other in a wholesome spirit of rivalry.

CHAPTER XXV

SURFACE FINISH--TEXTURE

Tool Marks, the Importance of their Direction--The Woody Texture

Dependent upon Clearness of Cutting and Sympathetic Handling.

The term "texture" is sometimes applied to the quality of finish which

is characteristic of good carving; it has a somewhat misleading sound,

which seems to suggest that the final treatment of the surface is the

work of a separate operation. However, it is a right enough word, as the

texture which wood-carvers aim at is that of the wood in which they are

carving. One might naturally think that this texture must necessarily

appear when the work was finished, but that is not the case, as it is

only rescued by the most skilful use of the tools, and easily disappears

under the mismanagement of clumsy or unsympathetic hands.

Texture in carving is in some respects on a parallel with tone in

painting--it depends upon a right relation of many qualities. As in the

painting good tone is the outcome of the combined effects of truth in

color and a right balance of what are called the "values," together with

decision in the handling of the brush, so in carving, texture depends

upon, first, having a clear idea of what is being carved, and making it

clear to others; that if it be round, hollow, or flat, it must be so

indeed; that edges and sharpnesses be really where they were intended to

be, and not lost in woolly confusion. Then again, as with the painter's

brush, the tool must be moved by a hand which adapts itself to every

changing plane, to all manner of curves and contours, with touches

sometimes delicate and deliberate, at others broad and sweeping, or

even, at times, brought down with the weight and force of an ax-blow.

A good quality of finish may exist in the most divergent kinds of work,

each having its own characteristic texture. Thus a broad treatment on a

large scale will make much of the natural texture of the wood, enforcing

it by crisp edges and subtle little ridges which catch the light and

recall the momentary passage of the sharp tool, while elaborate work in

low relief may have a delicate texture which partly imitates that of the

details of its subject, and partly displays the nature of the wood. In

either case, the texture must be consciously aimed at by the carver as

the last but by no means least quality which is to give vitality to the

work of his hands. A sense of the capabilities of his wood in this

respect is one of the best aids to the carver, as it reacts on his sense

of form and compels him to precision.

Manual dexterity alone may succeed in making its work clearly

intelligible, but that is all, and it generally leaves a surface in

which there is little indication of any feeling for the material in

which the work is carved, nothing, in fact, that marks it specially as

carving in wood, or distinguishes it from a casting in metal.

The technical operation which is most immediately answerable for the

making or marring of texture is the disposition and nature of the final

tool marks. These should be so managed that they help the eye to

understand the forms. They should explain rather than confuse the

contours of the surface. Just as in a good chalk drawing the strokes and

cross-hatchings are put in with method, and if well done produce the

effect of something solid, so in carving, the tool marks should

emphasize the drawing without in any way calling attention to

themselves.

It is quite impossible to explain in words that will not be open to

misconstruction the subtle commingling of qualities which make all the

difference between good and bad texture. We may succeed better by

describing those conditions which are unfavorable to it. Thus work which

is very much cut up into minute detail, and which lacks a proper

contrast of surface, or, for the same reason, work which is too

generally bald and smooth, rarely exhibit a good surface texture. Again,

work which is overlabored, or where delicate details have been attempted

on a coarse-grained wood, or finally, work which, although done with

success in the matter of mechanical dexterity, is deficient in feeling

for its woody possibilities, are all likely to fail in the matter of

texture.

Punch-marked backgrounds have undoubtedly a legitimate place among the

expedients of the carver for obtaining contrast, but on the whole, as

such, they are of a somewhat meretricious order, and in almost every

case their use is fatal to the charm of fine texture, as this always

depends on an appreciation of the homogeneous connection of carving and

background. If they are used at all they should be made to form patterns

on the background, and not put down promiscuously. Little gouge marks

are still better, as they are not so mechanical.

I shall conclude this part of my subject with a quotation from the words

of Mr. W. Aumonier, in a lecture delivered at the Royal Institute of

British Architects.

"_All carving to be treated according to the position it is to occupy._

Not only the design, but the actual carving itself, should be considered

with a view to the position it is to take and the light it will receive.

Thus, even if quite close to the eye, where, of course, its position

warrants or demands a certain amount of finish, it must be remembered

that real finish rather means perfection of form than smoothness of

surface, so that even there it should still show its cuts and its tool

marks fearlessly, and be deepened in parts to make it tell its proper

tale in the combined scheme of decoration; while if it is going a great

height or distance from the eye it should be left as rough as ever you

can leave it. The only points that have to be regarded are the outlines,

varieties of planes, and depths, and if these be properly considered

everything else will take care of itself, and then the whole work can

not be left too rough. Its very roughness and choppy cuts will give it a

softness and quality when in its place that no amount of smoothing or

high finish can possibly attain to."

Beware of putting a wrong interpretation upon the word "rough"--refer to

what he says of the points to be regarded, i.e., the "varieties of

planes, and depths." If they are right the "roughness" is not likely to

be of the offensive kind.

Nothing so effectually destroys the quality of texture as polish applied

to carving. If furniture _must_ be polished it should not be carved. The

only polish that improves carving is that which comes of use. On hard

woods, such as oak or Italian walnut, the pressure of the tools leaves a

pleasant polish, which is all that is necessary; the _most_ that should

be allowed may be given by a little burnishing with the handle of the

tool.

