s SI 1 UNIVFRSITY nun

3 9002 04462 0707

;;;t;;:;:.:;::2i;;:; :. ^^:s»!^;K: • ;

M|AalHtjbMlM«r •W' IT «f*U *• f 4

t<ip^ll"t — HP— rp-i;in..inpiwiB .
 ^^ ^^,_5suisa3iS^ " — ^^*"
Hf .¦<i>gl*iMHFW*«*>'t>w .p*«4wki j»**«»'4^-r^' ¦» ^ ¦—¦»¦»<!< vfc'^^-' '«(¦•>«¦«

>IIII|YALE UNIVEKSITYillllK

> SCHOOL OF THE FLNE ARTS <

DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK • BOSTON - CHICAGO
ATLANTA - SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., Limited
LONDON • BOMBAY - CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.
TORONTO

DESIGN IN THEORY
AND PRACTICE

BY
ERNEST A. BATCHELDER
author of "principles of design"

NeiD lot*
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1910
All rights reserved

Copyright, 1 910,
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY.

Set up and electrotyped. Published July, 1910.

Norivood Press
J. S. Cushing Co. — Berwick ^ Smith Co.
Norivood, Mass. J U.S.A.

PREFACE
It is the aim of this book to be helpful, — not only
to teachers and students who may be directly inter
ested in the subject, but to the many others who feel
the lack of a criterion or standard to assist them in
forming a judgment in questions of design. Though
the book is written primarily for workers, I have
endeavored to tell the story in such way that it may
be of interest to the general reader. A judgment is
of little value unless it can be backed with a logical
reason. If we would judge wisely and discriminate
well, it must be from a more stable basis than personal
whim or fancy. To fully appreciate a piece of con
structive work, it is necessary to put one's self as
nearly as is possible in the place of the worker, study
the environment in which he worked, the conditions
that confronted him in a solution of his problem, the
technical limitations and possibiUties through which
his idea took definite form and from which his design
derives character and style. Hence we may consider
as pertinent any serious discussion which aims to
define the principles of design and their practical
application, touching upon a more sane, more artistic

vi PREFACE
production, on the one hand, and a more intelligent,
more discriminating judgment on the other.
The purpose of the book is best accomplished by
the presentation of a series of problems. We learn
by doing. In setting mind and hand to the solu
tion of a definite problem, we meet and overcome
questions which no amount of reading can foresee.
We may attend lectures and indulge in critical dis
cussions of design in terms of language ; we may
become well versed in the history of art, and in bio
graphical data pertaining to the lives of artists ; yet
find ourselves far removed from any true appreciation
of the work of the past, or quite at a loss when con
fronted by a simple problem in constructive design
demanding artistic invention.
Our problems lead from the simple, constructive
use of lines and forms under clearly defined limitations
to work involving considerable invention, fine feeling,
and freedom of execution. They begin with the
geometric and work toward Nature ; with the abstract,
coming gradually into closer relation with the con
structive questions discussed in the different chapters
of the book.
The work is in no sense an effort to formulate a
system or method for teaching design. Rather, it is
a presentation of a few among many problems that
have gradually developed during several years of teach-

PREFACE vii
ing and practice. Many have found this work helpful,
and its appearance in a series of magazine articles (fthe
Craftsman) has aroused sufficient interest to justify its
publication in book form. Through the courtesy of
the editor of The Craftsman, material has been also
selected from articles contributed to that magazine
subsequent to the original series.
The teacher of design in America must meet condi
tions quite different from those found in the Old
World. Each country abroad has distinctive national
traditions. We have no traditions ; in which fact is
our best hope. Our salvation is to be sought not
in borrowing from Europe, but in boldly striking for
an elementary basis on which to build, in digging
for bed rock on which to raise our superstructure.
The student abroad is at all times within easy reach
of museums and galleries, of churches and monuments,
through which the development of the art of his own
and other countries may be traced, and which offer
facilities for comparative study not open to most
students in America. Books, photographs, even casts,
are insufficient to stimulate the imagination or develop
the thought and fine feehng essential to fine work ;
much less do they furnish a clew to work expressing
something of American life and character.
Throughout the book the simplest type of technique
with brush and pencil has been adhered to. It is not

viii PREFACE
even brush-made design that is sought ; for there may
be a distinctive style imparted to a design through the
manipulation peculiar to the brush. The sole purpose
here is to make the worker think in terms of design,
whatever medium or technique he may choose to
employ. Skill in rendering with various mediums,
charcoal, pencil, water and oil colors, contributes much
to the problems given. But a book is no place for
the teaching of technique.
Color has not been touched upon because it must,
perforce, deal largely with diagrams and theories. To
talk about color, or write about it, is very unsatis
factory, to writer and reader alike. Color can be
discussed only through definite examples ; and repro
ductive processes are so inadequate to convey the
precise meaning intended that it has seemed best to
leave color entirely out of consideration.
The following list of materials will be found ser
viceable : Drawing board ; thumb tacks ; some squared,
engine-ruled paper; some transparent Japanese water-
color paper ; a bottle of waterproof, black India
ink; an H.B. pencil; two brushes — No. i for lines,
No. 7 for washes ; a tube of charcoal gray paint ; an
eraser. One unused to these tools and materials will find
some practice necessary here quite as much as if one
were to attempt designing in terms of wood or metal.

PREFACE ix
Some command of technique is essential to an accept
able expression of any idea.
My thanks are due to pupils who have generously
furnished so much of the illustrative material used in
the book, — to them and many others who have con
tributed more through their own thought and effort
than the writer can hope to acknowledge.
ERNEST A, BATCHELDER,
Pasadena, California.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. Introduction .

II. The UTILIT.-VRL4.N B.-iSIS
III. Elementary ^Esthetic Principles
IV, Constructive Designing
V. M.ITERIALS .....
VI. Tools and Processes .
VII. Refine.ment of Proportions
VIII. The Play Impulse
IX. The Idea and Nature
X. From the Parts to the Whole
XI. From the Whole to the Parts
XII. Lines of Study , , . ,
XIII, Conclusion 

PAGES I-I5
16-34
35-54 55-7374-99
100-120
121-140 141-169170-199
200-217218-230231-258 259-268

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FIG. I.

3-4- 5-
6. 7-8.
9-
IO.II.12. 13-
14- '5-i6.
17-i8,19.
20.21.22.
23- 24.
25.26.
27.

Basket of American Indians. (Frora Annual Report United
States National Museum, 1902.) ....
Line Motif witliin Rectangles .....
Rendering of \^alue Scale in Lines ....
Development of Line Motif within Rectangle
Implement used hy Indians of the Northwest Coast of America
(British Museum.) .....,,
Wooden Ladles from Java. (British Museum.) ,
The Problem of Lighting under Varying Conditions
Modern Designs for Lighting Fixtures ....
Spoons of Primitive Workmanship, (British Museum.)
Ceremonial Spoons found in Tombs of Egypt. (British
JIuseum.) ....
Spoons of Various Periods .
Line Motif developed through Borders
Units of Repetition in Line Motif
Turning of Corners, Line Motif
Measure Rhythm ,
Measure Rhythm .
Balance of Shapes and Measures
Balance of Measures
Harmony of Shapes
Area Designs developed through Borders
Area Designs from Pottery and Blankets of American Indians
Medisval Chair. (Boston Museum of Fine Arts.)
Simple Joinery. (South Kensington Museum.) .
Implements and Utensils in Wood and Metal. (British Mu-
•)

Pottery Forms, of Various Periods
Painted Pottery Form from Persia.
seum.) .....
Constructive Design in Leather

(South Kensington Mu-

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FIG.

