Chapter II: Part 2

We all know that the mere form of a chair, the contour of a mould, the shape of a bracket, a scheme of colour, have power to affect us, in a degree, in just the same way music does, and, with awe let us realise it, even as Nature herself does. And I would have every craftsman and every practiser of the arts as deeply impressed with the dignity this places upon him, and the responsibilities it brings with it, as he can possibly be. I would have him feel this truth, that in his degree he is instrumental in either forwarding or retarding his fellow men in their highest and truest education; that in just so far as his art is true or false, real and vital, or feeble and insincere, he is advancing or hindering this great work; that true art is the grandest work of which humanity is capable, and that through it alone can man advance to higher things than those of which he is now capable.

We can none of us know, and certainly none of us are in any danger of over-estimating, the good influence of a beautiful building upon all those who pass and repass it daily; and the smallest and most insignificant article in our daily use has, in its own degree, like power to help or hinder our development.

Wherein truth in art consists, none but the artist can know, and he cannot tell to another what he knows of it himself; he has learned it, first from an inborn instinct and gift, and second, by that education which true art only can promote, and others can only come to a knowledge of it in the same way.

The whole spirit and trend, all the outside circumstances, influences, and conditions of modern life, are against the artist and true art. The present individualistic and competitive basis of society makes a _living_ art almost an impossibility, but I do not propose we should concern ourselves now with questions which are not within the designer’s power, but only with those things which he can and must see that he personally rightly understands and practises.

No good work in any field of art was ever yet done in a hurry; it maybe done quickly, with the utmost energy, this will probably only give it vitality, but all outside pressure means death to art.

All true art work must always be done under the very keenest stress of mental effort; it cannot be slovenly, careless, or interestless in its smallest detail, but must be wrought with every faculty alert with an absorption and concentration amounting to abandon, and it must be done, _can_ only be done for the love of it. Other motives there may be, and in greater or less degree there _will_ be, but this must be first and paramount, or true art is impossible.

A very fruitful cause of failure is the effort to be original. In the loathsome distortions of fashion we see daily the result of this attempt to originate new forms, simply for the sake of novelty, without the slightest reference to any feeling for beauty or fitness. Originality has no value other than a purely commercial one, unless the original thing has advantages over the commonplace. Most of the things which we have about us show unmistakably that their designers went to work in the wrong spirit from the very first. We see at a glance that the position taken up was this. The designer has said to himself “This is generally done so and so, in such and such a manner; now how can I modify this to make it in some degree original: where can I introduce a little novelty?”

No good result was ever yet arrived at by any one who took up this position. No: the way to go to work is, to get clearly into your mind the functions, duties, requirements and limitations of the thing to be designed, then choose the material or materials which will enable it best to fulfil its functions, duties, and requirements, and keep within its limitations. Afterwards, with a full knowledge and candid recognition of the properties and characteristics of your materials and the best way of using them, set to work to evolve the form which will, in the simplest and most direct & at the same time most beautiful and decorative manner, fulfil the requirements, and the result will bear the impress of your own personality, it will have your own feeling, and will probably also have something of true originality.

You may if you like, with all this clearly in your mind, pass in review the customary forms employed to fulfil the conditions, retaining such characteristics as you see are valuable either because they advance the objects, or add to the comeliness, but this must come second not first.

I would like you to notice in passing that this right and true method of going to work in design is entirely inapplicable to all things having no functions to fulfil, by such a throng of which we are now surrounded.

The whole trend of modern civilisation would make the outlook for the artist one of blank hopelessness, were it not that there are signs of a reaction, due to the efforts of great men who have fought hard that art may not die.

We call the present the “Machine Age.” Now the influence of machinery on art is one of the most degrading we have to contend with, for every advance made by machinery must mean a corresponding retreat on the part of art.

When I have expressed the keen sense of pleasure given me by the beautiful variety of surface, the light and shade, the crisp, clean adze cuts, the vital human interest, of some old beam, the commercial mind has said to me “If the workman who wrought it had possessed the tools with which to get it up to a _better surface_, he would not have left it as it is.” This is probably true, but it does not affect the question of the relative beauty of the two beams, the absolutely square, smooth, machine planed one, and the irregular rough hewn one so full of character and interest. The artistic value of each is a question quite apart from such considerations. To-day, if we require a beam in our building, we take every bit of natural character out of it, and bring it, by mechanical processes, to as dead and flat, as lifeless and monotonous a state as possible, then we stupidly try to replace some of the natural and characteristic beauty we have been at so much trouble to get rid of, by some form of applied ornament, moulding, or what not, which probably has only this one result, that it obscures the one trace of natural beauty which has been able to survive the previous processes, that is the grain and figure of the wood. Afterwards we stand and look at it, with a sort of feeling that there is something wrong, and wonder why it was so much more beautiful before.