CHAPTER XXVI

CRAFT SCHOOLS, PAST AND PRESENT

The Country Craftsman of Old Times--A Colony of Craftsmen in Busy

Intercourse--The Modern Craftsman's Difficulties: Embarrassing

Variety of Choice.

The present revival of interest in the arts, especially with regard to

those of a decorative kind, is based on the recently awakened esthetic

desires of a small section of the general public, who owe their activity

in this direction to the influence of men like John Ruskin and William

Morris. The first of these, by his magic insight, discerned the true

source of vitality which lay in the traditions of medieval workmanship,

i.e., their intensely _human_ character and origin. His fiery words

compelled attention, and awakened a new enthusiasm for all that betokens

the direct and inspiring influence of nature. They raised the hope that

this passion might in some way provide a clue to the recovery of a

fitting form of expression.

William Morris, with no less power as a craftsman, was the first to

give practical embodiment to this newly awakened impulse by a modified

return to the older methods of production. His rare knowledge of

medieval history, and manly sympathy with all that is generous in modern

life, made it impossible for him to become a superficial imitator. His

work is an example of what may be achieved by a union of high artistic

instincts with a clear understanding of the conditions of modern life.

Cheering as is the present activity in its encouragement of endeavor,

the difficulties of establishing anything like an efficient system of

education for the artist, more especially the sculptor, or carver

artist, is only being gradually realized. The difficulties are not so

much academic as practical. It is less a question of where to study than

one of knowing what direction those studies should take. Before any

genuine development in the art can be looked for, continuity of effort

must be established, and that in a single direction, undisturbed as it

is at present by differences of public taste.

Opportunities for study are now afforded to an extent never before

dreamed of: in books and schools, and in museums; but division of

opinion mars the authority of the two first, while the last is

confessedly but a kind of catalogue, which may only be read with profit

by the light of considerable experience.

A certain amount of success has undoubtedly attended the progress of the

new system, but it must always be more or less at a disadvantage;

firstly, by reason of its divided aims; secondly, because the system is

more theoretic than practical, and is often based on the false

assumption that "design" may be learned without attaining a mastery over

technique, and _vice versa_.

Until students become disillusioned on this latter point, and are at the

same time permitted to follow their natural bent with as little

interference as possible from the exigencies of public taste, uniformity

of aim will be impossible, and consequently the system must remain

artificial. It can never, under any circumstances, entirely replace that

more natural one adopted by our ancestors. How can its methods compare

for a moment with the spontaneous and hearty interest that guided the

tools of those more happily placed craftsmen, whose subjects lay around

them, of daily familiarity; whose artistic language was ready to hand

and without confusion, affording an endless variety of expression to

every new and individual fancy. Many of these craftsmen were, owing to

their invigorating surroundings, gifted with a high poetic feeling for

their art--a quality which gives to their work a transcendent value that

no learning or manual cleverness could supply. They acquired their

technical knowledge in genial connection with equally gifted members of

other crafts, and in consequence expressed themselves with corresponding

and justly proportioned skill in execution.

Conditions that can not be altered must be endured while they last, but

the first step toward their improvement must be made in gaining a

knowledge of the facts as they are. This will be the surest foundation

upon which to build all individual effort in the future.

Who that has felt the embarrassing doubts and contradictory impulses,

peculiar to modern study, can have failed to look disconsolately away

from his own surroundings to those far-off times when craft knowledge

was acquired under circumstances calculated to awaken the brightest

instincts of the artist? The imaginary picture calls up the ancient

carver at his bench, cheerfully blocking out images of leaves and

animals in his busy workshop, surrounded with the sights and sounds of

country life. His open door frames a picture of the village street,

alive with scenes of neighborly interest. From the mill-wheel comes a

monotonous music making pleasant cadence to his own woody notes, or the

blacksmith's hammer rings his cheery counterpart in their companionable

duet.

Short as is the distance between workshop and home, it provides a world

of beauty and incident; suggesting to his inventive mind the subjects

suitable for his work. Birds, beasts, and flowers are as familiar to him

as the tools with which he works, or the scent and touch of the solid

oak he handles daily. There, among the aromatic chips, he spends the

long working hours of a summer day; varied by the occasional visits of a

rather exacting Father from the neighboring monastery; or perhaps some

idle and gossiping acquaintance who looks in to hold a long parley with

his hand upon the latch. Or it may be that the mind turns to another

carver, at work in one of the many large colonies of craftsmen which

sprang up amid the forest of scaffolding surrounding the slow and

mysterious growth of some noble cathedral. Here all is organized

activity--the best men to be found in the country have been banded

together and commissioned to do their best, for what seems, in modern

eyes, a ridiculously small rate of pay. Some are well known and

recommended; others, as traveling artists, are seeking change of

experience and daily bread. Foreigners are here, from France, Italy, and

the East. All have been placed under the direction of competent masters

of their craft; men who have long since served their apprenticeship to

its mysteries, and earned an honorable position in its gilds.

Here the carver works in an atmosphere of exhilarating emulation.

