Walter Crane

WE have seen (1) that architectural considerations lie at the basis of design and control its general character, its scale, and relationships; and (2) that utility determines and specializes its particular forms and functions; now, as our third proposition, we may say that, in addition to these in limitation of material and methods of workmanship, we shall find the influences which determine primarily the purely artistic question of treatment in design, and which differentiate its classes and varieties.

If we look at a piece of stone-carving and compare it with a piece of wood-carving, for instance,—or, still better, take mallet and chisel in hand and experiment upon a piece of stone or marble, and try to evolve or to express a form by these means, and with a chisel, or knife, work upon wood—we shall soon find that the differences of the quality of the two substances upon which we work—the differences of density, toughness, resistance to the tool—at once demand different methods of handling each. Short, quick following strokes in the case of chiselling stone, and a longer, steady sort of pushing or driving movement, the chisel being held in both hands, in the case of wood-carving. From such necessary and fundamental differences the artist would soon develop a distinct style in the treatment of each kind of work. He would not attempt to make the stone look like wood, or persuade the wood to look like stone; but he would rather rejoice in their fundamental differences of quality, and make his work in each emphasize their essential and distinctive characteristics. These different characteristics are shown in the design and treatment of the carved stone corbel given, as compared with the misereres in wood; the stone-work being also controlled by the necessity of the jointing in the masonry.

CORBEL, 14^th C^ent, DENNINGTON CHURCH, SUFFOLK.

WOOD CARVING. MISERERE, ST. DAVID'S CATHEDRAL.

In handling soft materials, like modelling clay, for instance, we encounter quite a different set of conditions. There is much less restriction of material and method, although the plasticity of the clay brings its own difficulties of manipulation with it. Modelling, indeed, it is soon perceived, is the reverse of carving, since in carving form is produced by cutting away, in modelling form is produced by building up (or adding to); surface being gained in the first case by delicate chiselling of sharp tools upon a close-grained, tough material, and in modelling by a delicate pressure of the fingers, or tools, upon a soft and sensitive clay.

Clay modelling, again, not being a final form, but rather a preparatory stage in design, bears to bronze, or plaster, much the same relationship as a design or drawing on paper for reproduction by a particular process bears to its finished form in the material for which it is intended. Clay has, it is true, after firing, a permanent form in terra-cotta, which of course thoroughly illustrates the freedom and naturalism of treatment of which it is capable; on the one hand associating itself with domestic use and adornment, kindred with the work of the painter, and on the other uniting itself with architecture, and being adaptable to all kinds of enrichment upon brick buildings.

WOOD CARVING. MISERERE, ST. DAVID'S CATHEDRAL.

SCANDINAVIAN CLAY VESSEL.

The adaptability and plasticity of clay, again, is shown in what might be called its fundamental capacity as thrown upon the potter's wheel. Here, under the steady revolution of the horizontal circular disk, or wheel, controlled and held in its place by the left hand of the potter, while he manipulates and varies the form with the right, we see how readily the clay obeys the law of the circular pressure and movement, and how, in obedience to it, every variety of form which the history of pottery displays becomes possible to it in the hands of a skilful and tasteful craftsman. Manual skill of a very accomplished kind is demanded in throwing, as anyone may see for himself by trying to form a vessel upon the wheel, simple as the operation looks, controlled by a purely mechanical movement. Then, in addition to dexterity in manipulating the clay and skill in forming the vessel truly, and of an even thickness, there is room for any amount of artistic judgment and taste in deciding the final form, or section, which the vessel shall take; and again, in the design and use of such ornament as shall express its form and office, or give it an additional decorative surface beauty.

With the use of ornament, indented while our clay is soft, or with raised moulding and edges, or low relief work, we are still carrying out the fundamental suggestiveness of the material and what may be called its natural method; and we find that ornamentation upon pottery in its earliest development took the form of indented zigzag borders and patterns, and to this day in some kinds of German pottery, and that known as GrÈs de Flandres, we find the patterns indented in outline and filled afterwards with the blue colour and glazed; the modern Egyptian red clay pots are ornamented with indented, cut, and raised patterns; while in the homely brown jug of our English potteries, we see the application of the principle of relief work in the quaint figures stamped upon the surface, pleasing enough, though without any reference to classic dignity or proportion.

There is a good instance of the pleasant use of stamping the pattern upon a clay vessel in this German pitcher from Rothenburg (see p. 87), bought from the workshop of the potter himself, who made the pots of the local clay, fired them, and glazed them himself, and finally was his own salesman—an instructive combination of functions not often found in our own country.

MODERN EGYPTIAN POTTERY.