This is only one illustration, it would be easy to give hundreds. For beauty of texture and surface are nothing to the machine producer or the commercial spirit of to-day.

When I say I want a piece of copper just hammered out to the size and shape I require without that grinding and polishing by which all trace of the hammer & human hand is lost in mere smoothness and mechanical finish, the workman tells me it will be injurious to his credit, people will see nothing in it but bad workmanship and inability to finish. He would prefer to efface the sympathetic surface and natural beauties of the beaten metal as completely as possible, then he would put it in a press and stamp some meaningless pattern on it, but the result would be entirely uninteresting to him, and he would have no satisfaction in it, unless sheer commercialism had utterly killed every grain of everything higher than itself in his nature.

Think of the beauty of leaded glass compared with the lifeless hard mechanical perfection of polished plate. This beauty has nothing to do with its old-fashioned look, with romantic associations, or quaintness of effect; it is simply an inherent property of all leaded glazing, due to the wonderful and never ending charm of the play of light and shade on the different panes, each one catching the light slightly differently from any other, some glistening brightly, others dead and sombre, and the rest occupying every tone between the two. One sheet of glass with the leading laid upon it would be more ugly and meaningless than the plate glass. Many would-be artistic people think that it is an essential characteristic of the artistic that it should be in some degree eccentric or unusual. This is as great a delusion as any one could well labour under. That it is the case at the present time cannot be denied; but it is because we have sunk to such depths of degradation, that the artistic has become the eccentric and unusual, not that to be different from the ordinary is the property of the artistic. There was a time when the exact reverse was the case, when simple natural beauty was the rule in all things and ugliness the exception, and the unusual and eccentric was then the inartistic.

So also many would-be artistic people think that things derive an artistic value simply from being old or old-fashioned. This again is entirely untrue except of such things as undergo a modification and change for the better in themselves at the hands of old Father Time. But this too is an error easily accounted for, as at the present time, as regards the common things of daily life, the standard of design is so debased that it would be almost impossible to bring out of the past (at any rate of centuries before the last), forms for these which would not surpass in beauty those now current among us. If art in our homes were living and progressive the old and old-fashioned would be the ugly and inartistic.

A perfectly frank recognition of construction and an honest compliance with its demands is an absolute essential of all good designs; any attempt to disguise or thwart, or failure to acknowledge, the necessary characteristics and features of construction, must result in artistic disaster and is indeed a very fruitful cause of it. So also is that kindred error, the adoption of a less perfect construction to get the form wanted. It is not necessary I should dwell upon this now, for it is recognised by all art teachers, though by very few of those who practise the applied arts, and illustrations of the truth of it meet us in abundance on every hand and will occur to all.

Neither is it necessary (and for the same reasons) that I should say much about imitations & shams; wood made to simulate stone or marble; iron cast in forms suited only to wood; wood worked into forms suited only to stone, or in imitation of stone, as in tracery and groining. The evil of all this is too well known, and I have had to pass over it for the sake of what is less recognised and not so often brought before us. To put the right thing in the right place; to give it its most appropriate form, and above all things the form which will best enable it to fulfil its functions and uses, and withal the simplest, most direct, and the most perfect in construction; this is the first duty of every designer, and in doing this he will generally find he gets the maximum of beauty.

The conscious effort to be original will always produce abortions and painful results; the only originality worth anything is arrived at in trying to do something _better_ not something new; and the true artist shows himself in giving beauty of form, of colour, and design to the necessary and useful, and adding that higher usefulness belonging to a work of art. But may we not have ornament, pure ornament which has no other definite use? Certainly we may, but let us at the very outset apply this test to it. It does not, we say, fulfil any useful purpose on the physical plane, does it fulfil any purpose on that higher plane of which I have spoken? Is its educational influence good? If so we will welcome it. If not let it go. And I fear, when this test is applied, it will be found that there is but little of the enormous profusion of the (so-called) ornament spread over everything about us, which would not have to go.

Most of us would do well to change it all for one or two good pictures, a bit of really beautiful metal work, carving, or embroidery, done by an artist with his own hand, and possessing something of that dignity of true art I have tried to show.

BARRY PARKER.

OUR EDUCATION IN ART.