Stone-carver and wood-carver vie with each other in producing work that

will do credit to their respective brotherhoods. Painter and decorator

are busy giving to the work of their hands what must have appeared to

those concerned an aspect of heavenly beauty; the most precious

materials not being considered too costly for use in its adornment.

What an interchange of artistic experience!--interchange between those

of similar craft from different countries, and the stimulating or

refining influence of one craft upon another--sculptors, goldsmiths,

wood-carvers, and painters, all uniting in a sympathetic agreement to do

their utmost for the high authorities who brought them together; with a

common feeling of reverence, alike for the religious traditions which

formed the motives of their work and the representatives of that

religion in the persons of their employers.

What an endless variety of interruptions must have been common! all of a

kind eminently calculated to stimulate the imagination. Municipal

functions, religious festivals with their splendid gatherings and

processions, the exciting events of political contest, often carried to

the point of actual combat, to say nothing of the frequent Saint's day

holidays, enjoyed by the craftsman in jovial social intercourse. All and

every scene clothed in an outward dress of beauty, ranging from the

picturesque roughness of the village inn to the magnificent pageantry of

a nobleman's display, or the majestic surroundings of an archi-episcopal

reception.

From dreams of the past with its many-sided life and background of

serious beauty, we turn with feelings almost bordering on despair to the

possibilities of the present. Not only has the modern craftsman to

master the technicalities of his business, but he must become student as

well. No universally accepted form of his art offers him a ready-made

language; he is left fatally free to choose style, period, or

nationality, from examples of every conceivable kind of carving, in

museums, photographs, and buildings. As proud but distracted heir to

all, he may cultivate any one of them, from Chinese to the latest style

of exhibition art. For his studies he must travel half a dozen miles

before he can reach fields, trees, and animals in anything like

inspiring conditions. He must find in books and photographs the

botanical lineaments of foliage and flowers, of which he mainly seeks to

know the wild life and free growth. With but one short life allowed him

in which to make his poor effort in a single direction, he must yet

study the history of his craft, compare styles, and endeavor with all

the help he can get to shape some course for himself. Can he be assured

of selecting the right one, or out of the multitude of counselors and

contradictory views, is there not a danger of taking a false step? No

wonder, if in the cloudy obscurity of his doubts, he sometimes feels a

tired desire to abandon the problem as too intricate to be resolved.

CHAPTER XXVII

ON THE IMPORTANCE OF COOPERATION BETWEEN BUILDER AND CARVER

The Infinite Multiplicity of Styles--The "Gothic" Influence:

Sculpture an Integral Element in its Designs--The Approach of the

so-called "Renaissance" Period--Disturbed Convictions--The Revival

of the Classical Style--The Two Styles in Conflict for a Time;

their Respective Characteristics Reviewed--Carvers Become Dependent

upon Architects and Painters--The "Revival" Separates "Designer"

and "Executant."

The prevailing architectural fashion of a time or country, known as its

style, has generally been determined by the influence of more advanced

nations on those of a ruder constitution; each modifying the imported

style to suit its own climatic and social conditions, and imbuing it

with its own individual temperament. The foreign idea was thus developed

into a distinct and national style, which in its turn bore fruit, and

was passed on as an initiative for other nations and new styles. The

current of this influence, generally speaking, trended from east to west

as though following the course of the sun, upon whose light it depended

for the illumination of its beauties.

There are so many styles of architecture, and consequently of carving,

both in wood and other materials, that a history of such a subject would

be a life study in itself, and be quite barren of results except those

of a professional kind. It would include the characteristics of carvings

from every country under the sun, from the earliest times known.

Engravings on boars' tusks found in prehistoric caves, carvings on South

Sea Island canoe paddles, Peruvian monstrosities of terror, the refined

barbarity of India and China, the enduring and monumental efforts of

Egyptian art, and a hundred others, down to times and countries more

within reach. In fact, it would only be another name for a history of

mankind from the beginning of the world.

Nothing could be better for the student's purpose than to begin his

studies of history at that point where the first indication of the

Gothic or medieval period of architecture makes its appearance. For it

was from this great and revolutionary change in the manner of building

that all the subsequent variety of style in carving as well as building

in medieval Europe took its origin. The first rudiments of the great

school of art, which has been broadly classified as having a "Gothic"

origin, began to make their appearance in Byzantium some three or four

centuries after the birth of Christ. This city, said to have been

founded by a colony of Greek emigrants, became the seat of Roman

government in their eastern empire, and is now known as Constantinople:

it contains a noted example of ancient art in the great church of St.

Sophia. From the date of the building of this church in the sixth

century A. D. to the beginning of the fifteenth century in Italy, and

about a hundred years later, more or less, according to distance from

that center, we have roughly the period during which the "medieval"

spirit ruled the arts of Europe.

The work of this long period is distinguished beyond all others by the

varied beauty and interest of its carvings, a preeminence it owes in

part to the strong bias in this direction which was given by its early

founders, but still more to the unbroken alliance maintained between

builders and carvers throughout the entire period. An inherited talent

for sculpture, handed down, no doubt, from their classical forefathers,

distinctly marks the commencement of the era; but from that time until

the appearance of the "Renaissance" influence, builder and carver are no

longer conceivable as being independent of each other. Sculpture of one

kind or another not only played an important part in the decoration of

its buildings, but became a necessary and integral element in every

architectural conception, be its importance little or great. The masons

designed their structural features with a view to the embellishments to

follow from the hand of the carver; they were in full sympathy with the

artistic intention of the decoration, therefore their own ideas were in

complete conformity with those of the sculptor, while even in some cases

they did this part of the work themselves. The sculptors, restrained by

the severe laws of structural design, never transgressed the due limits

of their craft, or became insistent upon the individuality of their own

work. Hence, throughout all the successive changes of style brought

about by time and difference of country, climate, or material, the art

of carving steadily progressed hand in hand with the art of building.