PAGE

28. Constructive Design in Leather . „ . . • • - 65
29. Flying Buttress System — Tours Cathedral , , . . 69
30, Mediaeval Door in Carved Wood. (South Kensington Mu
seum.) ...,.,.••• 7°
31. Detail of Carved Door ....-••• 71
32. Lock in Pierced Metal  72
33. Keys in Pierced Metal ....,,.. 72
34. Reliquary in Silver Gilt, (South Kensington Museum,) , 73
35, Shell Necklaces from South Sea Islands. (British Museum,) 75
36, Hairpins from South Sea Islands, (British Museum.) , 77
37. Primitive Combs from Various Sources. (British Museum.) 79
38. Development of Basketry and Pottery — American Indians , 83
39, Development of Aligator Motif from Pottery of Chiriqui In
dians .......,,, 87
40. Jewelry showing Interesting Use of Materials , , . 90
41. Leaded Glass showing Constructive Use of Materials , , gi
42. Leaded Glass showing Inorganic Relation of Design and
Lead Lines ...,.,.., 92
43, Borders showing Use of Insect Motif , .... 95
44. Development of Insect Motif ,..,.. 96
45. Eskimo Bone Knife ........ 101
46. Plate in Pierced Brass, of Modern Workmanship, from India.
(Victoria and Albert Museum.) ..... 103
47, Wrought Iron Hinge from St, Albans Abbey, England.
(South Kensington Museum.) . . , , ,108
48, Wrought Iron Work showing Use of Tools in Design , , 109
49, Wrought Iron Hinge End  no
50. Pierced Metal Designs , . , , , , , .111
51, Hinge End of German Workmanship  112
52. Wrought Iron Lock and Hasp, of German Workmanship,
Fifteenth Century. (South Kensington Museum.) , -113
53. Wrought Iron Door Pull, of German Workmanship, Fifteenth
Century. (South Kensington Museum.) , , , ,114
54. Development of Plant Form in Wrought Iron . . ,114
55. Hinge Ends in Wrought Iron ...... 115
56, Wrought Iron Door Plate  116
57. Candle Bracket — Wrought Iron  117
58. Insect Motif in Surface Pattern  118

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FIG.

59. Rhythmic Connections counting for Unity .
60. Demonstrations of i\Ieasure Harmony .
61. Examples of Space Breaking from Historic Work
62. Harmony of Measures and Shapes in a Greek Vase
63. Gothic Credence — from Violet le Due ,
64. Space Breaking in Cabinet Work ....
65. Chests .........
66. Constructive Elements in the Designing of a Jewelry Casket
67. Constructive Elements in the Designing of a Jewelry Casket
68. Space Breaking on Basis of Consti-uctive Elements
69. Metal Hasps 
70. Mediaeval Metal Work 
71. Abstract Nature Symbol in Borders ....
72. Carved Wooden Drinking Cup — from Peru. (Berlin Mu
seum.) .........
Jl. Mediaeval Wrought Iron Door Knocker. (South Kensington
Museum.) .,.,,...
74. Detail from a Byzantine Hunting Horn — Carved Ivory
(South Kensington Museum.) .....
75. Carved Stone Ornament — Mediaeval French
76. Dancing Mask from Nigeria ...,,.
77, Grotesque Wooden Figure from Nicobar Islands .
78. Carved Stone Work from Saint Andrea — Pistoja
79. Carved Stone Figure of Christ . , , . .
80. Primitive Bronze Work ,..,..
81. Animal Forms reduced to Straight Lines
82. Squared Animals in Symmetry .....
83. Squared Animals in Symmetry . . , , ,
84, Squared Animals in S)-mmetry showing Rhythmic Line Con
nections .........
85. Primitive Animal Forms .....
86. Constructive Development of a Design ,
87. Straight Line Conventionalizations of Animate Life
88. Straight Line Conventionahzations of Animate Life
89. Straight Line Conventionalizations of Animate Life
90, Ducks reduced to Straight Lines , , , .
91, Comparisons of Space and Mass ....
92, Peruvian Textiles ......

XVI

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FIG. 93. Hinges in Metal .....
94. Pen Sketch, Chinese Lily ,
95, Decorative Composition of Chinese Lily
96, Rhythmic Composition of Chinese Lily
97, Rhythmic Composition of Chinese Lily
98. Symmetrical Arrangements of Chinese Lily
99. Surface Pattern of Chinese Lily Motif
100. Rhythmic Line Compositions of Japanese Floral Arrange
ments ,.,....
IOI, Faulty Line Compositions . , . ,
102. Abstract Demonstrations of Unity with Variety
103. Comparative Studies of Abstract Lines and Forms
104. Surface Pattern .
105. Abstract Flower Forms
106. Abstract Plant Forms
107. Abstract Plant Forms
108, Symmetry and Balance
109. Abstract Plant Form within Circle
no. Abstract Plant Form within Circle
III. Plant Form conventionalized to fit Circle
112. Plant Form conventionalized to fit Triangle
113. Development of Abstract Units .
114, Geometric Bases of Repeat for Surface Patterns
115. Development of a Surface Pattern
116. Development of a Surface Pattern
117. Surface Pattern from Abstract Unit
118. Nature Symbols . , . . .
119. Surface Pattern from Nature Symbol .
120. Surface Pattern from Nature Symbol .
121. Fish Symbols . , , , ,
122, Fish Composition in Lines ,
123, Surface Pattern .....
124. Basic Lines of Same , . , ,
125, Geometric Bases of Surface Repeats .
126. Line Arrangement of a Surface Pattern
127. Textiles, (South Kensington Museum,)
128. Japanese Textile ....
129. Japanese Sword Guards

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xvii
riG. PAGB
130. Ship Motif in Borders ,.,,,., 228
131, Ship Motif ,.....,... 229
132. Studies of Units from Indian Textiles . .... 239
133. Studies from Old Designs ,...,.. 240
134. Pen Sketches of Pomegranate ...,,, 241
135. Unit Suggestions from an Old Textile .... 242
136. .-Vbstract Units following Study of Old Textiles . . . 243
137. Composition of Lines aud Forms suggesting Plant Growth
within Circle ......... 244
138. Composition of Lines and Forms suggesting Plant Growth
within Circle ..,.,..,, 245
139. Composition of Lines and Forms suggesting Plant Growth
w-ithin Circle ......... 246
140. Composition of Lines and Forms suggesting Plant Growth
within Circle ......... 247
141. Peacock Design ..,,,,,., 247
142. Peacock Design ...,,.,,, 248
143. Peacock Design .....,,,. 248
144. Peacock Design .....,.,. 249
145. Peacock Design ...,,,,,, 250
146, Peacock Design ,.....,,. 251
147. Peacock Design ......,,. 252
148, Peacock Design ....,,,.. 252
149. Peacock Motifs from Various Sources ..... 253
150. Peacock ISIotif carved on End of Indian Instrument . . 254
151. Peacock Motif inlaid on Table Leg. (South Kensington
Museum.) ..,...,.. 255
152. Modern Peacock Design .,,.... 256
153. Peacock in Ancient Textile ,.,.., 257
154. Peacock in Ancient Te.xtile .,.,,, 258