My subject is “Our Education in Art,” & I approach it with a sense of trepidation, feeling that the task I have set myself is one of very great difficulty, and being, as I am, so fully alive to the tremendous issues involved in our holding right or wrong views upon art education.

The place in our lives which Art must fill is so exalted that it is with reverence I would consider the way in which we should teach or be taught to express ourselves in art, or learn to read the meaning of others expressed through that medium. Those who have come to realize that only by the employment of Art can the highest truths which we are capable of receiving be conveyed from one man to another, must feel that the method of preparing ourselves to wield so great a power, or render ourselves receptive of such an influence, should be most earnestly considered. I have taken “Our Education in Art” as my title, instead of “The Education of an Artist” or any other title which would have fixed more definitely the limitations within which I should confine myself, because I want what I am about to say to have a much wider application than it would if simply taken as addressed to those who propose to practise an art. For, to train all to an appreciation of what is good, true, and beautiful, in Art, is hardly less important than to train artists capable of expressing what is good, true, and beautiful.

All have not vouchsafed to them the power to express themselves in an art, but all are in some degree influenced by the artistic qualities of the things by which they are surrounded, and I wish to suggest a way of learning to _appreciate_ what is good and true and beautiful in art, even more than a way of learning to _create_ such art. That there shall be those who can _appreciate_ good art is necessary to its life. That we should have those who can create it is not enough; this is the work of the few; the work of the many is to make an atmosphere in which it can live. I would impress as gravely as possible upon those who aspire to the practice of an art, not only the dignity belonging to what they would undertake, but the tremendous responsibility attaching to it.

The first thing that must go to the making of an artist is that he should have that within him which craves for expression, and which can only be expressed through the medium of an art. This first essential is given to many to whom the power to express it is not given, but without it the facility to express will be a power for harm not for good: it is the presence of great qualities, not the absence of bad, which makes a work of art.

The artist’s great responsibility lies in this: every time he creates anything capable of bearing the impress of the true art instinct, he brings into existence that which will have an influence upon all who see it, and will quicken or deaden in them this high instinct. The thought that, if he create not something better than would have been created by others, had he left it to them, he is doing harm in the world, not good, is one that should come home to him very solemnly. To the art worker belongs this privilege--that his art can be a great power for good; and this responsibility--that he must of necessity have done either harm or good by his work, and that unless he has done something which is beyond and above the conception of the general run (nay, of the great majority) of his fellow-creatures, something they feel to have a little more in it, and to be a little more than they can grasp, he is not merely harmless, he is a failure. For as in life generally, so in the artistic life, he who merely does what no one can attach blame to, and has not done better than others would have done in his stead, has lived to no purpose. Virtue is not a negative quality in art or in life; it does not consist in keeping the Ten Commandments. “All these things have I kept from my youth up: what lack I yet?” This man 1900 years ago had grasped the truth of what I have said above better than most of us have to-day.

I will herein confine myself to speaking of those arts which depend upon our eyes for their means of appealing to us; and as I wish that these suggestions may be of real practical value, to all who desire to appreciate what is artistically good and true, I must leave out of our consideration, for the moment, all the greater qualities which belong to art; and confine myself to showing how we must first learn to _see_, and to what I may call the purely technical side of learning to _see_ and represent. For simplicity I will take the art of portraying Nature, as seen in her landscapes, as my example of how to learn both to see and to draw; for the process is the same in either case.

Now when first one attempts to paint a landscape, one is over-whelmed by the tremendous number of different things one sees in it and has to take into consideration at the same time. There is the form and drawing, the light and shade, the atmosphere and its effect upon the local tints or real colours of each individual object in the landscape, the overpowering profusion of detail, the reflected lights and reflected colours, the relative value of objects, the texture, and character of surfaces, the composition, what we call the accidental effects; and last but not least, the teaching and meaning, the particular message Nature has to convey in the whole scene. And only by long and patient study of each of these _separately_, can we acquire the power to grasp them all together in the way which is necessary when painting.