The changes were so very gradual, and grew so naturally from the

conditions and requirements of social life, that ample time was allowed

for the education of public feeling, which became in this way identified

with the inventive progress of the craftsmen. As a happy result, one aim

and desire governed alike builders, carvers, and people, and one style

at a time, enjoyed and understood by all, was the wholesome regimen by

which the architectural appetite of the period was sustained. Cathedral

and cottage differed only in their relative grades of importance; each

shared in due proportion the advantages of an architectural style common

to all forms of building, and adaptable in the highest degree to every

varying purpose of design, from the simplest piece of walling, with the

barest indication of style, to the most elaborate arrangement of masonry

and carving which could be devised to distinguish a stately and

important structure.

Time was, however, preparing a revolution which was destined to sweep

away many old beliefs and established institutions, and with them those

familiar motives and habits of thought, which had long formed the

bountiful source of medieval inspiration and invention. The period

between the beginning of the fifteenth century and the Reformation was

like a fiery furnace, in which the materials for a new world were being

prepared; it was no time for the leisurely enjoyment of the pleasures of

art, which presupposes settled convictions and imperceptible

developments.

About this time many new forms of intellectual activity began to engage

the minds of the more gifted. Speculative philosophy, the opening fields

of science, the imaginative literature of the ancients; these were among

the subjects which, while they enlarged the sphere of individual

thought, destroyed that social ideal which had its roots in a common

belief, and with it, the secret source of all past development in

architecture. With the deep-lying causes and far-reaching effects of the

unrest which disturbed this period, we are not here concerned, beyond

the point where it touches our interest in architecture and sculpture.

That drastic changes were in progress affecting the popular regard for

these arts is undeniable. Educated and illiterate minds became alike

indifferent to the authority of established religion--either they

succumbed to the tyranny of its powerful but corrupt ministers, or stood

out in open rebellion against its disputed dogmas. In either case, that

architecture which had formerly been regarded as the chief symbol of

united faith, shared the neglect of one section or the abhorrence of the

other. That strong sense of beauty, once the common possession of

builders, sculptors, and people, was now between the upper and nether

millstones of fate, being ground into the fine dust which has served for

centuries as the principal ingredient in the manufacture of an endless

succession of moral puddings and pies, known in modern times as "art

criticism."

To earnest minds in all classes at that time, any enthusiasm for

architectural styles, old or new, must have appeared as futile as an

anxiety about appearances while one's house was burning.

To the art of this period the title "Renaissance" has been foolishly

applied. When used in association with the arts of architecture and

sculpture, it is essentially a misnomer. For these arts it was merely a

time of revival, not in any sense one of rebirth, as the word implies.

In no way can this period claim to have conferred vitality along with

the resuscitation of outward form. The revival of a classical style in

architectural design, which began in the early years of the fifteenth

century, was the sequel to a similar "revival" in the study of Greek and

Roman literature, then occupying the interests of cultivated scholars.

It was but a step further to desire also the realization of those

architectural splendors which were associated with these studies. Such

dilettante dreams can not be supposed to have deeply interested the

general public, with whose concerns they had but a remote connection; so

under these circumstances, probably the classical style was as suitable

as any other, chosen on such narrow and exclusive grounds. There was

even a certain fitness in it, a capability of much expansion on

theatrical and grandiose lines. Its unbending demeanor toward craft

talent of the humbler kind at once flattered the vanity of the cultured,

and cowed uneducated minds.

The Duomo at Florence was finished early in that century, and was one of

the first buildings in which the new style was adopted. In this case it

was used mainly in the completion of a building already well advanced on

lines based upon the older traditions. The character of its design,

although not of a strictly imitative kind, was distinctly based on a

classical ideal. Imitations followed, mingling, as in the case of the

Duomo, Gothic and classic elements, often with fine effect. It is quite

possible to believe that, had this intermarriage of the two schools

continued to bear fruit, some vertebrate style might have resulted from

the union, partaking of the nature of both parents; but the hope was of

short duration. Its architects, becoming enamored by the quality of

scientific precision, which is the fundamental principle of classical

design, soon abandoned all pretense of attempting to amalgamate the

native and imported styles. They gave themselves up wholly to the

congenial task of elaborating a scholarly system of imitation; so that,

by the middle of the sixteenth century, no trace whatever remained of

native feeling in the architecture of its important buildings.

During the progress of this revolution in style, the old medieval habits

of cooperation between master mason and sculptor were slowly being

exchanged for a complete dependence upon a special architect, who was

not necessarily a craftsman himself; but whose designs must be carried

out line for line with the most rigid adherence to measurements.

