Chapter VI: Symphonies in Interior Decoration

William Morris demanded that our entire environment should be beautiful. Only in moments of superior enjoyment do we realize the significance of human life, and by a poem, picture or sonata we construct the symbols that bring us closest to this appreciation. Why then not construct a candlestick, a chair, the surface of a wall, in such a way that they might be taken for symbols, to remind us of the existence of our soul? The candlestick shall no longer be a mere stand and holder for a candle but a souvenir of reminiscences. That is the philosophical idea that underlies all interior decoration and furnishing.

As Sheridan Ford so aptly expressed it in an article in "St. Stephen's Review" in 1889:

"There are in England two new, and in their origin, distinct methods of interior decoration. Gradually they have coalesced to a degree, although they will always retain their individual traits and differences. These two methods may be termed the Whistlerian, and the English or pre-Raphaelite; the one, spontaneous, fresh--simple, the other, a revival--complex--reformatory. Through many years, from the early days of the pre-Raphaelites down to the last meeting of the Painter-socialists, an outside influence--a personality--has been making itself felt in London in strange and subtle ways."

The Morris arts and crafts movement believes in patterned design and the dominant force of the material. Every material speaks its own language, and we must understand, before we can lend expression to it. When the actual moment of designing arrives, the artist-artisan should work with a piece of the material itself before his eyes--wood, stone, iron or plain silk, linen or wool stuff, according to circumstances. This memory of nature's forms, dominated by the momentary impression of the material, with its requirements, capabilities and limitations, would lead him to a more congenial and workmanlike result than all the contents of a natural history museum, botanical garden or library. In the same way as we can give to words a dramatic, epic or lyrical significance, so has wood, leather and glass their own sphere of expression. Harmony in every detail is the ultimate result. A room is no museum, every object must be related to the other, the candlestick must make a rhyme with the wall-paper, with the woodwork, the hangings, the table and chairs.

Whistler, on the other hand, was the apostle of Japanese simplicity, of suggestion rather than realization. He tried to express his own æsthetic creed, and that consisted of restful expanses of unbroken wall, of decorative devices and ornamental motifs, individual caprices accentuated by black, and, finally, by colour. Colour in interior decoration meant to him the same thing as tone in painting. It reigned supreme. Our feeling of beauty varies; it may find its expression in a certain flower, a certain hour of the day or season, in a certain poem or song or, as it was the case with Whistler, in a certain delicate colour tint, that would make a room look gay and cheerful. He tried to bring the sun into the house, even in a land of fog and cloud. Pale pink, brown, pale turquoise, primrose, saffron, sulphure and lemon-yellow were his favourite colours. These he endeavoured to express. It was the gesture of his soul translated into every object and material.

A colour is like a special metric form, and all lines, and every combination of tint--the sofa, the lamp, wall-paper--take the place of stanzas in a finished poem. In such a house we would see mirrors everywhere reflecting our own personality. Such were Whistler's creations. They reflected his own face, and echoed his own song. Whistler arrived at these conclusions early in his life. During his Stevens-Japanese print period he interested himself a good deal with decorative schemes. He had painted "The Princess of the Porcelain Land," which was purely decorative, and, in a way, served as inspiration for the Peacock Room, as the design for the latter was really invented to find a proper environment for the painting.

In a diary of William Michael Rossetti, the ever busy biographers have found a note referring to six schemes or projects of practically the same size. It reads: "Whistler is doing on a large scale, for Leyland, the subject of women with flowers." They were never executed, although some of the sketches are still in existence. He abandoned decorative schemes entirely in later years, but became more and more engrossed in the problems of interior decoration. In later years he intended to paint a grand decoration with full orchestration that he would call "The Symphony of Colours--Full Palette." This would have been indeed interesting, but I fear he went too deep into blacks to have accomplished it. In most instances he abstained from mural decoration,--the panels over the chimney-place, and the shutter and ceiling decoration of the Peacock Room for the Leyland home at Prince's Gate, London, were his only supreme effort in that direction. They show the right idea about decorative painting. He agreed with all decorative painters from Gozzoli to Bob Chanler, that it should be an arrangement of colours which, within its frame, affords a pleasant visual entertainment.