Were I to teach, I should make my pupils go through a long and patient study of each of these _separately_, devoting much thought to each in turn, quite apart from the use of pencil or brush; for it is impossible to _represent_ one without the others, but not impossible to _study_ one without the others. And that we should be able to first dissociate one from another in our minds, and then see the influence of one upon another, is absolutely necessary to a true portraiture of Nature in landscape. I would then begin with the simplest of the things in my category, and impart to my pupils a knowledge of form (probably best done by some simple process of modelling), and I would go on to the drawing of form without reference to light and shade. Next I would teach them to see form in masses of light and shade only, leaving out of consideration at the first (as far as possible) the influence of reflected light, but eventually giving much time and thought to enabling them to see the reflected light truly, and to measure its gradations and degrees accurately. From this they should go on to represent textures and character of surfaces, and not until all this had been done would I bring in the use of colour. This should begin by the accurate matching of local tints, before the representation of the colour effects produced by atmosphere with its varying degrees of moisture, of density and transparency or opacity, its power of diffusing light, and its effect on distance, was attempted. Next I would allow sketching with reference to composition, grouping, and much study of the relative values of one object to another in the landscape, affected as it is by all the foregoing, and difficult of explanation as it always is, even in view of and with a perfect knowledge of all the foregoing. Finally, being first able to see and feel, then we would go on to try to catch & portray the moods and messages of Nature, and the poetry of the whole.

I would then point out to the accomplished craftsman, that he, upon sitting down to paint from Nature, must first ask himself what it is which makes a picture (in the true sense of the word) in what is before him, and why he has chosen this particular subject: and he must never for a moment allow himself to lose sight of this. Much there is he must of necessity leave out, but he must grasp the essentials and retain these. His study has taught him to see things as they present themselves to his eye, rather than as he knows them to be. In a sentence, he has learned to know what he sees, not to see what he knows: he is aware that yonder hill in the distance, were he there, would be green, but that seeing it as he does, affected by the intervening atmosphere & light, it is blue. The painter must by training, and power of analysing causes of effects, be able to see his subject somewhat as he would were he suddenly dropped into his seat from another planet, without any knowledge of the appearance on closer inspection of the component parts of his subject. May I explain some of what I have said, with the aid of a simple example, a stone wall bounding a green field, the wall casting a shadow on the grass. Of drawing pure and simple there is not much; there is the form of the stones in the wall, the irregularities of the contour of the field, the shadow of the wall & the modifications which the rise and fall of the surface of the field effect in it, presenting it to the eye now more foreshortened and now less as the angle between the wall and the ground changes. In the reflected light there is much to note and dissociate in our minds from the direct lighting. In this we should see that the shadow on the shade side of the wall is much lighter than the shadow cast by the wall upon the grass. This results from the fact that the grass from its horizontal position receives far more diffused light from the atmosphere and the sky than does the vertical surface of the wall; therefore it reflects more light upon the wall than the wall can in its turn reflect on to it. But though the shadow on the shade side of the wall is lighter than the shadow on the grass, the shade side of the wall will be darker than the grass within the shadow of the wall; and this is not due to the local tint, the grey of the stone and the green of the grass, for probably the horizontal surfaces of the stones on the top of the wall, show as light as the part of the grass which is also in the full blaze of the sun; it is due to the different character of surface or texture of the grass field and the stone wall, and the different effect upon each of varying degrees of lighting. So observe, all these, the light and shade, the diffused and the reflected light, the character of the surfaces, the local tints and the atmosphere & distance from the observer, all affect the relative value of the tone of the grass and wall, which value must be _seen_ truly before it can be painted truly.

As I said, for simplicity, I have herein so far followed out the course of study as applied in landscape only, but at the right stages I would have the student, in exactly the same way, study the seeing rightly, and then drawing rightly, first plants, then animals, then the human figure; then finally I would let him apply his knowledge and artistic feeling to design.

Art is at its greatest when applied. If the great picture, while retaining all its merits as a picture, can at the same time also hold its own as an element of decoration and lend its aid to producing the general effect to be made upon us by the whole building, it is by so much the greater. I would not, until the final stage, encourage the study of any form of applied art. None of the figures drawn or studied should be those applied to the decoration of a building, used in flat design, or in any way conventionally treated or grouped. I would encourage no study of ornament of any style, period, or nation. Our need is for a system of education which will strengthen our inborn perception for what _constitutes_ real beauty. It is comparatively easy to learn to distinguish a beautiful thing from an ugly thing, but to know wherein the difference lies is quite another matter. It is our education in art that must strengthen our power to see what are the essentially beautiful properties which the one possesses and the other does not. We, whose work it is to design, frequently find the client who has best been able to appreciate the difference between the good and bad design in the finished result, will, when a design is being worked out for him, be most emphatic in his instructions that one by one every feature which has contributed to that difference shall be eliminated: and the bearing upon this of what I have said, about educating those who are not to practise the arts, but to appreciate, will be easily seen.