For a moment in history, the rival spirits of the two great schools of

architecture stand face to face like opposing ideals. The classical one,

recalled from the region of things past and forgotten, again to play a

part on earth with at least the semblance of life; the Gothic spirit,

under notice to quit and betake itself to that oblivion from which its

rival is reemerging.

In the heyday of their power, the first had shown a distinctly

autocratic bearing toward its workmen; offering to its sculptors of

genius opportunities for the exercise of highly trained powers, and to

the subordinate workmen only the more or less mechanical task of

repeating a limited number of prescribed forms. The other, a more genial

spirit, had possessed the largest toleration for rude or untrained

workmanship, provided that in its expression the carver had a meaning

which would be generally understood and appreciated. If skill could be

commanded, either of design or technique, it was welcomed; but it gave

no encouragement to work which was either so distinctive as to be

independent of its surroundings, or of a kind which could have no other

than a mechanical interest in its execution. The abrupt contrasts, the

variety and mystery, characteristic of Gothic architecture, had been a

direct and irresistible invitation to the carver, and the freest

playground for his fancy. The formality of the classical design, on the

other hand, necessarily confined such carving as it permitted to

particular lines and spaces, following a recognized rule; and except in

the case of bas-relief figure subjects and detached statues, demanded no

separate interest in the carvings themselves, further than the esthetic

one of relieving such lines and spaces as were otherwise uncomfortably

bare.

Some modification of this extreme arrogance toward the decorative carver

was only to be expected in the revived style, but the freedom allowed to

the individual carver turned out to be more apparent than real. A new

race of carvers sprang up, imbued with the principles of classical

design; but being no longer in touch with natural and popular interests,

nor stimulated by mutual cooperation with their brother craftsmen, the

mason builders, they adopted the fashionable mode of expression invented

by the new architects and the painters of the time. Elaborate

"arabesque" and other formal designs gave employment to the carvers, in

making an infinite repetition of fiddles, festoons, and ribbons, in the

execution of which they became so proficient, that their work is more

often admired for its exquisite finish than for any intrinsic interest

in the subject or design.

Judged by its effects upon the art of carving, without the aid of which

a national style of architecture is impossible, the revival of classical

architecture never had a real and enduring life in it. Strictly

speaking, no organic style ever grew out of its ambitious promises; the

nearest approach to such a thing is to be found in those uncouth

minglings of Gothic tradition with fragments of classical detail which

distinguish much of the domestic architecture during the sixteenth and

seventeenth centuries. Amusing in their quaint and often rich and

effective combinations, humanly interesting in proportion to the

predominance of the Gothic element, association has grown up around

these homely records of a mixed influence, until they have come to be

regarded with affection, if not with the highest admiration.

The "revival" brought nothing but harm to the carver himself--that is,

to the carver who found it impossible to reach the elevation of a

sculptor of genius. He sacrificed his own small but precious talent as a

creator of pleasant images for the attainment of a finesse in the

execution of other people's ideas. To the "Renaissance" must be

attributed that fatal separation of the craftsman's function into the

hands of designer and executant which has so completely paralyzed the

living spirit of individual invention. It has taken close upon four

centuries to open the eyes of our craftsmen to this inconsistency, and

"revive" the medieval truth that invention and execution are strictly

but one and the same thing. Let us hope that the present awakening to

the importance of this fact may yet lead to what will be truly worthy of

being called a "Renaissance"; not merely of outward forms, but of that

creative energy which alone justifies the true meaning of the word.

NOTES ON THE COLLOTYPE PLATES

PLATE I.--_Old Carved Chest in York Cathedral._ The front of a chest of

almost similar design, only reversed, is to be seen in South Kensington

Museum, which looks from its resemblance both in design and technique to

be the work of the same carver, or at least to have been done about the

same time. Note the absence of any attempt at elaborate perspective, and

the "decorative" aspect of houses, rocks, trees, etc., also the

distinctive treatment of the Knight and Princess who appear in the

picture several times, representing various incidents of the story.

PLATE II.--_Figure from the Tomb of Henry IV in Canterbury Cathedral._

This figure is one of the corner ornaments on the canopy. The whole of

the upper structure is of wood, painted in colors with parts picked out

in gold.

PLATE III.--_Aisle Roof, Mildenhall Church, Suffolk._ This is one of the

many beautiful carved roofs which abound in Norfolk and Suffolk. The

nave roof is enriched with carvings of angels with wings outspread.

PLATE IV.--_Nave Roof, Sall Church, Norfolk._ This is another very

beautiful timber roof showing the union of practical carpentry with

carving to perfection.

PLATE V.--_Portion of a Carved Oak Panel. The Sheepfold._ The other part

is shown in Plate VI, as, owing to the proportion of this panel and the

necessity for keeping the scale of the plates as large as possible, it

has been divided and shown in two portions. It was begun without any

premeditated intention as to use, the sloping end being the shape of the

board as it came into the author's hands, the other end being sloped off

to match it.

PLATE VI.--_Portion of a Carved Oak Panel. The Sheepfold._ See

description of Plate V.

PLATE VII.--_Preliminary Drawing of a Lion for Carving._ This plate is,

as explained in the text, from a drawing by Philip Webb, the well-known

architect. It was done by him to explain certain facts about the pose of

a lion when the author was engaged in carving the book covers which are

shown in Plates VIII and IX.