LIST OF PLATES

PLATE I. Palazzo Sagredo, \'enice ....
2. Value Scale with Possible Combinations
3. Abstract Rhythm and Balance
4. Tone Balance ......
5. Tone Balance ......
6. Chair. (Boston Museum of Fine Arts.)
7. Detail — Outer Doors of Duomo Verona
8. Incised Design for Pottery ....
9. Constructive Arrangements of Line and Form for
10. Byzantine JMosaic, San Marco
II, Sixteenth-Century Mosaic, San Marco ,
12. Nature Symbols ....,,
13. Nature Symbols ......
14. Nature Symbols ......
15. Nature Symbols .
16. Thirteenth-Century Museum.)
17. German Iron Work
18. Insect Symbols .....
19. Nature Symbols .....
20. Coptic Weaving. (Metropolitan Museum.)
21. Medieval Cabinet Work. (Metropolitan Museum
22. Cabinetwork — Decadent in Design ,
23. Coptic Weaving. (Metropolitan Museum.)
24. Constructive Designing
25. Nature Symbols in Three Values
26. Nature Symbols .
27. Constructive Designing
28, Squared Animals in Borders
29, Squared Animals in Borders
30. Squared Animals in Rectangle
31, Peruvian Textile. (Boston Museum of Fine Arts

Leather

Chest — French. (South Kensington
(Nuremberg Museum.)

)

)

87

939494 96
97

XX LIST OF PLATES
PLATE PAGE
32. Fifteenth-Century Textile — Italian. (South Kensington
Museum.)  169
33. Nature Derivatives . , . . • • • .178
34. Nature Derivatives , . . . • • • -179
35. Brocade. (Metropolitan Museum.) , , . . . 183
36. Velvet Brocade. (Boston Museum of Fine Arts.) . , 183
37. Velvet. (Boston Museum of Fine Arts.) .... 184
38. Scutari Velvet. (Boston Museum of Fine Arts.)
39. Nature Symbols ........
40. Nature Symbols ..,..,,,
41 . Japanese Textile ..,,,,,.
42, Abstract Rhythms .,..,,,
43. Japanese Sword Guards. (Boston Museum of Fine Arts.)
44. Chinese Textile. (Boston Museum of Fine Arts.)
45. Nature Symbol — Rhythm and Balance
46. Nature Derivatives — Rhythm and Balance .
47. Nature Symbols ......... 207
48. Persian Velvet. (Boston Museum of Fine Arts.) , , 211
49. Japanese Textile .....,.,. 212
50. Unsymmetrical Surface Repeat ...... 213
51. Composition of Tones, Measures, and Shapes , , ,215
52. Composition of Tones, Measures, and Shapes . . . 215
53, Composition of Tones, Measures, and Shapes , , . 216
54. Composition of Tones, Measures, and Shapes , , . 216
55, Japanese Fish Print ........ 217
56. Renaissance Carving, Florence ...... 226
57. Japanese Wood Carving. (Boston Museum of Fine Arts.) , 227
58. Sixteenth-Century Japanese Carving . , , . , 227
59. Eighteenth-Century Japanese Carving. (Boston Museum of
Fine Arts.)  228
60. Italian Textile — Fourteenth Century. (South Kensington
Museum.) ...,.,... 239
61. Coptic Weaving. (South Kensington Museum.) . . 243
62. Abstract Nature Forms ....... 249
63. Peacock Derivative ..,,,.,. 250
64, Peacock Derivative , , , . , . . .251
65, Peacock Derivative . . , . . . . .251
66, Constructive Application of Motif  256

DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

Design in Theory and Practice
CHAPTER I
Introduction
" Though we travel the world over to find the beautifiil, we
must have it with us or we find it not." — Emerson,
LET us give emphasis to one point at the start.
The ability to design is not a secret that
Nature has vouchsafed to genius alone. It
is quite as much a matter of persistent work as of for
tuitous inheritance. Indeed, there is so much of com
mon sense and orderly thought involved in the process
of building up a design that a resignation to failure is
often an unconscious admission of one's own lack of
persistence and energy. There is no vest-pocket
guide through which one may find a short cut to dis
tinction ; no rules or recipes which one may employ in
lieu of personal thought and effort. To be sure, we
cannot all produce work of equal merit and interest.
To bring to that which we do accomplish some
measure of understanding and appreciation is at least
worth while. Work always rises to the level of the
worker — never higher. To give thought, that one

2 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
may do common things uncommonly well, is the first
essential toward the achievement of important things.
A great deal of the most interesting creative work
left to us from the past was done at times when
designing was more or less an instinctive process. It
was instinct rather than reason that guided the
primitive worker at all times. That is to say, he
designed from the heart, not from the head. He
made no effort to analyze motives or define principles ;
his work was an unconscious response to the needs,
the thought, and the life about him, to the environ
ment in which he lived. The same may be said of
peasant work, and of a considerable part of mediaeval
crafts work. With us designing is an intellectual
process, self-conscious, self-critical at all times. We
cannot, if we would, escape the traditions and prece
dents of the centuries preceding us ; nor is there
in the complex of our own life a thought or feeling
sufficiently dominant to shape our work into a distinc
tive character or style. More than ever before, each
individual is a " style " unto himself Instead of play
ing many variations of a single tune we play many
tunes with a variety of instruments.
It becomes the function of a teacher to point out the
way and call attention to the beauty of the scenery, —
not to drive or push. It is very likely that there is no
particular merit in any system or method for teaching

INTRODUCTION 3
design. In fact, the term design implies a wide
margin of freedom for individual thought and effort.
Work that is helpful to one pupil may not be for the
best interests of another. A soil in which the rose will
thrive is not necessarily good for the lily. To devise
a " system " applicable by all and to all is farthest from
the teacher's purpose. He may devise problems work
ing from the simple to the complex, from the known
and obvious to the unknown and difficult ; but the
value of the problem is in the thought it frames, the
principle it defines, the stimulus it furnishes.
We study design, then, to stimulate the imagination
and arouse latent ideas, to develop original thought,
to strengthen judgment, and to acquire the power to
express ourselves through the terms and materials
employed in a way that shall be, at least, clear and
coherent. By imagination is meant the active, creative faculty
of the mind, not the passive state of mind that builds
day-dream castles on a summer's holiday. It was a
creative imagination that dared the cantilever bridge.
By original thought is meant the simple, straight
forward means to an end, the logical reasoning from a
premise of accepted conditions. There is no virtue in
originality for the sake of being different.
Mr. Ruskin has said that " drawing may be taught
by tutors ; but design only by heaven." In other