There is no intention to give food for thought. The peacocks in blue on gold and gold on blue relate as little as does an Oriental carpet. He merely wished to please the eye by depicting them more beautifully than they were in nature. But why did he select peacocks? Do they not convey an idea? Figures usually are story-telling symbols, but not necessarily so; with him they were vehicles of colour, to invent a pattern for their luminosity. Peacock designs occur frequently in Japanese art. No doubt, Whistler studied them. There is a certain resemblance, but he individualized them in his own way. The sharply silhouetted forms of the birds are a happy invention of luminous colour and interesting design. The Japanese would have made a more lavish use of gold, that is they would have left larger spaces untouched by any additional colour. Blank spaces of gold (or any colour) act in such instances like the musical silence of a pause between music, they represent the birth of beauty from luxury. But the Leyland room was overcrowded, with its elaborate ceiling, bulky chandelier and collection of blue and white porcelain on walnut shelves, broken by an endless repetition of perpendicular lines. He could not change the architecture of the place, so he went to work and decorated the few spaces that were available. To decorate the inside shutters with a peacock design was a unique performance, and to cover the moulding of the chandelier and the entire ceiling with conventionalized peacock feathers, utilizing the eyes of the feathers as accents, was even more marvellous. In the elegance of its scheme, and its individual perfection, splendour and restfulness it has no equal.

When Whistler moved into houses of his own, he had, like all ambitious house-owners, the desire to create a comfortable and beautiful home. None of his houses were ever completely decorated and finished; they had a look, as Pennell tells us, as if he had just moved in, or was just moving out; often there were packing cases and trunks about, but as much as was finished was always beautiful.

The "House Beautiful" or "White House," was a three-storied house with many windows of various sizes, a green slate roof, bluish-grey door, Portland stone facings and fantastic wood ornamentation. A queer looking house, was the verdict of the neighbours, and yet it was rather unassuming, so that it escaped the attention of the ordinary passer-by. While various schemes for each room were in his mind, a friend, Mr. Sutherland, director of the P. O. Company, called one evening in the spring of 1873 to ask Whistler if he would help him in the decoration of his home. Whistler entered upon the idea with enthusiasm and prepared the plans. The novelty of the schemes was first approved of, but, as they developed, Mr. Sutherland began to doubt their plausibility. Whistler relieved him from all obligations, and determined that he would use the ideas in his own home. He went at once to work and three weeks later gave a dinner to celebrate the event. It was a revelation of simple delicate colour schemes--everything was artistic from the mahogany woodwork in the "gold and yellow" room down to the single flower in some bit of Kaga porcelain. In the room everything was yellow, gold or brown. The walls were tinted yellow, the cabinet and chimney-piece in one structure were of a bright yellow mahogany, with gilt panels. The tiles before it were of a pale sulphur colour. In some niches there was a display of orange coloured vases. The peacock designs were seen in some panels, but they were carried out in yellow and gold. The chairs were covered with yellow velvet, the table had brass legs and rested on a brown rug.

One may say that Whistler established three simple rules for decoration, which interpreted in words, might read like this:

First: That a house should be a dainty and complete thing--from the door-knocker to the ridge tile.

Second: That each room should be restful, with ceiling, walls and floors so treated as to give a sense of shelter, freedom and completeness, terminating in the floor at the base.

Third: that pure, tender colours scientifically used give ease and infinite suggestion, and should be allowed to play about a room without coming into boisterous contact with another.