PLATES VIII and IX.--_Book-Covers carved in English Oak._ These were

done by the author for one of the "Kelmscott Press" books, Tale of Troy,

at the instance of Mr. Cobden-Sanderson. The relief is very slight, and

is rather exaggerated by the light and shade of the photograph. The

carved portion only of these covers is shown, the size of which is

11-1/2 x 5-3/4 ins.

PLATE X.--_Book-Covers carved in English Oak._ These were done by the

author for Mr. F. S. Ellis's translation of Reynard the Fox. The size of

the carved part is 8-3/4 x 5-1/4 ins.

PLATE XI.--_Carvings from Winchester Cathedral._ This plate is from

sketches made by the author at Winchester Cathedral. The upper one is a

spandrel piece from the traceried arcading of the stalls. The lower one

is a part of one of the carved Miserere seats. The spandrel carving is

pierced; that is, has the ground cut right through. The other piece is

elaborately undercut.

PLATE XII.--_Carving from Choir-Screen, Winchester Cathedral._ This

plate is from a sketch done for the purpose of noting the general effect

of a large mass of carved foliage with particular reference to the

distribution of lighted surfaces in the design.

PLATE XIII.--_Font Canopy, Trunch Church, Norfolk._ The plate gives the

upper portion only of this beautiful canopy; it is supported upon six

posts richly carved on all sides, of which there are five to each post.

The height of the whole canopy is about fifteen or sixteen feet--it

presumably dates somewhere toward the end of the fourteenth century or

beginning of the fifteenth.

PLATE XIV.--_Designs for Carving, by_

_Philip Webb._ This plate gives two examples of designs for carving by

Philip Webb. The upper one is part of a richly carved cornice which was

done for a chimney-piece; the carving was executed by Mr. Laurence

Turner, from whom the author got his first lesson in wood-carving. The

other example is a design on paper for carving to be done in oak. This

was carried out in the paneling of the dining-room at Clouds House,

Salisbury, and looked exceedingly effective. Much of the articulation on

the surface of the leaves, it will be noticed, is got by sharp facets

produced by the intersection of gouge cuts.

PLATE XV.--_Leg of a Settle carved in English Oak._ This was begun by

the author as forming part of a large oak seat or "settle," but has

never been completed. The wood out of which it is carved came out of an

old house at Tewkesbury and was full of cracks which were filled up with

slips of oak glued in and carved over.

PLATE XVI.--_Pew Ends in Carved Oak, Brent Church, Somersetshire._ The

three bench ends shown in this plate are from Brent Church,

Somersetshire. Although rude in execution, they are extremely effective

in design. The bounding form of the molded edges and gracefully shaped

top are worth noticing; the whole evidently the outcome of a nice and

inherited sense of design, without any particular technical knowledge or

experience. The termination of the finials was unfortunately omitted in

the photograph, hence the abrupt line at the top.

THE COLLOTYPE PLATES

[Illustration: I. Old Carved Chest in York Cathedral.]

[Illustration: II.--Figure from the Tomb of Henry IV. in Canterbury

Cathedral.]

[Illustration: III.--Aisle Roof--Mildenhall Church, Suffolk.]

[Illustration: IV.--Nave Roof--Sall Church, Norfolk.]

[Illustration: V.--Portion of a Carved Oak Panel--The Sheepfold.]

[Illustration: VI--Portion of a Carved Oak Panel--The Sheepfold.]

[Illustration: VII.--Preliminary Drawing of a Lion for Carving. By

Phillip Webb.]

[Illustration: VIII.--Book Cover Carved in English Oak--"Tale of Troy."

(only carved portion shown.)]

[Illustration: IX.--Book Cover Carved in English Oak--"Tale of Troy."

(only carved portion shown.)]

[Illustration: X.--Book Cover Carved in English Oak--"Reynard the Fox."

(only carved portions shown.)]

[Illustration: XI.--Carving from Choir Stalls in Winchester

Cathedral.]

[Illustration: XII.--Carving from Choir Screen--Winchester

Cathedral.]

[Illustration: XIII.--Font Canopy--Trunch Church, Norfolk.]

[Illustration: XIV.--Two designs for Carving, by Philip Webb. One

executed, one in drawing.]

[Illustration: XV.--Leg of a Settle, carved in English Oak.]

[Illustration: XVI.--Pew Ends in Carved Oak--Brent Church,

Somersetshire.]