4 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
words, we may be taught to observe things placed
before us, and to make an adequate, if not an artistic,
representation of what we see. In the representation
of a chair, for instance, we may prove that a certain
line is right or wrong; it admits of demonstration.
But in designing a chair we pass beyond questions
of right or wrong into fields where other distinctions
must be sought. A design for a chair may be interest
ing or uninteresting, worthy or unworthy ; but no man
shall say this design is right; that design is wrong.
A chair must be comfortable to sit in. strong and
durable in all its parts. These demands alone
necessitate certain constructive elements — seat, legs,
back, rungs, possibly arms. In the adjustment
of these constructive elements we have the first
step involved in the problem. Thus far distinctions
of right and wrong may admit of demonstration.
Now supposing it is the intention to make a beautiful
chair : The first clew will be furnished by the various
constructive elements ; in the adjustment of the lines
and proportions demanded by utility. But in the
refinement and enrichment of those lines and propor
tions we are faced by a problem answered only in
part by utilitarian demands. The chair may be struc
turally adequate, but stupid and altogether uninteresting
in design. For the rest we must possess that subtle
faculty commonly called good taste. It requires a

INTRODUCTION 5
sound judgment, an appreciation of fundamental
principles, a criterion or standard, whether of natu
ral intuition, or acquired through long years of train
ing and experience, which will lead us unerringly to
the interesting expression of an idea. To stimulate
and develop the creative faculty demanded in the
production of a design for a chair is quite a different
task from developing the faculty of observation re
quired to make an adequate representation of a chair.
To design is to give tangible and definite expression
to an idea. The term design implies an interesting,
possibly a beautiful, at least an orderly, rendering of
this expression. It may seem superfluous to say
that we must first have an idea ! Yet it is the very
paucity of ideas, the lack of imagination, that forms
the first stumblingblock in the path which leads into
our subject. In this age of acute specialization we
are so dependent upon others for the things which
we gather about us in daily hfe that few of us know
the joy of creative work, of planning, building, com
pleting things. Where, indeed, can one who uses no
tools, practices no craft, attempts no creative work,
expect to evolve ideas or find a stimulus to the
imagination ^
The beautiful things which we treasure so carefully
in our museums and galleries were designed and
executed by men with tools in their hands in those

6 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
bygone days when art was not afraid of the grime
and soot, the din and clatter of a workshop. To
such men ideas came without conscious effort and were
given expression in terms of wood, metal, stone, and
paint as part of the day's work. There were no artists
then ; nothing but craftsmen — some better than
others. No one thought of studying design; much
less of teaching it. Good taste and sound judgment
came as a matter of course during the long years of
apprenticeship at the bench. The principles of de
sign were felt intuitively ; but through succeeding
generations of imitation and adaptation we have too
often lost sight of principles and borrowed mere out
ward forms and symbols. We have drawn upon
ideas which were once fresh, real, and significant
because they embodied in their expression something
of the thoughts and feelings of the times in which
they were used, but which now appear as misapplied
finery. What is beauty ? How are we to know it when we
have achieved it? Things may be pretty, rich, stylish,
elegant, and still lack all the essential elements of
beauty. Beauty is undefinable, though it is universal. It
has no style or period or country. It may appear in
an Indian basket woven under the heat of an Arizona
sun by one whose life has known no other horizon

INTRODUCTION 7
than the line of the desert mesa tops ; it may be
found above the plains of Athens in a form so endur
ing that time, war, and pillage have been unable to
efface it.
If beauty is undefinable, we may at least learn some
thing of the various ways in which it manifests itself
As we may know a man by the character of his
acquaintances, so may we learn to recognize the
beautiful in design through the associations with which
it has always been found. The beautiful thing, what
ever it may be, is invariably sane and orderly in arrange
ment, clear and coherent in expression, frank and
straightforward in an acceptance of all the conditions im
posed by questions of use, environment, construction,
tools, materials, and processes. All of these things we
may analyze ; we may reduce them to simple terms for
purposes of study, and endeavor to establish definite
principles for our guidance. Then, from simple be
ginnings through a process of experiment and com
parison, a never ending process, we may hope to ex
press ourselves in an orderly, consistent way. " We
try for order and hope for beauty."
Where to begin ; how to begin. These are ques
tions which interest the student. " Go to Nature,"
one man says. " There you will find your inspiration
and there you will discover all the clews to consistent
ornament." Will you, though ? Nature is indeed

8 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
necessary to the designer, but not to the design. Nor
is it necessary to point to a justification in Nature for
all that we do in design. One is reminded of the old
Spanish proverb, " He who would bring home the
wealth of the Indies must take the wealth of the Indies
with him." What do you expect to find in Nature ?
What message do you expect she has for you ? You
may be sure she will return to you just what you take
to her; nothing more. It is like seeing faces in the
fire. To one the fire is living ; the flames dance and
laugh and whisper. To another the fire is merely a
bed of sputtering coals shedding hght and heat through
the process of combustion. To each the fire is a
reflection of the individual mind. Nature will not
furnish you with an imagination, or teach you how to
use the wealth which she places at your hand. These
must originate with you. If you have them not, you
might as well seek the pot of gold at the end of the
rainbow as to expect help from Nature, When you
have learned to think in terms of Hne, form, and tone,
and have studied the possibilities and limitations of the
problem which you are trying to solve, you may then
turn to Nature for suggestions and assistance. She
will never fail you.
" Go to Historic Ornament," another says. " In
the various historic styles you will find the key to
good ornament." And so we continue to build Gothic

INTRODUCTION 9
churches, and Greek convention halls, and Queen
Anne cottages. Many of our designers boast of an
ability to design anything from a chair to a house in
any given period or style of ornament without an error
ot detail. What we most need are workers who can
approach each new problem unhampered by tradition,
though open minded to any structural suggestions
which the past may offer, seeking to express without
affectation, in a clear, straightforward way, something
of our lives, our times, and our environment. It is a
superficial study of Historic Ornament, a familiarity
with so-called styles and periods, that has given us the
characterless bog of modern work. We have filled
our heads with beautiful details, as we would gather
chips In a basket. Is it not odd that we should resent
plagiarism In literature and music, but complacently
accept it as necessary in design ? We are sometimes
told that originality is no longer possible or desirable ;
that our best things have already been done for us ;
that a readjustment of borrowed details is sufficient.
But do we not mistake the meaning of originality? It
may result from a determination to be unique, eccen
tric, different ; but we may be quite as original without
departing from paths of order, simplicity, and frankness.
Problem. The first Interest, and, in the final anal
ysis, the true strength of a design is to be found in
the structural relation of its various elements. First

ID DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
of all there should be such an adjustment of the space
and mass relations that the effect, as a whole, will be
of interest. To this end there should be a dominant
space or mass, with other spaces and masses subordi
nate. Within these big relations the details should be
so disposed that the first interest will be justified and
retained upon closer examination. The observer pro
ceeds from an impression of the whole to a study of
the parts ; the designer must put parts together with
the effect of the whole in mind
By space is meant the part of the design that is left
untouched. In Figure i the space is the plain weav
ing of the basketry ; in Figure 2 the spaces in each
design are the spots of white, untouched paper, bits
of silence left as a background. These background
spaces, whether you choose or not, become an integral
part of the design.
By mass is meant that portion of the design which
is generally referred to as the design ; namely, deco
ration or ornament, whatever it may be. In Figure i
the darker areas of weaving form the mass ; in Fig
ure 2 the concentration of lines in each design fur
nishes a mass which, contrasted with the space, produces
the first effect, a spotting of light and dark. By a
dominant space or mass is meant a space or mass that
is dominant in the design by reason of its tone, meas
ure, or shape.