With wax, modelling can be carried to a greater degree of fineness and sharpness of detail, especially upon a small scale. It is a material, therefore, which lends itself to modelling for bronze and other fine metal castings, to metals and coinage, as well as to small figures, lamps, various vessels and ornaments; and also to large scale, highly finished statues, especially when intended to be cast by the cera perduta or lost wax method, by which the molten metal from the furnace is made to flow into the mould, to take the place of the wax of the model, the wax of course melting and flowing out through the vents contrived for the purpose.

The figure is modelled in the usual way in clay first. Then a plaster piece-mould is taken, and into the inside of this, when taken off, the wax is pressed, so as to line it completely. A framework or skeleton of iron bars having been constructed to support the weight, the hollow mould inside the wax lining or skin, which represents the thickness of the bronze statue, is then filled up with a core composed of brick-dust and plaster, mixed in a paste and poured in. The ducts to enable the molten bronze to flow properly into the mould are then arranged, with vents for the escape of the melted wax and air. The plaster piece-mould is then carefully taken off, and the statue is disclosed in wax. This wax surface can then be finally finished by the modeller before the whole statue is covered in with another mould made of a fine paste of bone ash and Tripoli powder and other ingredients. It is then bedded in earth or sand, and the bronze, being mixed and melted in the furnace is run out into the ducts of the mould; when cool the mould is broken off, and, the bronze taking the place of the wax which is melted and escapes, the statue is complete.

BRONZE STATUE OF LOUIS XV. BY BOUCHARDON, SHOWING INTERNAL IRON-WORK AND CORE.3

Thus a complete and perfect casting is obtained of the work, it being only necessary to stop the places where the ducts and vents were fixed, which by ingenuity could be arranged to occur in the less important parts. Cera perduta, as its name indicates, is an old Italian method, and was used by Benvenuto Cellini. It has been revived by Mr. George Simonds, who has given an account of it, and by our younger school of sculptors, Messrs. Alfred Gilbert, Onslow Ford, Harry Bates, and others, in place of the method of casting without the use of the wax, which entailed a great deal of surface work and chasing upon the hard bronze, so that the delicate modelled surface—the touch of the artist, in short—was lost, but it is just this which is preserved by the lost wax process, so that it is a method which favours artistic modelling, since it perpetuates it in bronze with greater precision than by the ordinary method, and does not require after touching in the hard.

In iron-work we have another strictly conditioned kind, in which design owes its character and peculiar beauty to the necessities and limitations of the material and mode of working. I am speaking of wrought iron, and of the forms in which it is usually found—in grills of all kinds, in gates, and railings. Now we may consider that the designer in iron has a material to deal with which is capable, under heat and the hammer, of obeying much invention and lines of grace and fancy. We start with a bar of iron; we plan our main framework; we may use rigid verticals and horizontals in forming our grill. A simple square trellis is the fundamental grill, but we seek more play and fancy. Our iron bar is capable of being twisted at its ends into spiral curves under heat, with the pincers (or even without, if thin). It is also capable of being beaten out with the hammer into flattened leaf forms, which again, by heating, can be worked and elaborated, and parts joined by welding in great variety of form. But we may consider primarily that the designer in iron starts with the bar, the spiral curve, and the flat leaf, or even only the first two. These are his units out of which he constructs his pattern; his pencils are the hammer and pincers, his easel is the vice, his medium is the forge. His business is to make a harmony in iron, and these are his notes, his treble and bass. His success will depend, firstly, upon the effectiveness with which he contrives to meet the fundamental purpose of the grill or gate, that it shall be a sensible and practical grill or gate to begin with; secondly, his lines and curves, however simple, must be harmoniously arranged, so that the eye is satisfied at the same time as the constructive sense; and thirdly, any invention or play of fancy which he can super-add without injuring the first two considerations will be so much to the good, and to his credit, and the common pleasure.

BRONZE STATUE OF LOUIS XV. BY BOUCHARDON, SHOWING DISTRIBUTION OF DUCTS AND VENTS.4

It is well, however, to test our powers by simple problems at first. If we cannot combine a great variety of attractive forms harmoniously, and fit them to useful purpose, let us try what we can do with few and simple forms. If we fail at constructing gates of Paradise let us see if we cannot make a good railing. If we cannot invent a romantic knocker, let us try our hands at an effective scraper. It is much better to do a simple thing well, than a complex or ambitious thing badly; and there is far more need in the world for well-designed and beautiful common things than for elaborate exceptional things.