He who has studied landscape earnestly and lovingly, and learnt to see wherein its beauty lies, when he comes to apply that landscape to an architectural or decorative purpose, such for instance as the decoration of wall surfaces, stained glass, or what not, will find his own characteristic way of conventionalising it. His conventionalisation will be such as is dictated to him clearly by the limitations of the material in which his design is to be produced, and by questions of fitness and suitability. And his feeling for true beauty will enable him to retain the _essentials_ of the beauty in the landscape he is applying, & to discard what is less necessary. He will suggest the mood of Nature and convey her influence upon the beholder. He will also, in his freedom from the influence of long established conventions, be able unconsciously to impart his own personality and feeling, and so give real originality to his handiwork.

For him who would practise the art of the architect, a course of study directed primarily to the strengthening of the power to see wherein lies the secret of the beauty of one form over another, and not merely that one form _is_ more beautiful than another, is perhaps more important than to him who follows any other art appealing to the eye: for this art is further removed from the influence of Nature’s own teaching.

I have been obliged to dismiss in a single sentence the training by means of drawing and studying plants, animals, & the human form, which I would advocate; and fear I may so have given a very wrong impression as to the importance I attach to this study. I must ask that this be not measured by the time I have devoted to it; for I hold it to be all-important, and the work at it should be long and thorough. In this work the student could be carried much further in many of the separate branches of his study I have indicated, than he could be in landscape. The plants & animals would demand of him a far greater perception of the subtleties of form than did the landscape, and of course his drawing would be carried very much further. He would have to apply all he had learnt of light & shade and reflected light under very much more complex conditions. Much more subtle distinction of the character of surfaces and textures would be required of him; and also greater nicety of perception in local tints. But composition or grouping should not enter yet into his consideration. Before he thought of these I should want him to specialise, and decide in what field of artistic labour his feeling & knowledge were to find expression. I should then require that he get a complete mastery of the technicalities of this, and of its methods, restrictions, and capabilities. If he elected to be an architect, I would have him acquire a comprehensive knowledge of pure building construction, but no architecture--in so far as it can be separated from building construction. If possible, I would have him learn one of the handicrafts for which he is eventually to design, that he might show forth his feeling for beauty of form modified by, and in due and proper relation to, complete mastery over methods of construction. If he were to be a sculptor I would have him next master the technical side of the art. If a glass painter he should be able to make a window before he attempted to design one. The embryo painter should master all the details of the painter’s art; the would-be textile designer should work at a loom; and the ceramic designer with wheel, mould, glazes, & kiln. Then at length, each should in his own line attempt to give expression to his own ideas, his own feeling, and his own love of beauty, in something really to be used, and for which there was a definite requirement and a place in the world already assigned.

And this brings us to what I consider perhaps the most vital point in the whole system I am advocating. The student is now in a position to solve the difficulties which will beset him on every hand. In his own way he sets himself to create that which will best fulfil certain definite conditions and requirements, and to give it what he conceives to be the best and most beautiful form in which it can do this. At this stage, _having first encountered the difficulties_, he may, with advantage to himself and his work, look round and see how others before him have met and overcome similar difficulties; and how, out of the way they have done this, certain historic styles, accepted forms, and recognised conventions have resulted. As each difficulty presents itself it will help and stimulate him to study how it has been overcome in old work, but if he is saturated with knowledge of the forms and finished result of old work, without first having met the problems which brought them into existence, he will simply have his own instincts swamped by them, and will blindly reproduce them without any feeling for the spirit which prompted them. Really vital design will be well-nigh impossible to him.

That we substitute suggestion for development is one great defect in our educational system to-day in all things, but especially in those things appertaining to the arts. Our schools of art begin their training in design with an exhaustive study of historic styles of ornament and applied form of every kind. The course of study laid down by the Institute of British Architects for its pupils, commences with “Evidences of Study” of old Greek and Gothic buildings; in all cases suggestion is substituted for development, and in consequence we have turned out by the thousand men capable of reproducing works in all styles, but with no vital appreciation of the spirit and causes which lead to the existence of any one of them, and not one who can evolve a really vital work of art among them.

If we look round among those who are the leading spirits in the really great forward movement in art which is going on among us, how many of them shall we find to be the product of our recognised educational authorities in art? How many have got their art training on the lines laid down by our schools of art, for instance? If they come out of government schools at all, we shall generally find they have acquired their grasp & mastery _in spite_ of that system, and owe it to influences arising in some by-path, there, or outside its curriculum altogether; or to the fact that their own individuality has been too big to be drowned or stamped out by it. Still we cannot fail to be struck by the very small percentage of these leading spirits which it can be claimed are the outcome of any system of training at present recognised.

