Part 5

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.

And so those to whom beauty really appeals are seeking a simpler form of life, one which need not cost so much of the labour of others to maintain, or so much of their own to procure. And the more they come to love & enjoy beauty, the greater must this tendency to simplicity of life become, not from any virtue or asceticism, but simply as a matter of choice. Why should one having such tastes encumber himself with an elaborate household, which but offends his inner love of harmony, and takes his time and energy from the enjoyment of so much greater pleasure? He knows that the art in a picture belongs to all who can appreciate it, not solely to the purchaser of it, who buys not the art but the right to shut it up; and he realizes that the beauty of a landscape is a pleasure open to all who can see it, and that it cannot be conveyed in the title deed. Such an one does not barter away his time and his freedom to enjoy these solid pleasures, for the sake of a fine house, fine society, or any other fictitious refinements. He minds not how simple his surroundings, if only he may be able to dwell in thought on everything he handles or sees about him without any painful suggestion of drudgery in the making of them, or squalor in the maintaining of them, marring his pleasure in their simple elegance. The most humble house will content him, so only he may have time and quiet to appreciate the beauties of nature and art, and opportunity for the sharing with others of like taste the enjoyment of these things. For the love of beauty is not selfish, it grows by sharing: we all love to make others see the beauty that we enjoy.

It is true that such a man may be fastidious, that he may hate all ugly or sordid things, and may demand that everything he has shall be the best of its kind. But this must not be confounded with a desire for many things, or a dislike of simple ones. The musician too, is hurt by harsh sounds and requires his music to be of the best, but he does not ask that an orchestral concert shall be for ever going on.

This general dependence of beauty on simplicity, at any rate in the private dwelling house, is of special interest to those whose function it is to give an artistic setting to the lives of clients by so designing their homes that they shall be comfortable for those who are to occupy them and comely for all who shall behold them. The architect is astonished to find how very conventional generally are the reasons which dictate the size and arrangement of the house. He is impressed by the great difference that exists between what are considered to be suitable houses for different classes of people: and he begins to wonder whether there are not discoverable some factors determining what is a suitable size for a man’s shell having more intimate relation to his life than the depth of his pocket, or some reason for its form and adornment less conventional than those usually accepted.

For example, an architect receives a commission to design some labourers’ cottages. The cost is the first stipulation: this must be low enough for the cottages to yield a fair return on the outlay when let at such rents as the labourers can afford to pay out of their present wages. Probably the next stipulation is that each house must have a parlour, kitchen, and three bedrooms. The usual result of such instructions is a design for a row of cottages, all alike, each having a small parlour in front with a front door into it, a kitchen behind--it is well if this is not smaller still--with the stairs going up between the two and a little larder under: the kitchen has a back door leading into the yard, a sink under the only window, and a copper between that and the fire. Here we have as the living-room for a family a place twelve to fifteen feet square, containing three doors, a sink, and a copper. True there is a sitting-room; but that is of little use. The occupants will have neither money to find coal for a second fire, nor energy to keep the fire going and the room tidy for use, nor will there be any inclination for the family to divide for the little time they are all at home. But a false convention of respectability demands this sitting-room; and the stern limits of cost preclude the possibility of having a scullery or washhouse in addition.

How an architect must wish he could attack this commission from another standpoint. How he must long to design a house to fit the habits of life of those who are to occupy it. Then he would work on quite different lines. Knowing that the family will practically live in the kitchen, he would think out the space needed to give room for doing work, taking meals, and resting. He would consider what of the work which must be done most tends to make the living-room uncomfortable and dirty; and he would banish that to a scullery or wash-house. In the living-room he would plan so that there might be warm seats round the fire in winter, free from draughts, and seats for summer near the window; a good dresser for work, well lighted and supplied with cupboards, plate-rack, and perhaps a small washing-up sink for the crockery. Then he would allow space for a table for meals, and a few shelves for books; perhaps he might even find a corner for a piano or desk, in case either should be wanted. Instead of the sitting-room, he would either build a little den for quiet reading or writing, if any member of the family desired to study, or more probably so plan one of the bedrooms that a portion of it could be made cosy for such a purpose, about the only one for which a sitting-room would be at all likely to be wanted. Remembering too that cleanliness has been placed only second among virtues, and that probably most of the labourers would have dirty and arduous work, he would contrive to give a bath; and if nothing better could be done might put it in the scullery. In this way he would have obtained a cottage as nearly as possible fitted to the lives of the people. It would take no more daily labour and expense to keep up than the conventional one, and would not cost such a great deal more to build--in fact, omitting the bath, and keeping within the total size, need cost no more.