INTRODUCTION

II

In Figure 2, — ii, iii, iv, v, — we find an interest In the
big, simple spotting of the designs. By way of com
parison, vi, as a line design, lacks force and strength.

Fig. I.

We may feel that we are beginning to exercise some
command over our materials and tools when we can
adjust these relations of space and mass at will ; alter

12 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

///¦

1
— 1
1 1
1
El
Fig, 2,
INTRODUCTION

13

their tones, measures, or shapes to conform to the idea
we wish to express.
As a first efi-ort in design we shall find our resources
sufficiently taxed by a Hmitation to straight lines, ver
tical and horizontal. Stretch a piece of transparent
paper over the squared underlay ; draw with light
pencil lines a four-inch square with another square
one quarter inch inside the first. Draw in the
center a third square two inches in diameter with a
fourth a quarter inch inside of this. We shall then
have a result similar to Figure 2, 1. It is hardly neces
sary to say that a rectangle of any other dimensions is
quite as well adapted to the purpose. From this start
ing point, under the limitations imposed, we will en
deavor, by means of contrasting areas of light and
dark, to break the square Into an interesting space and
mass spotting. It will be found that a tone of dark is
formed by the association of two or more lines. Draw
a number of lines on a piece of paper, and when seen
from a distance of a few feet they will give the
appearance of a flat tone of gray paint. This tone
may be darkened by increasing the widths of the lines,
or by bringing them into closer association. A graphic
illustration of this is furnished in Figure 3, three ren
derings of the same motif in different tones. It is ap
parent that the choice of line is an important factor to
be considered ; and it generally happens that a first

14 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

effort lacks character through the choice of a thin,
weak line.
Like every problem in design, this one may be solved
in a way that is merely adequate, though totally devoid
of interest. It
is not alone a
question of com
bining lines for
the sake of areas
of dark ; the
combinationsmust be of suffi
cient invention
and ingenuity to
hold the atten
tion. It is im
portant that
thoughtbegiven
to the amount of parallelism and opposition of the lines
that make the measures of dark. Long lines parallel
with the outline of the rectangle tend to strengthen
the design ; but too many parallel Hnes result in mo
notony. There should be a spice of variety through
the opposition of lines ; but too many sharp opposi
tions may bring confusion.
Now let us see if we can throw a dominant tone or
mass of dark on to the diameter (Figure 2, ii), into the

Fig. 3.

INTRODUCTION

15

center (iii), to the corners (iv), or to the outer sides of
the square (v), and retain withal a contrasting area of
space or silence.
In order that a right start may be made. Figure 4 is
added to show a possible development of such a prob
lem. It Is the purpose to throw the dominant mass of

1

Id
ra

C=JL3 1

Ql

Fig. 4,
the design to the outer sides of the square. This is ac
complished at once in the first instance ; but there is
lack of interest elsewhere. In the second the big
space is broken and the different elements bound
together. In the third more interest is given to the
corners, in the fourth to the center ; but all parts are
kept subordinate to the idea with which the problem
started. In Plate i is the finest possible adjustment of space
and mass relations. As a work of art it is more im
portant than anything we may expect to achieve ; but
it is a question of degree, not of kind.

CHAPTER II
The Utilitarian Basis
" Nothing made by man's hand can be indiiFerent ; it
must be either beautiful and elevating, or ugly and degrad
ing," — William Morris.
IT is not within the province of this book to im
part specific information for the working of wood,
metal, leather, etc. On the other hand, in treat
ing design as theory and practice it Is not the thought
to work out paper-made patterns which may, per
chance, be applied to some constructive problem.
There is peculiar significance in the little word study.
We do not study design, or music, or law for imme
diate application and profit. We study to acquire
understanding and power. In design we may seek to
define on paper the principles governing line, form,
and tone composition from a purely aesthetic point of
view. In a line parallel with this development we
may seek to define those principles which give to con
structive design vital, intimate, organic character. But
the technical knowledge itself should be sought in a
shop, not in a book. In the happy union of technical
i6

THE UTILITARIAN BASIS 17
skill with invention, imagination, refined feeling is the
end to be devoutly wished for in the work of the
future craftsman.
The evolution of a constructive design was briefly
touched upon in the first chapter. It would be well
to enumerate the most important points in a concise
statement. There comes first, of course, an idea,
arising. It may be presumed, from a desire to own or
make an object of utility, convenience, or luxury, pos
sessing some claims to beauty. Given a clearly de
fined idea, use and environment will lead one to a
determination of the general form and dimensions.
Practical considerations will lead also to a definition
of the essential constructive elements and, primarily, to
a choice of materials. The materials will naturally
indicate the tools to be employed. But with all these
factors entering into the problem we may achieve
nothing more than a merely adequate expression of
the Idea. To give beauty to the product we must
seek a refinement of the construction through an ad
justment of the relative proportions of the parts to
each other and to the whole. Then comes. If em
ployed at all, enrichment on the basis of all that has
preceded. Texture, color, finish — these, too, contrib
ute to the beauty of the whole.
As a formula the above is useless. It means noth
ing until it becomes a habit through practice. Nor

1 8 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
must it be assumed that the steps above enumerated
follow one upon another in the precise order named at
all times and under all conditions. The enrichment
does not necessarily await its turn until all other ques
tions have been solved. Each point mentioned fur
nishes a clew to the designer in the development of
his product ; but, alas ! only a clew. There are many
crossroads between the idea and a beautiful expression
of it, many opportunities for the unwary to go astray.
Mere adequacy is not beauty. The present gen
eration is abundantly endowed with practical sense,
leading to the remarkable mechanical inventions of
our time. To pursue an idea through the practical
phase alone may lead to a locomotive, a linotype, a
machine gun ; in other words, to the highest degree
of efficiency. Complete efficiency may excite our ad
miration ; but beauty springs from an impulse that
craves more than efficient service.
Let us examine the work of a master craftsman
who followed this impulse for beauty from the clews
suggested by utilitarian demands. There may be
more important works of art than the little implement
In Figure 5, fashioned by an Indian of the northwest
coast of America ; but in his own primitive way he has
furnished for us a valuable lesson in fundamentals.
The simpler the lesson, the clearer the precept. It is
a scraper for cleaning hides ! This may stand for the

THE UTILITARIAN BASIS

19

idea, — a real need, something useful. With the
need for a scraper established, utility at once defined
the general form and the constructive elements, a blade
of iron, a handle of wood, the two bound together with
thongs of rawhide smeared with pitch. A man who is

Fig. s.
making a tool for his own use may be depended upon
not to ignore the practical questions of his problem ;
but the impulse for beauty with which Nature saw fit to
endow this Indian was of the kind that seeks expres
sion in daily life and work, A few thoughtful touches
of a knife, and an otherwise useful tool becomes an
object of extreme interest, insistent in its personality.
Being a hunter, this man's thought naturally turned to
a beast-like motif as the elements of his design began
to define themselves. The form of the creature is
governed strictly by the function which it has to per
form as a handle ; each part, body, legs, and the long
snout running out for a brace, is shaped for efficient
service ; and if you take the scraper in hand, you
will find your thumb inevitably seeking a little hollow