The embryo architect is in a somewhat better position than those intending to follow other arts, for the old apprenticeship system still obtains in this profession; and in his master’s office he is at anyrate engaged upon work for a definite purpose and designed to fulfil definite conditions. He has opportunities to go some depth into the why and wherefore of things, and must of necessity do so. Very differently is he situated from one who is patiently acquiring a knowledge of the outward forms of things in a large technical school. The advocates of this “Study from the beginning of the best examples,” talk of getting imbued with the spirit of the old work. It is not for me to go now into the many reasons why it is not possible for us in these later times to enter fully into the spirit which prompted the beautiful work of the past: this one reason, that we have not first met with the difficulties the overcoming of which brought it into existence, is all that is within my province at the moment. Get yourself saturated with knowledge of form, of beautiful form, presented for your study by Nature on every hand, and apply this in your own way to meeting requirements and overcoming difficulties which you fully comprehend, which present themselves to you in the work which _you_ have to do. Be not swamped with anothers’ ways of fulfilling other (though perhaps similar) conditions, meeting the requirements of another age, or overcoming other difficulties which you at best understand very imperfectly.

It would be very easy to give numberless illustrations of the harm resulting from this very wide-spread and far-reaching error in our conception and teaching of the duties of the designer, of the way he should go to work, and the methods he should follow.

We do not now require to be told that to fasten thin strips of wood to the face of a brick or stone wall in imitation of half-timber work is bad; but I may just in passing point out, that it was this same fault in our training and in our conception of the whole question, which ever made this possible, and rendered us able to tolerate it. We saw the beauty of old timber and plaster construction, and not seeing also that that beauty resulted from straightforwardly & honestly using the best form of construction known for these materials, we thought of the finished effect only, and imagined we got it by imitating it in other construction, where the conditions and requirements and the difficulties to be met and overcome were different. Nor do we need to think about these things much before we can see that it is wrong to erect gable, projection, cove, parapet, continuation of a bay window, or what not, for no useful purpose but solely for the display of even constructionally genuine half-timber work, that it may, by its echo of the beauties we have felt to exist in some true art work in the past, lead us to suppose that it too is beautiful.

But to avoid all possibility of becoming in the least personal, I will not take my illustrations from recent times, for it is easy to find them in abundance without. The abominations of the Renaissance are in themselves enough. These abominations were simply the outcome of giving the study of the finished result in the beautiful work of the past undue prominence in men’s minds, and allowing this study to smother the feeling for what had _constituted_ the beauty in that work. As all know, the Renaissance came from the revival of the study of old Greek and Roman work in the 14th, 15th & 16th centuries. Men then began again to see the beauty that was in a Greek capital, shaft and base, but had not first learned to see that that beauty was the result primarily of the simple and direct way in which the pillar fulfilled its functions, in the form of construction in which it was used; and they began to use it again, and tried to work it in just as it was, and at the stage it had reached in the process of its evolution. They began to introduce it in buildings of a different construction, and in places where the conditions were very different from those under which it was so great. It had been beautiful where it supported a roof and cornice, and stood strong and adequate under their dead crushing weight: but it was now introduced in conjunction with the dome, the thrust of which it was entirely unsuited to sustain, therefore chains hidden in the masonry (like those in our own St. Paul’s Cathedral), were requisitioned, and we got an apparently stone building so constructed that it would not stand up in stone, just as we have to-day on every hand imitation half-timber buildings which would not stand up if of timber construction. It had been beautiful in the sunny climes of Greece and Italy, where the shade of the entablature it supported was needed, and an attribute of beauty: but it was now placed where the wall could not be set back from it, but must be brought out to it, and must have windows unshaded by cornice, frieze, & architrave. Therefore the pillar stood in front of it, carrying nothing, doing nothing, and a melancholy, painful thing to all who beheld it rightly.

They studied the ornament of the Greeks, but failed to notice how it was in all cases subordinated to, and explained and enhanced the general forms and contours and emphasized the construction; and the result was the meaningless inanity and vapid gracefulness of their compiled arabesques and ornament on pilasters, their festoons, and all the rest of the imitative and uninspired artificialities of the style.

The work became lifeless & compiled. In a Gothic cathedral, of the times before the Renaissance tainted our northern work, one feels the mason honestly developing the resources of his material, age by age. Behind one of Wren’s spires one always sees the man with paper and drawing instruments, hard mechanical lines laboriously measured off on a drawing board, with mathematical calculations of proportion figured all round the margin.