Perhaps the next commission is for a country house. It is stipulated that there shall be dining-room, drawing-room, and library, a good entrance hall and six bedrooms, together with kitchen, scullery, two servants’ bedrooms, butler’s pantry, china pantry, larder, laundry, a lavatory and cloak-room on the ground floor, and a bathroom on each bedroom floor. Such requirements have probably as little real connection with the lives of the people who are to live in the house, as the conventions which dictated the two roomed cottage. The size of the house has more to do with the social position assumed by its owner, than with the number of his household; and the library quite as likely is due to the length of his purse, as to the number of his books or his literary pursuits.

Somewhere between these two extremes must lie the sort of house which the lover of art and beauty would desire for himself. Somewhere, in each case, must the two opposing tendencies of comfort and simplicity meet. Up to a certain point it will add to a man’s real pleasure in life to enlarge upon the bare shelter of the labourer’s cottage; but beyond that point any gain there may be will be too dearly bought. This point is fixed for any individual, but must of course vary widely with the temperament and circumstances of each. It is sufficient for our purpose to realize that there is such a point, and that the development of a man’s love of beauty and art will in the long run give more and more force to the tendencies which make for simplicity. Those whose main desire is for beauty in their lives, are coming to see that to the rational cottage as sketched above, with its ample living-room and the other absolute necessaries of a decently comfortable life, they must add with great caution and reluctance, and only as dictated by really pressing needs. Every extra room is an added care, means further demands on time and energy, and makes it harder to maintain the home without introducing additional inharmonious elements in the way of service. It is possible, though not easy, to introduce one helper into the home life on equal terms, but very difficult indeed to do this with two. The increase of the house must be zealously resisted, if it is to be kept within the limits of one helper doing a fair share of work. And not only must the size be watched: the furnishing and decorating likewise need to be kept simple. It is a good rule in such a house to add nothing until actually needed, and to think well whether the pleasure and comfort it can give will repay the care and dusting it will require.

Working on these lines there will be a good chance that our homes will grow beautiful, that they will fit our lives and be really filled with life. When we try how few things we can do with, we also begin to try how beautiful those few may be made. When we value our time, and the time of our helpers, by the pleasure which may be had from a wise use of it, we shall take care that any adornment we have, shall at least give pleasure equal to any other use we might have made of the time required to obtain it. Therefore none but good decoration will tempt us. We shall be content with our bare coloured walls, until perhaps some artist friend comes along and adorns them for us with some true ornament, which will be an abiding satisfaction, not only in the direct suggestion which it conveys, but also in the memories it revives of a pleasant visit and a guest happy in a congenial task.

RAYMOND UNWIN.

OF FURNITURE. Part 1.

A lecture given before a gathering of art workers.

Our instructions for to-night are that we show you examples of some of our work. But we have found ourselves unable to comply with the letter of the instructions, to confine the examples that we show you to-night to furniture; for, of furniture which can be considered apart from the building it furnishes, we have scarcely any to show. Complying as nearly as we can, we will as far as possible keep within what may be considered furnishing.

Before proceeding to the illustrations of our work, I would like to point out what we claim you shall find to be its leading characteristics: and among these I will name first, absolute simplicity, directness, and straightforwardness. I feel that we are to-day so completely smothered in lifeless and meaningless fuss of pattern, moulding, knick-knack, flourish and convention, and the machine-made & mechanically produced substitute for ornament, that it is well-nigh impossible for our artistic sensibilities to exist at all unless liberated from them. I would mention secondly complete unity and absolute harmony between all the parts, such as can only be obtained when a house, its decorations and furniture, are all designed by one man--or at least under the entire supervision of one man. Now when I claim that if the result is to be artistically satisfactory, nay also if it is to be satisfactory from the point of view of comfort and practical utility, the house and everything in the house must from the first be thought of and designed as a whole, the objection most commonly made is that a house should reflect somewhat the character, habits, and taste of those who live in it; and that if the architect is to make his influence felt in every detail of its furnishing and decoration, it will show _his_ feeling, taste, and character, not his client’s.