Harper Pennington, a friend of Whistler's, has given a humourous but sympathetic description of the "White House:" "His furniture was limited to the barest necessities, and, frequently, too few of those." Indeed, some wit made what he called his "standing joke" about poor Jimmy's dearth of seats. Once Dick (Corney) Grain said, when shaking hands before a Sunday luncheon, "Ah! Jimmy, glad to see you playing before such a full house!" glaring around the studio with his large protruding eyes in search of something to sit on. "What do you mean?" said Whistler. "Standing room only," replied the actor. The studio could boast of only four or five small cane-seated chairs (always requisitioned for the dining room on Sundays), and the most uncomfortable bamboo sofa ever made. Nobody, except some luckless model, sat upon it twice. Never a book or any instrument of music in his room, nothing that would not constantly be in use, nothing superfluous; all his cares were centred on the wall and woodwork, painted in graduated monochromes, of which he held the secret.

The strangest thing about these rooms of his was, that they always looked complete. There was no space, apparently, for more than he put in them. So great was the art in his arrangements of colour and a few pieces of ordinary furniture--a spindle-legged table and three or four small painted chairs--that it seemed impossible to add so much as a book without disturbing the harmonious whole. Curtains, a little mirror, one, two, three at the most, perfectly placed pictures, a vase, perhaps a pair of them, upon the mantel, and matting on the floor, were literally all that any room I ever knew him to occupy appeared _able_ to contain. There was a sense of finish and finality about it which a piano and stuffed furniture would have disturbed. In the vases, as in two square hanging pots upon the wall of the dining-room, there were always a few yellow flowers, and in a huge old china bowl, that formed the centrepiece of the dining-room table, swam some tiny gold fish--the whole thing was carefully composed so as to make the "symphony" complete at those historic Sunday breakfasts.

His various abodes became a topic of conversation, and a place of pilgrimage, and made Whistler, for a while at least, a recognized leader in decoration. He developed a style, the influence of which has been felt all over Europe. The beauty of one colour in the decoration of a room, the division of space into simple lines and masses, the scarcity of furniture, leaving large empty spaces, the use of flowers or a few choice pieces of bric-a-brac, we owe largely to Whistler. The backgrounds of his "Miss Alexander," "Carlyle" and "The Artist's Mother" offer vague glimpses into the realm of individualized decoration, and, in a way, better information about its character than a hundred pages of explanation.

Among the houses that were decorated under Whistler's supervision are the Aubrey house, Kensington; Carlyle cottage, Chelsea; the home of Mr. D'Oyly Carte, on the banks of the Thames, the music room of Sarasate in Paris, for whom it is said, he also designed the furniture, and the "Pink Palace," where he lived with his favourite model "Maud," in 1885.

Occasionally he may have designed the furniture as a particular favour to a friend, but it was not his habit. All he did was to give advice or to make the selection. Now and then he may have made a hasty sketch to make his idea clear to others, but it is not known that he ever made a regular design that could have been used by a skilful cabinet-maker to work from. He merely suggested, and, if conditions allowed, to establish beauty of proportions. Beauty of design should exist, no matter whether it be in the vault of the Sistine Chapel, or a writing desk, but colour is imperative. His "style" consisted of little more than selecting a special colour scheme. He took pride in mixing the colours, but never put them on himself. An ordinary house-painter served the purpose just as well. He looked at a room, decided what parts should be dark or black, and then proceeded, in his most scientific manner, to find a colour, delicate and luminous, that would brighten the walls. No doubt, he laboured under favourable conditions. But we should not forget that he himself created these conditions, in which his artistic personality perhaps found its happiest and most characteristic expression.

Exquisite colour and simplicity and the desire to gain the possible effects of light were the leading characteristics of the Whistler style. Whistler committed one great error. He invariably preferred beauty to comfort. He frequently lost sight of the practical, with the result that use and beauty were not always combined in due proportion. He had little regard for physical requirements--he himself was always active, he had no time to lounge, consequently decorative possibilities alone interested him. It is the same trouble with _L'Art Nouveau_. Although infinitely superior to the soulless copyism of different styles as practised by sterling bronze and artistic furniture companies, it lacks that true artistic feeling for ornamentation, which makes the designer at once realize the proper limits of his materials and show proper judgment in the uses to which he puts them. Whistler was so sensitive to any discord of line or colour, that he, no doubt, would have endured inconvenience rather than have destroyed the harmony of an effect. Most of us do not care to exist that way.