A study of iron-work should be useful to all students in design, as showing what ornamental effects can be gained by economy of means, the effectiveness of simply repeating well-chosen curves, spirals, and lines; as well as the amount of fantasy and feeling which an inventive designer and craftsman can put into such work in its more complex and elaborate forms, and, above all, how perfectly it may be made to unite serviceableness and beauty; while, perhaps more conspicuously than most kinds of artistic work, it illustrates the essential unity of material and method with their results in design.

The illustrations given exemplify different varieties of treatment, and also show how design in iron-work, in addition to the influence of the material, is controlled by the spirit and period of the architecture of which it becomes part.

We see this in comparing the free Gothic and rather fantastic forms of the gates of the south porch of S. Laurence at Nuremberg with the symmetric and formal screen from S. Thomas's, Salisbury (seventeenth or eighteenth century), or both with the flowing Renascence scroll balustrade from Rothenburg.

A most important branch of design is that of textiles, whether we regard it in its close association with daily life and the wants of humanity, with domestic comfort, personal adornment, or ecclesiastical splendour. It is, perhaps, the most intimate of the arts of design, and here again we shall find the control of material and method always asserting themselves.

Textile designing may be broadly divided into two main kinds: (1) that which is an incorporated part of the textile itself, as in woven patterns, carpets, and tapestry; and (2) that which is designed as a surface decoration to be printed or worked on the textile, as in cotton, cloth, cretonne, silk, velvet, and embroidery.

Into the many technicalities and complexities of the modern power-loom it is not now necessary to enter; but the main essential conditions it is always necessary for the textile designer to have in mind are that his design has to be produced by the crossing of threads in the loom, by warp and weft, as the sets of threads are called—the warp being the vertical threads, forming the web and foundation of the fabric; the woof or weft being the horizontal thread woven through it at right angles.

In the simple low warp hand-loom, the warp being in two sets, the alternate threads are lifted by the heddles alternately. These heddles are connected with treadles worked by the feet of the weaver, who, with his hand, passes his shuttle with the woof backwards and forwards through the interstices thus left, and weaves the plain cloth. To make patterns, various wefts in different colours are added. This is the fundamental simple principle of weaving, which in a still simpler form may be seen in the making of tapestry and carpets in the high warp loom, where the threads of the warp are stretched vertically upon rollers in a framework, at which the worker sits and works in by his hands the different colours of the pattern horizontally, twisting and knotting the threads in through the warps on which the pattern has been marked, and pressing it together by a sort of comb to make it firm and solid; as the fabric is completed it is rolled up upon the roller.

Penelope is seen working at such a loom in a Greek vase painting. The simple hand-loom, as it was in the seventeenth century, is seen in the figure taken from Erasmus's "Praise of Folly."

What chiefly concerns the designer in woven textiles, therefore, is that he must be prepared for the necessity that his design must adapt itself to working out upon a square trellis of horizontal and vertical lines, which will represent his outlines, or the edges of his masses, in stepped outlines and edges, where the design crosses the warp diagonally at any angle, and in straight lines where it runs with the warp; since it may be said that pattern on woven cloth is produced by leaving out, or stopping out, certain threads in the wefts, disclosing one set in one place and another in another; such threads corresponding with the holes cut in the cards placed in the loom to regulate the pattern, which are prepared from the design, after it has been worked out on squared paper to calculated intervals and numbers of threads or points to each line and mass of the pattern.

Now, so far from wishing to conceal the characteristic flatness and squareness of outline and mass, which the nature of the conditions of weaving normally produce, the artist values these characteristics as essential to the work, and would make his design adaptable to them.

The most beautiful and decorative effects are produced in woven textiles by the contrast, harmony, and blending of coloured threads, wool, or silk, and the relief of one flat colour upon another, or one flat tint upon another shade of the same tint, so that anything like attempts at naturalistic drawing, and the representation of planes of light and shade and relief can only be clumsy, owing to the nature of the conditions, besides being mistaken, from the point of view of good pattern-work.

There are no better masters in the selection and treatment of natural forms in textile design than the Persians, who, in their magnificent carpets, show both the extreme of graceful conventional pattern, and also a happy mean in the treatment of flowers, trees, and animals, exhibiting in their drawing and colour definite characterization rather than naturalism; translating nature, as it were, and allying it with invention in a distinct region of their own. To do this is really what all designers should aim at, in whatsoever material they may work.

When we come to the second division of textile design, that in which pattern is applied to the surface of the cloth after it has been woven, by means of printing, the designer is chiefly controlled by considerations of scale and beauty of effect, as he has to adapt his design to various purposes, such as hangings and furniture coverings, or small dress patterns, kerchiefs, and so forth. Beyond the necessary limit of size of repeat and its satisfactory construction, he is freer than in designing for woven textiles; and, in fact, has about as much range as any other surface designer in colours.