20 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
made for it between the ears. A far less skillful de
signer might have carved a far more realistic beast,
and yet failed to achieve the very things which give
distinction to this simple piece of craftsmanship. The
more one studies it from every possible point of view,
the more consistent and satisfying it becomes.
Now while it was said that mere adequacy is not
beauty, it may likewise be said that adequate service is
not incompatible with beauty. The assumption that
art is a luxury, expensive, is the logical argument of an
age that looks upon art as something apart from daily
life, to be donned on occasions like a Sunday coat.
We say that labor is too dear, time is too valuable, to
bring art into the shop and factory to-day. And yet,
has labor no other compensation than money ? And
is time so very valuable, after all, when spent in the pro
duction of a thoughtless product, of inutilities, of nov
elties and fads, out of fashion and consigned to the
scrap heap almost as soon as made ? We may feel
sure that our Indian valued his simple scraper, would
fight for it in fact, because it has those requisites which
make possession worth while, — efficient service, good
workmanship, thoughtful design, personality.
In Figure 6 are two ladles from the island of Java.
In the first, adequacy alone was sought. Yet we find
in the second that the very impulse which led the
worker to a refinement of line and form has resulted

THE UTILITARIAN BASIS

21

in a more serviceable ladle. That form of bowl which
seems most useful is the same form that might be
chosen for beauty's sake alone ; the curve of greatest
efficiency chosen for the handle is just the curve that a

Fig. 6,

refinement of that functional element would bring one
to. Here, too, may be noted in the position and char
acter of the enrichment an organic development em
phasizing, but in no wise impairing, the function of
the different parts of the object. The most interesting
ornament is that which seems to just happen, as in this
ladle, naturally, logically, as if there were nothing else
to do under the circumstances ; as if the fancy of the
designer could not resist the final touch, giving personal
interest to that which was already beautiful in the
broadest sense of the word.
The question of utility, of adequate service, arises

22

DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

as the first point for discussion in determining the
general form and essential elements of a constructive
problem. Any effort to achieve beauty by ignoring in
the slightest degree the demands of adequate service in
the object as a whole, or in any of its parts, to the last
detail, must be condemned as a misdirected effort. If
you are not clear as to what constitutes beauty, are not
sure of your own judgment in such matters, be satis
fied to bring your fund of common sense to bear upon
the one question of adequate service ; beauty will take
care of itself We may at least commend the work of
the man who invents or makes a useful implement or
utensil ; but the man who impairs the usefulness of an
article by trying to make it beautiful has wasted time
and effort. In the work of the master craftsmen the
demands of utlHty were faced squarely.
The historic development of any constructive prob-
blem will serve to illustrate the utilitarian basis of
design. Let us choose the lighting problem as typical
(Figure 7). The idea may be stated in a single word,
light. There was a time when men used fatty oils for pur
poses of lighting. The conditions of the problem
demanded a receptacle for the oil, an opening for the
wick, a base sufficiently large to give stability, with a
handle for convenience in carrying (i). Sometimes
the vessel was suspended from chains (ii), in which

THE UTILITARIAN BASIS

23

^ /n, /Q.

Fig, 7,

24 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
case facilities for attaching the chains would naturally
take the place of a handle. In the ruder types the
vessel was merely a shallow dish with open top ; in
examples of more careful workmanship (Hi) a light of
finer quality was gained by decreasing the size of the
opening to compress the wick. We may well suspect
there was a dripping of oil from those lights. A
means for catching this drip of oil would form an
other structural element demanded by utility, as in ix,
X, xi. It is seen that in meeting the problem of lighting
with oils several different forms of lamps were devised ;
the structural elements were defined in various ways.
But whatever the refinements or enrichments, the
designers started from the same point, — efficient
service. Then candles were invented and the forms devised
for oil lamps became obsolete. Candles presented
new elements from which the designers took their
clews. A socket or spriket for holding the candle in
an upright position must be provided, with a pan to
catch the drip from the tallow, and a stable base as
before. Candlesticks appeared in an infinite variety
of forms (xii, xiii, xiv), from the simple iron holder of
the kitchen to the elaborate chandeliers of the cathe
dral. Sconces and brackets were fashioned for the
walls (xv, xvi) ; lanterns were made of horn, glass, or

THE UTILITARIAN BASIS 25
metal to protect the flame from the wind. But the
point is this, — that in whatever form the candle
appeared utility defined structural elements quite un
like those of the oil lamps that preceded.
Later came gas, an illuminant conveyed through
hollow tubes, a new method of lighting which over
turned the forms in common use (vi, xviil). Least
interesting of all were the designs for gas fixtures,
partly due to the rigid, uncompromising limitations
imposed, partly to the fact that gas appeared at a time
when designing for industrial purposes was at a par
ticularly low ebb.
Then another kind of illuminating oil was dis
covered, more Inflammable than the first, though pre
senting structural elements somewhat akin to those of
the earlier problem (vii, xvii). A tight vessel was
necessary, and a more ingenious burner assured a
steadier and more serviceable light. And now we have
electricity, unlike any of the other methods of lighting,
in which a glass bulb attached to a wire offers varied
possibilities for the designer's Invention.
Now it would seem that common sense alone would
lead a designer to recognize in each method of lighting
the demands for a distinctive treatment — that olive-
oil lamps are unsuitable for candles ; that candlesticks
are not appropriate for gas, and that a pendent electric
bulb differs in all essentials from the others. With

26 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
the utlHtarian basis as a starting point we would
inevitably estabHsh different structural elements for
refinement and enrichment. Yet a visit to any store
where lighting fixtures are sold furnishes evidence of
the inability of modern commercial designers to grasp
even the simplest elementary condition of constructive
design. With what patience can one discuss such things as
are shown in Figure 8 ! These are not imaginative
sketches — would that they were! They are literal
notes from the " elegant " stock in trade of a single
store. Numbers i— ii were excusable in the early days
of kerosene and electricity. From a study of the his
tory of design the following statement may be made :
The invention of new materials and methods has at
various times rendered obsolete the forms in common
use ; but whenever new materials or methods have
been introduced, the designers have for a time been
strongly influenced by the forms with which they are
familiar. The possibilities of the new materials and
methods are not realized at first. In the early days of
the electric light it was a natural solution of the prob
lem to attach the bulbs to the gas burners in common
use. But such a treatment is no longer excusable.
Still less excusable is the treatment of the gas burner in
Hi or the candlestick in iv ; and what must be the
mental state of any man who will screw a handled

THE UTILITARIAN BASIS

27

candlestick to the top of a newel post with a Welsbach
gas burner for a light ! Consider, again, the mental
processes involved in the designing of vi-vli. In

Fig. 8.

which the designers have ignored every logical solution
of the problem to go blindly groping back into the
past in search of forms which have no possible func
tional relation to the problems of lighting which they

DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

are trying to solve. In viii and ix the designers
turned to Nature for assistance ; but as they took
nothing to Nature they received nothing in return.
A sea shell may be beautiful in itself; but what excuse
of consistency can one find for dangling it at the top of a
tube with leaves, suggesting floral or vegetable growth !