A house is built to live in, with as much grace as possible, but primarily with a feeling of comfort. Most people would prefer a modern apartment to an old palace at Fiesole. The material demands of the owner should determine the construction of the house. The American architects begin to realize this more and more. What principle rules the construction of a window? The dimensions of the room. The windows are not made for the street, to be looked at from the outside; they are there for the room, to distribute light and emphasize any special use they may be put to. In a parlour, for instance, people are more apt to look out a window than anywhere else; for that reason the parlour windows should be wider than in other rooms to enable several people to look out comfortably at the same time.

A chair is made to sit upon comfortably, not merely to look beautiful. The most beautiful design in a chair will not condone the torture that may be caused by a shape that does not adapt itself to the human form. The chairs in the Sarasate music room were exquisite but too stiff to allow any repose. Imagine listening to a concert sitting erect, without being able to stretch out one's limbs. The main reason for not having any comfortable chairs in his own studio was one of self-protection. It was his work-room, and he wished to prevent visitors from making it a hall of gossip. He preferred to have it empty; a promenade to contemplate the next master stroke on one of his paintings.

When Whistler was forced to give up the "White House," and all its beautiful contents were dispersed, he was enraged that the succeeding owner, "Arry" Quilter, took liberties with the facade. Quilter had added a bay window, and, to Whistler's idea, destroyed the entire effect. After that he never wanted to look at it again. On one occasion he expressed his anger in a most amusing manner. "To think of Arry living in the temple I created," he said. "He has no use for it. If he had any feeling for the symmetry of things he would come to me and say: 'Here, Whistler, is your house, take it, you know its meaning, I don't. Take it and live in it.--But no, he has not sense enough to see that.'"

Harry Quilter, no doubt, got as much enjoyment out of the house as Whistler did, although in a different way. Extreme sensitiveness in regard to line, colour and form produces a beautiful result, not unlike a handsome painting, but I fear it would prove monotonous in the long run. A beautiful room is like a simple melody, but if the melody has any striking individuality, we soon tire of it. If the decoration could be kept entirely neutral the problem could be solved satisfactorily. But pink and lemon-yellow are not neutral. Not everybody would feel happy in a blue room decorated with purple fans. Even a woman in a certain gown would destroy the harmony, and a definite colour seen all the time, even if unconsciously, would soon disturb our mental serenity. The Whistler rooms were beautiful when no human being moved in them. They were there for the photographer, but not for congenial habitation.

I believe most people will agree that the most beautiful bed is the one in which one can sleep most peacefully; the most beautiful chair the one which allows perfect relaxation of the body; the most beautiful glass that which lends itself most gracefully to convey to our lips the special beverage it is intended for. This may sound unæsthetic, but it is common sense. Comfort comes first, whenever ordinary living purposes are concerned. There is plenty of opportunity for the exploration and exfoliation of beauty, but it should be subordinated to the primary causes.

Whistler's influence, in my opinion, was most beneficial in the arrangement of exhibitions. An exhibition of paintings, or any work of art, is solely an æsthetic venture, and should be harmonious at any cost. It is just in this that most exhibitions fail. They show the most incongruous backgrounds, frames of the most incredible malformations, floors that are either bare or loudly carpeted and pictures that are hung without the slightest consideration for their colour values. With the simple use of distemper, matting and muslin Whistler performed wonders. During his short reign as president of the Society of British Artists he transformed the Suffolk Street galleries from a barn into a dignified exhibition hall. Pictures, frames, walls, floors, lighting and decorations, each element had its due place, the one supplementing the other, and harmonizing, instead of conflicting with it, as is so often the case.

Every year saw some fresh assertions of his leadership. He took a great deal of interest in the arrangement of his own exhibitions, making some of them occasions for the exploitation of his views in new and original ways. His initial exhibition in Pall Mall, 1874, where, for the first time, walls were brought into harmony with the pictures upon them, and successes in Bond Street, at the Fine Arts Society, and at Dowdswell's, are accepted facts in the art history of London. Each one of these exhibitions especially embodied the demonstration of a colour scheme or problem of decoration. So there came to pass, in their turn, the arrangement in "Flesh Colour and Grey," the harmony in "Gold and Brown" and the arrangement in "Yellow and White," and others, equally characteristic and original.