And apropos of all this, may I be allowed parenthetically to say, that there is a movement on foot to make architecture a close profession. I do not propose to enter here into this, or into the question whether any true standard of qualification in architecture, or any other art, can possibly be secured by examination; but all I have been saying has a very distinct bearing on the policy of those who advocate that all who would enter the profession of an architect, should go through the same course of study as definitely laid down by them; a course which begins with the study of ancient work, and, in so far as it includes at all those things which constitute the true training, brings them forward in the reverse order from the one indicated above. But this is not the point I wish to show; I wish emphatically to say that to train all would-be architects in such a way that they can pass the same examinations is bad enough; but for all to go through the same mill in preparation for these examinations, not allowing those who have other ideas of what an architect’s training should be a free hand to act upon their own convictions, can only have most disastrous results to architecture, as it would to any other art.

It is well to think earnestly of our education in art, and to fit ourselves for true appreciation; but when we have done this, if we come to actively practise an art, to keep a watch upon our motives is our only true guide. Everything depends on this. If the motive is unworthy the art will be unworthy. Unless we create any work of art, unless we write, paint, design, or whatever it may be, first with a desire to create an influence for good, to bring home to others something of the true & beautiful which might otherwise escape them, our art will be unworthy.

The first thing that must go to the making of an artist is not that he shall have the power to express himself, but that he shall have that within him which needs expression. The artist’s duty is a very grave and solemn one; it is for him to rouse in others the power of seeing truth and beauty, “The best impart the gift of seeing to the rest.”

BARRY PARKER.

ART AND SIMPLICITY.

“Ability to live without furniture, without impedimenta, with
the least possible amount of neat clothing, shows more than the
advantage held by this Japanese race in the struggle of life;
it shows also the real character of some weaknesses in our
civilization. It forces reflection upon the useless multiplicity of
our daily wants.” _Kokoro, Lafcadio Hearn._

Looking over some colour prints from Japan, I have been much impressed by the extreme simplicity which characterizes the interiors of Japanese houses as depicted in them. Print after print shows us a room almost bare, the walls in some delicate brown or grey tint, with the wood framing exposed: this latter consists of bamboo cane or simple squared posts and beams, with now and then a door head slightly arched. For the elaborately ornamented screens and bric-à-brac which are associated with Japan one searches these prints in vain: the rooms are characterized by an almost complete absence of mere ornament. There is in one a single panel of the wall or screen adorned with a landscape very slightly suggested; in another a blind or hanging of some sort bears a text or painted floral decoration; or a vase standing on a slightly raised dais, holds a carefully arranged spray of flowers; or ajar on the centre of a wall displays a single peony or chrysanthemum exquisitely poised; but beyond this there is no ornamentation.

There is considerable variety in the shape of the rooms shown, none seemingly being just four-square. A complete absence of furniture characterizes them, and only such things as are actually being used find a place there. Yet the whole suggestion conveyed is one of refined and elegant life: the lady arranging flowers does not have the sprays from which she is to select on the floor by her, but on a beautifully lacquered tray; while all the utensils one sees represented, such as boxes, candle-sticks, tea-cups, or platters, are elegant in shape and colour and often much ornamented. They are quite obviously in the room for use however, not for ornament.

Judging from these prints, the refinement of Japan seems to result in no desire for beautiful ornaments or elaborate decorations, but rather in the demand that everything that is required for use shall be elegant or even highly ornamental. Their æstheticism evidently does not bring a craving to be always surrounded by innumerable articles of _vertu_, but rather a demand that such things as must come to their hands justified by their use, shall come also graced by beauty.

In contrast with the extreme simplicity of the rooms is a lavish display of bright colour and ornament on the dresses of the ladies, as they are represented chatting or working; this tells with wonderful effect against the soft grey or brown, or the pale green of the dried rush matting, which are the prevailing colours shown on the walls and floors.

Such rooms as these are obviously thought of mainly as the back-ground to the people and their life. There is evidently in the Japanese no lack of love for the beauty of Nature and of ornament; only there is a dignity which makes them demand a suitable setting for their lives; and a very rare refinement which teaches them to prefer the complete realization and enjoyment of the beauty of a few simple things, to the superficial appreciation of many elaborately beautiful ones; which leads them to spend their thought rather in showing to the best advantage the utmost beauty of one spray, than in finding places for a basketful of rare flowers.

How different is the common estimate of art and refinement here in the west. When we think of the elaborately upholstered houses of our ‘artistic circles,’ the people of taste--crowded as they are with costly decorations and ornaments; when we find that one of the most refined of our modern painters is in danger of being remembered as much for the gorgeous palace in which he lived as for the works of art he painted; what wonder if philosophers and moralists tell us that art is the enemy of simplicity, the fosterer of luxury!