m

Priraitivr Spoons
QurtiiChiM-lottff Islands. 51*tr «iij rton»*

UirvFd.nd Faulted

Fig. 9.
It is interesting and profitable to carry the study
of utility through a series of the same simple utensil,
involving the same functional elements as expressed
under different environments and conditions. Fig
ures 9, 10, II indicate the thought. How distinctive is

THE UTILITARIAN BASIS

29

L

t^)/pti6.t2 Cercraocial Opoorjs
Wood C&rved arid Pointed

IS

Fig. io.

that which counts for art in each spoon shown. On
the utilitarian basis of handle and bowl each spoon
stands as a clear index to the thought and character of

30 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
the one who fashioned it, and to the environment in
which his work was accompHshed.
Problem. — Let us clinch the thought of space and
mass arrangement by the solution of another problem
which represents the same material in a slightly differ-

niiypd 5poofi (from Violet UDoc) Ttiibe^aFi Spoon • C*3t Dr<ill

nHidPV-al - Dooe

AposHf SpooD*/5 C?at- Htiijird Spooo 6D(1 fork ^5w?llish Spooa'(500'

Fig. II.

ent form, — the repetition of a line motif through a
border. As a limitation we will use vertical and hori
zontal lines as before, and in addition, if so desired,
Hnes at 45° right and left oblique. As this is a purely
abstract problem, the width of the border may be left
to define itself as the motif develops.
There is the same element of invention involved
in the combination of Hnes as before and the same

THE UTILITARIAN BASIS

31

r.i^-gT=Fg-5T=?0-5

Ui

ZF

^Z^2^2^

Fig. 12.

32 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
question of space and mass adjustment. Fill in the
spaces in any one of the designs in Figure 1 2 and note
the immediate loss of effect.
In a solution of this problem we are brought to
another important consideration. The mere repetition
of a unit at regular intervals is, at the best, a mechani
cal process ; we can hardly distinguish it by calling it
designing. But by interrelating or binding together
the various units of repeat in such way that each unit
supports or completes its neighbors we are really be
ginning to exercise a faculty for designing. By way
 of illustration, in
L JL -IL pj Gj pJ E^ pjg^j.g j^ ^i^gre
is no particular
merit in the regu-
repetition of
a line motif or a

Fig. 13 .
geometric figure.
Each unit stands severely by itself, scarcely on speaking
terms with its neighbors. But in the second section of
each border a constructive character has been imparted
to a solution of the problem ; the results possess a unity
or wholeness in which the units are interrelated or bound
together. We no longer think of each unit as having a
separate identity. The construction of a design in the
way here indicated is not unHke the framing of a house ;
each stick of timber must be thoughtfully adjusted,

THE UTILITARIAN BASIS

33

Fig. 14.

made to perform its function in the whole, and in the
relation of the timbers, one to another, depends the
strength and stability of the structure.

34 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
Figure 12 shows several expressions of the idea.
In the evolution of a piece of work of this character
there must be many experiments and comparisons, and
a final choice of the best expression. The result is not
complete until we feel that no line, space, or mass can
be altered without destroying the unity of the whole.
A few trials will be sufficient to demonstrate the im
portance of each line and area ; the sHghtest change at
any point results in an entire change of effect or spot
ting in the whole.
As a continuation of this problem, and as another
test of constructive skill, see if you can turn your bor
der about a corner at right angles without disturbing
the space and mass relations of the design (Figure 14).
In application there are several ways in which a corner
may be treated ; in the present instance one thought
alone is in view, — to get about the corner without
tripping or calling attention to the corner through the
emphasis of either space or mass ; the continuity of
the various Hnes and forms should be unbroken. The
corner may be turned on the mass or on the space, as
indicated by the two small examples. In the outer
border of this figure four different ways of turning
the corner, as indicated in the problem, are shown.

CHAPTER III
Elementary ^Esthetic Principles
" Not all the mechanical or gaseous forces of the world or
all the laws of the universe will enable you either to see a
color or draw a line without that singular force anciently
called the soul." — Ruskin,
LET us now outline in a purely elementary and
abstract way a definition of three important
assthetlc principles. These principles will be
given application through practice, though It seems well
to indicate at this point various ways in which they
manifest themselves.
To secure unity in a design the student seeks;
(i) to lead the eye through all the details of the design ;
(2) to impart to the design a sense of equilibrium or
repose ; (3) to give to the various terms and elements
employed some common factor.
First of all comes rhythm, which may be defined as
"joint action or movement." The simplest manifesta
tion of rhythm is through the regular repetition of an
unique shape. In such a repetition there may be no
actual sense of movement in any particular direction ;
nor is direction necessarily implied by the term rhythm,
35

36 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
as it will be used. This type of rhythm is often
spoken of as the " principle of repetition." But the
idea of repetition, Hke alternation and variety, is not in
itself a principle. Repetition, to bring order to the
elements of a design, must be regular. The reason
for a regular repetition is to enable the eye to find a

III

*

1
II

II

¦1

II

II

II 1

III

Fig, 15.
way through all the details of a pattern. Rhythm, in
the sense of "joint action," is a broader term; —
although it may be said that there is little to be
gained in a discussion of words to be applied to the
practice of design. The thought involved is the same
whichever word may seem most appropriate. The
regular repetition of a form occurs in the earliest efforts

ELEMENTARY ESTHETIC PRINCIPLES

37

RhytluTi-

of primitive people in design. So susceptible are some
of the African negroes to the regular repetition of sounds
that the beating of a stick on a convenient surface
will start a rhythmic response in the nature of a dance.
Another simple type of rhythm occurs through the
interrelation of details in an increasing ratio of measures
from small to large. This may be termed measure
rhythm. It is
this type of
rhythm which
forms the basic
principle of
nearly every
campanile in
Italy, and gives
beauty to that
curve which Mr.
Ruskin named
the Infinite
Curve. In the case of the campanlH (Figures 15, 16)
it may be doubted that the builders started with the idea
of expressing measure rhythm in their structures. Con
structive logic alone would lead them to increase the
voids at the expense of the soHds with the upward
growth of their towers. The opposite course would
tend to lessen the stablHty of the structures. But the
builders were doubtless conscious of the upward aspira-

FlG, 16,

38 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
tion of their campanili gained through the regular in
crease in the measures of the openings. The effect
of this rhythm of measures was often enhanced, as in
Giotto's campanile, by a corresponding increase of en
richment. In Plate 2 we have another method of imparting a
distinct movement to the details of a design, — a
gradation of values from light to dark. Here the
movement is downward from the Hght attractive force
of the higher values to the strong attractive force of
the lower values. This type of rhythm is employed
more frequently by the painter than by the designer.
The construction of good curves is a test of one's
feeling for rhythm. A few general hints may be
offered, and their observance should enable one to
venture beyond the commonplace without becoming
entangled in the bizarre and fantastic. By calling
geometry to our aid certain types of curves may be
plotted ; yet in practice we are thrown back upon our
" curve sense," if it may be so expressed. Our equip
ment may be Increased by the purchase of a number
of the " French curves," so called ; but the best advice
is — don't. In these mechanical aids there is no clew
to the why, when, and where of curves. It were
better to cultivate a curve sense through diligent study
and practice, and then place dependence upon that
most remarkable of all instruments, the human hand.