It is considered a practical and economic advantage that a design should adapt itself to printing in many different schemes of colour, and be capable of treatment on a light or dark ground. In larger scale patterns, such as furniture cretonnes, patterns or parts of patterns are produced by a mordant or resist; that is to say, the light parts are printed in a mordant or chemical preparation which takes out the dye, and so discloses in those parts the natural colour of the cotton cloth. Similar effects can be produced by the reverse method of printing the cloth first with a resist and dyeing or printing the whole afterwards.

The methods and machinery of printing cotton have been carried to great perfection, and the necessary limitations as to what effects can or cannot be obtained are very few, what is done being largely regulated by considerations of cost. These apparent advantages, however, from the artistic point of view, expose us to new dangers. We may easily lose sight of the end in the very perfection of the means; the very facility of those means may lead the designer to forget that, after all, he is designing for a textile—something which will be hung in folds, variously draped, or worn. The desire to show the capacity of the method of printing a pattern in colours may not always be on all fours with the wish for tasteful design and reposeful effect. The fierce competition of trade, and the violent demands of the salesman, do not harmonize with the judgment of the artist. If you were in a company where all were talking at once at the top of their voices you would have to shout very loudly if you wanted to be heard, but no one would contend that these were the best conditions for the human voice. It is, however, a tolerably just simile of the present conditions of trade and their effect upon design. So long as things are made primarily to sell, rather than to last and live with, there will always be this difficulty and disparity between art and commerce; but a school of art can only concern itself with what are the best methods, and endeavour always to set up the best types of design, the best standards of taste.

If we want to represent flowers, for instance, in their natural superficial aspects of light and shade and relief, the natural form for such renderings is the still life study; the natural means, the canvas, palette, and brushes, or Whatman and water-colour; the natural equipment, power of graphic drawing and knowledge of pictorial effect. But, whatever value, pictorial interest, and charm such studies may have, as such, with the charm of treatment, with the freedom of handling open to the pictorial artist, and with the direct personal touch, the value, pictorial interest, and charm and beauty would be entirely lost if they were done by the yard, and spread over acres of cotton. The particular conditions which give value to the individual pictorial study become utterly lost when the attempt is made to produce a pattern on the same principles. It is neither good pattern nor good painting; and the very best machine-painting can only give a more or less coarse rendering of hand-painting, and it is therefore a mistaken application of it to try. It requires no special artistic feeling or training to recognize a bunch of roses or poppies thrown in exaggerated relief on a flat surface; but it does require both to appreciate a design made of the same flowers, composed and coloured harmoniously in an ingenious repeat, and drawn firmly and delicately with an understanding of the character and construction of the plants, yet treated with fancy and invention, and, at the same time, meeting perfectly the nature of the material and the method of manufacture. These qualities I should enumerate as the real necessities in designing for printed fabrics, whether it is cotton cloth printed from the pattern engraved on copper rollers, or furniture cretonne printed from flat blocks. In either case, in providing the design, firmness and sharpness of line would be good, and precision of touch in laying in the colour.

The embroiderer, again, is comparatively free as to range of choice in treatment of surface design, which will be necessarily governed by purpose, position, and nature of material and method employed. The bold design and large scale detail which would be suitable for bed hangings and curtains in crewel work, such as we find in the Queen Anne period, would be obviously out of place in small panels of delicate fine silk-work. A greater approach to the colours and surfaces of nature, too, in silk-work may be attempted, as in the plumage of birds and the petals of flowers, as we see in Chinese and Japanese silk embroideries, though the decorative principle of shading one colour with other tints of the same should be followed when shading is used, keeping the colour pure and brilliant, and never using black or brown for shadows on colours.

A certain natural convention, we might say, belongs to the conditions of material and method in embroidery, and is inseparable from the art of the expression of form by stitches. Following the same principle of such acknowledgment of necessary limitations which we find hold good in other decorative arts, the essential stitch method of the embroiderer should be rather emphasized than concealed, although it does not follow that in preparing designs to be embroidered the stitches need be all represented, so long as the design is clear and plain, and the outlines distinct; while in the choice of the direction of the stitches, as well as in their form and character, must be found the particular means of expressing varieties of surface and characteristics of form. In making leaves, for instance, one would naturally make the stitches radiate from the centre towards the point, while the character of tree stems is well expressed by carrying the stitches crossways over others laid vertically first, as, in addition to the suggestion of lines of bark, the double row of stitches has the effect of suggesting the projection of a rounded stem. For filling in large masses, or for meandering types of patterns and scroll-work, or bold outline, chain-stitch is very useful, and has a compact, solid effect. It is much used in Indian embroideries. The introduction of gold thread, so much found in all oriental embroidery, enriches and heightens the effects of the colours very much, and on the unbleached linens and muslins, where the pattern is quite light, it has a charming effect. The Japanese make very effective use of gold thread embroidery, in some cases carrying the whole of the work out in gold upon a dark ground, or using it as a partial enrichment on printed textiles such as kimonos or robes; in other kinds, notably in dark, rich, full-coloured embroidered hangings, by introducing disks of gold thread, formed by stitching the thread down upon the ground in closely twisted spiral forms, which catch the light very effectively when hung upon the wall.