INDEX

Acanthus, the, 156

Aims and conditions of work, 25

American woods, 48

Animal carving, 161, 191

Animal carving, Swiss, 191

Animals, or figures, in carving, 161, 191

Apprentice and student, their aims and conditions of work, 25

Architectural carving, 223

"Arkansas" slips, 44, 58

Arms, coats of, 177

Aumonier, W., 204, 238

Background, patterned, 96

Bas wood, 48

Beads and moldings to be carved, 119

Beam, carved, in South Kensington Museum, 140, 142

Bear, drawing of (frontispiece), 197, 200

Beast and bird studies, 191

Bed, design and carving for a, 163

Beech wood, 49

Bench or settle, design and carving for, 168, 174, 269, 302

Benches, 44

Bench screw, 48

Berne Cathedral, carved figure from, 191

Bevels, tool, 52

Bewick, studies from, 195

Bird and beast studies, 191

Book-covers in oak, 267, 288, 289, 291

Books, aid of, 191

Boxwood, 51

Brackets, 172

Bread plates, 116

Brent Church, pew ends in, 269, 304

Brier-wood, 51

Builder and carver, notes on the importance of cooperation between, 249

"Built-up" work, 214

Byzantine design, 96

"Candle," 56

Canopy, Font, 233, 268, 298

Canterbury Cathedral, carved figure from, 188, 275

Carpenter's imitation of stone construction, 223

Carpenter's influence on carver, 223

Cartoons, charcoal, 204

Carver and builder, notes on the importance of cooperation between, 249

Carver and joiner, reciprocal aims of, 161

Carving and sculpture, 249

Carving, architectural, 223

Carving, "chip," 63

Carving, heraldic, 176

Carving, Icelandic, 143

Carving, New Zealand, 63

Carving, Norse, 143

Carving, South Sea, 63

Carving, stone, 96, 223

Carving, Swiss, 191

Cedar wood, 166

Chair, sketch of, etc., 145

Character, works viewed as records of, 149

Charcoal cartoons, 204

Cherry wood, 51

Chest, carved, from York Cathedral, 147, 265, 273

Chestnut wood, 50

"Chip" carving, 63

Chisels, 31, 34, 35

Choir-screens, 227, 229, 267, 295

Choir-stalls at Winchester Cathedral, 227, 267, 293

Classical style, revival of, 249

Clay models, 191

Clips, 47

Clock, suggestion of design and carving for, 174

Clock case, suggestion of design and carving for, 170

Coats of arms, 176

Cock, suggestion for carving a, 174

Collotype plates, 273-304

Collotype plates, notes on the, 265

Colors noted on diagrams, 197, 199

Colors of woods, 48

Contours of surface, 103

Corner cupboards, 119

Cornice, design for, by Philip Webb, 268, 300

Craft schools, past and present, 240

Craftsmen, old-time and modern, 240

Cramps, 42, 47

Cross, design for, 177

Cupboards, corner, 119

Cutting, clearness of, 52, 69, 235

Design, 71, 88

Design, application of, 72

Design, Byzantine, 96

Design, factors in the arrangement of, 82

Design, outline, and suggestion of main masses, 191

"Designer" and "Executant," 88, 249

Designs, adaptation of old, to modern purposes, 103

Designs, humor in, 180

Designs, list of fruit, flower, and vegetable subjects, 159

Designs, necessity for every carver making his own, 88

Designs, transferring, 72

Detail, economy in, 84

Diagrams, colors noted on, 197, 199

Distance and light in design, 82

Drilling and sawing, 110

Duomo, the, at Florence, 257

Ebony wood, 51

Economy in detail, 84

Edges of tools, 52

Environment as important as handicraft, 149

Execution and design, 88, 249

Exning, chair at, 145

Figures, or animals, in carving, 161, 191

Finish, surface--texture, 234

Florence, the Duomo at, 257

Flowers as subjects, 158

Foliage, 115, 153, 159

Font canopy, 233, 268, 298

Foreshortening as applied to work in relief, 205

Forms, imitation of natural, 82

Forms, plant, list of, 153

Forms, rounded, 88

Free rendering, 96

Fruit subjects, 94, 157, 159

Furniture, carving on, 161

Gerrard's "Herbal," a source of design, 160

Gibbons, Grinling, 62, 85, 153, 215

Glass paper, 107, 164

Gothic capital in Southwell Minster, 96

Gothic carvings, 96, 180, 229, 249

Gothic influence, 249

Gouges, 31, 34, 35

Gouges, sharpening, 56

Grain of the wood, 48, 69

Grapes, 115, 156, 159

Grindelwald, carved bear from, 200

Grotesque in carving, 180

"Grounders," 34, 37

Grounding, 69

Handling tools, 27, 52, 78

"Hard" wood, 48, 51

Hardwood carving, 115

Henry IV, figure from tomb of 188, 265, 275

Heraldic carving, 176

"Herbal," Gerrard's, a source of design, 160

Heron, drawing of a, 197

Holdfasts, 48

Hollywood, 49

Hop-vine, the, 156

Humor in designs, 180

Icelandic carving, 143

Imitation of natural forms, 82

"India" oilstone, 42

Japanese work, a characteristic of, 125

Joiner and carver, reciprocal aims of, 161

Joiner, the amateur, 115

Joiner's tools, 41

Kauri pine wood, 48

"Kelmscott Press," carved oak covers for, 267, 288, 289

Lance-wood, 51

Landscape in carving, 221

Leather for stropping, 55

Leaves, expedient for explaining convolutions, 209

Leaves, list of, 159

Letters, carved, 165