If the love of art did really result in making more and more elaborate collections of beautiful things necessary to us, then indeed it would be the enemy not alone of simplicity but of liberty also. Then would it be but an added burden, still more terribly dividing those who work from those who enjoy, and further enslaving the one to the other; but another millstone hung about the neck of miserable man to keep him from rising above the slough of mere material wants and entanglements, in which he is already well-nigh engulfed. But the accumulation of beautiful things from all the ends of the earth is no sign that a deep love for art exists, and the admiration of them in itself is no sign of much refinement. Rather does this result from our utter lack of true art, from our complete inability to make the things we need beautiful. It is a sign too of our entire want of refinement that we are content to use such ugly things as we do make, if only we may have a few of the beautiful things that other people have made, to look at. Fancy a Greek carrying water in a galvanized iron pail, and thinking it artistic to put his pitcher on a bracket in his hall! The Greek required his pitchers for water carrying, and made them for that purpose, made them as comfortable and easy to carry as possible; and that his work in the making of them might be to him somewhat of an interest, he made them as beautiful as he could in form, and decorated them with suggestions of the things his mind loved to dwell upon. And so was art to him both a solace to labour and an expression of his interest in his work. And to the one who used the things made, what was it but a pure added joy in his life; suggesting to him the pleasure of that worker, and starting in his mind thoughts of gods or heroes on which he also liked to dwell. This is the origin of all true art, springing from some joy in the maker and giving to all who use the thing made some suggestion of this joy. Or it may be, in the higher branches, springing from some great thought demanding expression or great emotion yearning for sympathy, & in the beholder ever after stimulating something of that thought or emotion. Instead of being an added burden to men it may be an added joy; may gladden the hours of toil to the maker; and for the user may lift the every-day affairs of life out of the commonplace, satisfying his taste with the comeliness of all the implements he uses and cheering him with the beautiful suggestions of their ornament.

Art such as this must be in close touch with simplicity; for, under its influence, ornament that has no message of suggestion, that conveys no memento of a maker’s pleasure, would not exist; and if you come to think of it, why should it? There is no virtue in mere ornament: far otherwise. It is not easy to create a decoration more beautiful than the play of sunlight or firelight on a whitewashed wall; and unless some one has joy in doing it, or can give us something more constantly pleasing or suggestively helpful, why should it be attempted? Certainly refinement does not demand it; for it is refinement that teaches us to appreciate the subtle colouring of the varying light and to be content with it.

In other ways also the growth of the æsthetic faculty will lead to simplicity, & will help to produce those changes in the conditions of life and work, without which there is no hope for any great revival of art on the lines just sketched. Until recently the beautiful feathers of the heron, the so-called ospreys or egrets, were a favourite decoration for the head dress; but since the cruelty attendant on the obtaining of them has been generally known, they have vanished alike from the plume of the soldier and the bonnet of the gentle lady. Their beauty brings no more pleasure; it is marred by the mental picture of the bleeding heron and its starving young: none but the ignorant or vain can wear them now. As our appreciation of beauty becomes, if I may so use the term, intensive as well as extensive, many similar changes will be brought about. For one must not forget that the appeal of beauty, of art, to us is not solely a matter of the senses. A work of art does not cease to touch us the moment it is out of our sight; nay, we may even get more pleasure and help from it after than when actually gazing at it. But if it is to continue to please us, beauty must bear to be thought about. If we cannot dwell with satisfaction on the origin or production of the beautiful object, its beauty ceases to please, we feel it to be superficial.

This desire for such a harmony in our life and surroundings as will not alone delight the eye, but will also satisfy and please the mind and heart, springing as it does from a deeper appreciation of beauty, will have far-reaching results in the direction of wedding art and simplicity together. There are many who can no longer enjoy an artistic life above stairs, undisturbed by the lack of what art could add, in the life below stairs on which it rests; for they feel that no beauty in the drawing room can make up for the want of beauty in the lives of those in the kitchen; no refinement in the study compensate for the utter lack of it in the workshop. In fact we are coming to realize that although we may have the right and the power to create for ourselves a costly palace to dwell in, and to gather around us all the luxuries and refinements we can think of, and may moreover have plenty of servants to wait on us and plenty of labourers to help us to support our costly life; yet art will not make such a life beautiful, simply because of that want of harmony between the life and all that goes to support it. However right and just such a life may be thought to be, it cannot be beautiful.