There seems at first glance to be some truth in this; but a very little thought will show, that instead of the power of the members of a household to impress their own individuality upon their home being lessened by this extension of the architect’s influence, it would be greatly increased.

The architect who is worth anything will always design a house which will fit any particular client much better than would any house he could possibly find not designed for him: and of furniture, fittings and decoration, and all else belonging to a house, this is also true. The client wanting a piece of furniture, can otherwise only select, from those offered for sale in the shops, that which will most nearly fill the place of something designed specially to meet his requirements. His own taste and individuality can have no influence upon it whatever; no say in the form it shall take; this has been decided for him by a designer to whom he probably never gives a thought. But if his architect designs something to fit him & his house, the client can make his own taste felt from the beginning; he can make known to his architect his own personality, habits, and feeling; and have some chance of getting what will accord with these and moreover be in proper relation with the whole. It is not a question whether he shall have things to his own design or to that of another: this would be a different matter altogether: the question is: Shall he have things designed to fit in with him and his requirements, or do the best he can with what chance may offer him?

It has struck me as very wonderful how good a result has in rare instances been attained by one of true artistic feeling through long years of careful watchfulness making the most of such opportunities as came in his way of picking up & gathering round him--often in a house which has not a redeeming characteristic--furniture and decoration which his own taste has told him are good and reasonably congruous. But I have always felt: What would not this man have made of it if he had been able to have some influence upon the design for the house and the things in it! By choosing an architect capable of sympathy with his own artistic feeling, he could have done more at the very outset towards procuring a fitting setting for himself and his life, than he has been able to do by all his care and thought in selection.

That they who lack taste will also stamp their own individuality on the house they live in, no matter how extended has been the architect’s province, we know to our cost to be only too true.

All here know that the only right way to go to work to design anything is to give it that form which will best enable it to fulfil its functions, that form which is best adapted to the methods by which it is to be produced, at the same time giving it the most beautiful form consistent with & explaining these conditions of purpose and construction: and I contend further that to gain artistic success the position it is to occupy must also be taken into consideration; it must be designed for its place; and, to get the best result, its place must even be designed for it.

Socially morally and artistically one of the most necessary reforms to-day is that we should simplify our lives; we should shake ourselves free from all this hampering web of artificialities in which we have become so degradingly entangled: and in our homes we must make this possible for ourselves by first sweeping away all these fussy substitutes for ornament, all these supposed indications and requirements of refinement. Then, when we have done this, we must set ourselves to make those things which are necessary and helpful to real life and true refinement also beautiful.

But have you ever seen the _ordinary_ room with nothing but the bare necessaries of educated and refined life in it? I can assure you the effect is not comfortable. And it is not to be wondered at that people condemned to live in such rooms should try to supplement their baldness by all sorts of added ornament and bric-à-brac. Some time ago a picture dealer was looking at some of our designs for rooms, and he said: “Yes, but it cannot be expected that I should admire them. You, and those who follow your teaching are the worst enemies I have. I want people to have houses of the ordinary type, that they may always be trying in vain to make something of them, by patiently buying & buying in the hope that by adding first _this_ then _that_ some approach to a satisfactory result may be obtained. Each of these rooms is in itself a complete and satisfactory whole: there is no temptation to add anything.”

Lest the foregoing should give any the impression that I do not find places for pictures, I will let this bring me to what sooner or later this evening I shall be called upon to justify myself in, namely, the amount of realism I admit in a picture to which I accord a place as an element of decoration. I hold that the degree of conventionalisation justifiably demanded in any decoration is only such as is necessitated by the following: The limitations of the materials and the processes by which it is to be produced; a just appreciation of the special beauties of these materials and characteristics of these processes; and a full recognition of its proper relations to all by which it will be surrounded, and with which it is to be combined as a component part of an architectural whole. There is no need for adding any further artificial restrictions. But as a legitimate reason for convention I would add a perfectly frank acknowledgment of considerations of economy. If you use one process in preference to another because it is less costly, there is no occasion to disguise this. But, spite of the convention justified by this needful economy, seek to retain something of the effect which the _motif_ that gave the inspiration had upon you.