Light and distance in design, 82

Lime wood, 48

Lion, preliminary drawing for carving a, 196, 267, 286

"Maccaroni" tool, 35, 38, 59

Mahogany wood, 48

Mallets, 44

Masses, right relationship of, 196

Masses, suggestion of main, 191

Masses, superposition of, 205

Medieval and modern choice of form compared, 153

Memoranda, methodical, 137

Memoranda, sketch-book, 137

Method, 137

Mildenhall Church, aisle roof, 226, 266, 277

Mirror frame, suggestion of design and carving for, 166

Miserere seats, 139, 142, 185, 186, 187, 216, 293

Miters, 77

Models, clay, 202

Morris, William, 240

Moldings, to be carved, 119

Museums, 137, 140, 145, 149

Natural forms, imitation of, 82

Nature, studies from, 153, 191

New Zealand carving, 63

Norse patterns, 143

Notes on cooperation, 249

Oak, 48, 157

Oilstones, 42, 52

Old work, 137

Originality, 108

Outline drawing, 191

Panel, carved, "The Sheepfold," 197, 212, 266, 282, 284

Paneling, design for, by Philip Webb, 268, 300

Panels, 72, 125, 170, 197

"Parting" tool, 34, 36

Paste for stropping, 52

Pattern and free rendering compared, 96

Pattern, background, 110

Pattern, importance of formal, 96

Pattern, medieval choice of natural forms governed by a question of, 96

Pattern, Portuguese, 145

Patterned background, 96

Patterns, 121

Patterns, Icelandic, 143

Patterns, New Zealand, 63

Patterns, Norse, 143

Patterns, pierced, 110, 145

Patterns, South Sea, 63

Pear-tree wood, 51

Period "Renaissance," revival of the classical style, 249

Perspective, 127, 205, 219

Pew ends, 269, 304

Photographs, aid of, 191

Picture subjects and perspective, 219

Pierced patterns, 110, 145

"Pierced" work, 214

Pine wood, 48, 71

Pine wood, yellow, 48, 71

Plant forms, list of, 153

"Planted" work, 214

Plums, 91

Polish, 138, 164

Portuguese pattern, 145

Position of tools, 27, 52

Practise and theory, 25

Preamble, 25

Relief, work in, 205

"Renaissance," the, 249

"Reynard, the Fox," carved oak book-cover, 267, 291

"Rifler," 41

Rounded forms, 88

"Router," 41

Ruskin, John, 240

"S," pattern, 121

St. Sophia, church of, 251

Sall Church, nave roof, 226, 266, 279

Sandalwood, 51

Sawing and drilling, 110

Schools, craft, past and present, 240

Screens, choir, 227, 229, 268, 295

Sculpture and carving, 249

Settle or bench, design and carving for, 168, 174

Settle, carved leg of, 269, 302

Sharpening stones, 42

Sharpening tools, 52

Sheep, drawing of, 197, 212, 266, 282, 284

Sheepfold, the, collotype plate, 266, 282, 284

Sketch-book, use of the, 137, 191

Slips, 43, 58, 61

"Soft" wood, 51

South Kensington Museum, carvings from, 140, 141, 142

South Sea carving, 63

Southwell Minster, Gothic capital in, 96

Spoon tools, 59

Stalls, choir, 227, 267, 293

Stone carving, 96, 223

Stones, sharpening, 42

Stones (sharpening), case for, 42

Stropping, 54

Student and apprentice, their aims and conditions of work, 25

Students, the, opportunity lies on the side of design, 25

Studies, beast and bird, 191

Studies from nature, 153, 191

Study, necessity for variety in, 249

Style, 249

Subjects, animal, 161, 191

Subjects, choice of, 82

Subjects, flower, 158

Subjects, foliage, 159

Subjects, fruit, 159

Subjects, in perspective, 219

Subjects, picture, 219

Subjects, still life, 83

Subjects, vegetable, 159

Surface contours, 103

Surface finish, 234

Swiss carving, 191

Sycamore wood, 49

"Tale of Troy," carved oak book-cover for, 267, 288, 289

Tempering tools, 39

Texture and surface finish, 234

Theory and practise, 25

Thimble pattern, 121

"Throwing about," 106

Time, carvers the historians of their, 149

Tool marks, the importance of their direction, 234

Tools, 31

Tools, average number, 31

Tools, blunted or broken, 40

Tools, description of, 27

Tools, handling, 27, 52, 78

Tools, joiner's, 41

Tools, position on oilstone, 52

Tools, position when in use, 27

Tools, sharpening, 52

Tools, spoon, 59

Tools, stropping, 54

Tools, tempering, 39

Tracing, 72

Trunch Church, font canopy at, 233, 268, 298

"Turkey," oilstone, 42

Turner, Laurence, 269

Undercutting and "built-up" work, 214

"V" tool, 31, 34, 36, 59

Vegetable designs, 159

"Veiner," 31, 34, 36, 58

Vines, the, 115, 156, 159

Walnut wood, 48, 50

"Washita" oilstone, 42

Wave pattern, 121

Webb, Philip, drawings and designs by, 177, 196, 268, 286, 300

Winchester Cathedral, carvings from, 190, 216, 227, 267, 293, 295

Wood, hard, 48, 51

Wood, soft, 48, 51

Woods, 48

Woods, American, 48

Woods, colors of, 48

Woods, grain of, 48, 69

Woods, list of, 48

Woods, "soft" and "hard," 48, 51

Work, critical inspection of, from a distance, as it proceeds, 103

Yellow pine wood, 48, 71

York Cathedral, old chest in, 265, 273

Yorkshire settle, 168

THE END

Transcriber's Note: Minor corrections were made to normalize spelling

and punctuation. Small caps were replaced with all-caps.