With scrupulous love of detail, he neglected nothing and devoted unusual attention to the make-up of the catalogue. The brown-covered paper catalogue of the exhibition of etchings held at the Fine Art Society Gallery, in 1883, was issued with the imprint of the artist's home in Tite Street, Chelsea, and represented his peculiar views of typography as well as the art of slaying incompetent and hostile reviewers with their own weapons. After the title of each etching was printed a quotation from some criticism, under the general motto (on the title page) "Out of Their Own Mouths Ye Shall Judge Them."

"Prodigious amateur--there are years when Mr. Whistler gives great promise--In this instance criticism is powerless--Mr. Whistler is eminently vulgar--General absence of tone--Mr. Whistler has produced too much for his reputation"--are some of the quotations. The Gallery, on this occasion, was hung with white and yellow, had yellow matting on the floor, yellow chairs and yellow flower pots. The attendants at the door were in yellow and white livery, while the artist wore yellow socks, and his assistants yellow cravats.

For the catalogue of the exhibition of paintings held in 1884, Whistler prepared a page of "propositions" called "L'Envoie," which we quote elsewhere, and he repeated in the catalogue of "his heroic kick in Bond Street" in 1892, the use of quotations from the critics, for each title entry. The mottoes on this occasion were: "The Voice of a People" and a sentence from the speech of the General Attorney at the Whistler v. Ruskin trial, "I do not know when so much amusement has been offered to the British public as by Mr. Whistler's pictures." The artist triumphed, the success of the exhibition proved the futility of the early judgments. A perusal of this queer document, even to-day, elicits a smile; it is delicious humour and at the same time a splendid assertion of artistic power and self-adulation.

The first New York exhibition of work by Whistler was held in the old Wunderlich Gallery, on Broadway, in March, 1889, when sixty-two "Notes," "Harmonies" and "Nocturnes" were shown, with some accessories of yellow hangings, flowers, furniture and footmen imitation of the London exhibition of 1883. But this sort of thing is rarely successful in this country. It is apt to be misinterpreted, and somehow looks out of place.

One of the finest achievements of the painter is the frame which rightly bears his name. The official exhibitions still insist on the usual monotony of gilt frames, and the painters seem to have neither any particular inclination nor the opportunity to create frames of lovely forms and well-balanced repeating patterns of their own. The frame-makers and art-dealers are masters of the situation, and their interests are strictly mercenary ones.

"Attractive enough at first sight, hopelessly inartistic on further inspection," is the verdict which one has to give of the average frame of to-day. Only a few of our painters oppose the mechanically manufactured frames. They have their frames specially designed for each picture, Stanford White having been the designer of quite a number of them. Their frames are wide and flat, without corners and centrepieces, the repeating pattern is generally a simple, classic ornament, with a tendency toward parallel lines. The architectural designs, with Greek columns in the upright sides, are rather heavy and less recommendable. Whistler's frames, which served as inspiration to all these later-day designers, were conceived in simple planes, broken with parallel grooves that were restful to the eye as sole ornamentation. They were original inventions, free from any taint of imitation. The gaudy burnished gold effect was substituted by pale gold and bronze that could be tinted and glazed according to the principal colour note of the pictures the frame was designed for. They are so simple that it is difficult to improve their design. But he did not make them for general use, he merely suggested to other painters the advantageousness of designing their own frames, as is now largely customary.

Whistler has performed a brave deed. If he had done nothing else but to improve our taste in the arrangement of exhibitions he would be remembered for many years. He has done far more. He has set up the big ideal of simplicity. His eccentricities and harmonies of decoration may not live. There are many men working on the same problem all over the Western hemisphere, and his peculiar style will undergo many modifications and improvements, but we should never forget that he was one of the first who opened our eyes to a practicable and inexpensive way of beautifying our home and everyday life.