There is, indeed, in the embroiderer's art immense range of both treatment and subject. It may be light and delicate, and restricted to one or two colours, or vie in fulness, richness, and depth of colour and splendour of effect with tapestry itself. It may adorn a child's quilt, or decorate an altar; it may touch the hem of a garment, or inform the cover of a book; nothing seems to be above or below it; and throughout its manifold adaptations it offers an attractive field to the designer and the worker who is not afraid of patient but not unrewarding labour.

As further exemplifying the influence of material and method, I may just touch upon another art, in our days the most popular and far-reaching, perhaps, of all—the art of design in black and white for the book and the newspaper.

Now, the early woodcut as we find it in the printed books of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries owed its forms and qualities to the necessities of surface printing with types in a hand-press. The vigorous, bold drawing with the pen on the wood-block was cut by the engraver with a knife and on the plank, not as now, upon the cross section of the box tree: softer wood, too, was at first probably used. The engraver's knife left the artist's line firmer, perhaps, than it was drawn, and the design in vigorous open line was exactly adapted to print under the same pressure as the type had to undergo. The two were in true mechanical relation, and also in true artistic relation. The decorative effect of the early printers' pages is remarkably fine, and is obtained by very simple means.

With the decline of the severe and vigorous drawing of the great designers of the late Gothic and early Renascence period, and probably also with the invention of copper-plate engraving and printing, and the more rapid production of books, the art of the book printer declined, and the art of the book decorator with it; and although the woodcut still held its place, and was largely used for the next two centuries, and, indeed, down to our own time, in book ornaments, initial letters, and illustrations, it had fallen into inferior hands.

At the end of last century a sort of revival took place under Thomas Bewick and his school, which led, not to a revival of the firm and open linear drawing of the designers of the early printers, but rather to a search after extra fineness and qualities of tone and colour, hitherto associated with steel or copper-plate. This tendency or aim of the engravers, however, only served to put the woodcut out of relation with the type, and the type itself grew uglier, and was hardly considered as part of the artistic character of the book. William Blake seems to have been the only artist who made any attempt to consider the necessary relation of illustration and type, but he did it by means of copper-plate, and writing his own lettering.

It is only recently that a serious effort has been made to re-establish the old relationship between design and text in surface printing and as applied to books. Our newspapers and illustrated journals still print heavy black blocks, reproduced from wash drawings, along with thin pale type; and the tendency of the recent new photographic processes of reproducing the designs of artists has rather been to dislocate the decorative feeling and the relationship of type and picture aforesaid, by imposing no restrictions of material or method in preparing drawings for the press. We have now, however, a school of printers and designers in black and white who do consider decorative effect in printing and in the design of the printed page.

Mr. William Morris, by his personal experiment and practice of printing, approaching it from the designer's point of view, has again placed the printing of books in the position of an art. By practical demonstration in the beautiful results of his work—in the beautiful books he issued from the Kelmscott Press—he has shown us what very fine decorative effects can be got by careful consideration of the form of the letters, by the placing of the type upon the page, by the use of good handmade paper, by the use of ornaments and initial letters of rich and bold design, harmonizing with the strength and richness of the type (which makes the ordinary types look pale and thin). His work, too, is obviously influencing printers and publishers generally, so that something like a renascence in printing and in design and decoration in black and white has been going on during the last few years.

Certainly a return to the practice of drawing in line is good, not only as a test of design and draughtsmanship, and absolutely necessary to all designers, but also as essential to designs or illustrations intended to contribute to the decorative character of the printed page.

In the various instances, therefore, to which I have drawn attention, we have seen that design in its many forms and applications must be reconciled to certain limitations of material and method; but that, so far from these limitations being a hindrance to harmonious expression or to beauty of result, they themselves, by their very nature, if properly understood and frankly acknowledged, lead to those very results of beauty and harmonious expression which come of that perfect unity of design, material, and method it is the object of all decorative art to attain.