T'L.JiTE 2.
V,1H'E Sc\LE WITH TobSIBLE Oj.MBIN.ATIi i\S,

ELEMENTARY ESTHETIC PRINCIPLES 39
Mr. Ruskin, in " Modern Painters," calls the circle
the " finite curve." Any section of a circle, if com
pleted, returns upon itself; a segment from one portion
is the same in shape as a segment from another portion.
The circle has unity, but lacks variety.
There is another kind of curve which Mr. Ruskin
calls the "infinite curve" — more subtle and with
greater beauty than the circle. It is the curve that
Nature most loves, which she seems ever striving
to attain. Seek where you will, from the blade of
grass to the shells on the beach, you wiU find this
"infinite curve," the curve of living, growing things,
of force and vitaHty. With T-square and triangle one
may be readily plotted on an arithmetic or geometric
sequence of lines and angles. As an illustration of
the former Figure 15 will serve our purpose. Here
the lengths of the segments increase in rhythmic
measures, the angles remaining the same. We may
be sure that a curve passing through these angles will
be a beautiful curve. The angles might also increase
in acuteness, or vice versa ; the possible combinations
are many. The curve may unfold itself to the end
of time ; It will never return to its starting point. In
such a curve there is variety with unity.
There are, of course, other curves that may be
plotted with instruments, such as the curve of the
ellipse, the oval, the cycloidal curve. But the impor-

40 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
tant thing is to appreciate why the infinite curve or
"curve offeree " is beautiful. It is not to be inferred
that this curve Is always best in practice; the choice
of a curved line, and its relation to the other lines of a
design, brings one back to the " curve sense " which
may be cultivated through thoughtful observation and
practice. A comparative study of the profiling of
moldings in the work of the Greek and Gothic
builders, of the designers of the Renaissance and
Japan, of the lines and forms from Nature's store
house — such study may contribute much to the culti
vation of the feeling for appropriate curves. It is a
live curve that interests us most, sometimes approach
ing a straight Hne, again swinging full and clear ;
sometimes reversed, ever subtle and varied in its
course. It may be an " eccentric " curve ; but if it Is
to be beautiful, it must never be uncertain or lacking
in firmness. A curve has rhythm and balance, is
subject to the laws of proportion. There is no better
device for charting its course than the hand, with an
eye for compass and a clear head at the top.
Thus it will be seen that the principle of rhythm is
one over which the designer must have intelligent and
complete control in the orderly adjustment of the
many attractive forces with which he is working. He
may emphasize the movement, check it, or subordinate
it to other demands, divert it to or concentrate it in

1

¦ ¦ w

M

I'LATE 3.
ABsiK.-vcr Rhvth.m ..\.\i> IUlance.

ELEMENTARY .ESTHETIC PRINCIPLES 41
any portion of the design to which it may seem desir
able to give dominant interest. The movement may
be so apparent that even a casual observer will note its
presence ; or it may be so subtle that it baffles analysis.
There may be, indeed, no actual feeling of movement,
— merely such interrelation of parts that the details
hold together as a unity.
In Plate 3 is a rhythmic motif Its rhythm is due
partly to the increase of measure from bottom to top,
and partly to the reciprocal relations of the contour
lines. It is what may be termed a dynamic shape, in
which all forces combine to pull the eye upward. The
ItaHan campanlH are dynamic in character ; the Egyp
tian pyramids are static ; the one suggests an upward
aspiration ; the other immovability. The eye natu
rally moves upward. A downward movement of at
tractive forces may count for stability in a structural
form, or may serve to counteract, to some extent, the
strength of the upward movement. In a reversal of
this shape (Figure 15) it requires a conscious effort
for the eye to move downward ; and one naturally
feels, in this instance, that the unit is bottom side up.
In Plate 3, ii, the upward movement of the spot
is emphasized and hastened by a repetition with grada
tion of measures. In Hi the regular repetition of this
rhythmic unit furnishes an instance in which move
ment, for its own sake, is made the dominant feature

42 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
of the result. But this little design serves to IHustrate
the assertion that rhythm alone is not enough. The
need is felt for rest and repose in the result. In iv
still further emphasis is given to the dynamic character
of the unit by the addition of a tone gradation ; but
here there is a restraint imposed upon the restless ac
tivity of the attractive forces composing the unit. In
this balance of two equal forces the eye unconsciously
seeks a point or line of equilibrium between them. It
will be found, then, that in iv, while the forces count
ing for movement are stronger than in iii, there is a
counteracting influence at work to impart some element
of repose to the result.
In this symmetrical adjustment of attractive forces
we have the simplest and most obvious manifestation
of balance, an arrangement in which equal forces are
opposed on a point or Hne of equilibrium. This type
of balance is so generally understood and recognized
that It seems hardly necessary to give it definition.
But, in a definition of the principle of balance, it is
well to consider symmetry as its simplest manifestation.
Symmetry involves an opposition of equal and similar
attractive forces on a line or about a central point.
In the case of an opposition on a central line, vertical
rather than horizontal symmetry is generally impHed,
Radial symmetry is not in itself necessarily pleasing.
It often represents a pulling apart of contending forces.

ELEMENTARY .ESTHETIC PRINCIPLES

43

More important than radial symmetry are the rhythmic
connections employed to bind these contending forces
into unity.
In the earliest extant artistic remains of the human
race, symmetry appears as a basis of ornament. In
his efforts toward an art expression, man endeavored
to arrange or dispose his ideas in an orderly way.
The first manifestations of order appear through
regular sequence and alternation, and through sym
metry. And in the entire development of primitive
art, from the least important productions to the carv
ing of an idol, there is ever present a keen sense of
appreciation for the beauty of symmetry. In Nature
symmetry appears as the constructive basis in organic
and inorganic life, from the crystal to the human figure.
But in Nature, as well as in a more finely organized
system of design, actual symmetry often gives place to
a more subtle ^^
type of balance. ^^^^ ^i^'-^^^vi
In Figure 17,
the second ex
ample, the effect
of symmetry is
retained in a
motif in which
the attractive forces involved are the same in tone and
measure but unlike in shape. In any discussion of bal-

FlG. 17.

44 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
ance in design it is desirable to revert to the laws of
physical balance ; the underlying principles are the same.
In symmetry the opposing attractive forces are the same
in Hne, form, and tone (Figure 17). Now, how may
we balance oppositions which exert unequal attractive
forces? In Figure 18, i, the actual symmetry is de-

FlG, 18.

stroyed. If these were physical forces, they would be
balanced by drawing a line to connect their centers.
Thenwewould seek on this line the point of equilibrium.
In H one of the measures of the opposition of forces has
been doubled. The attractive forces of the two spots
may be expressed by the formula one-two. To balance
them we would divide the Hne connecting centers into

ELEMENTARY .ESTHETIC PRINCIPLES 45
three equal parts, the sum of the forces exerted, and re
versing the ratio give to the larger spot one third of the
line and to the smaller spot two thirds. In Hi are three
spots exerting attractive forces which may be expressed
by the formula, one-, one-two. The point of equIHbrlum
may be found by balancing two of the spots, then by
balancing these two with the third, as indicated. In iv
another factor enters Into the problem ; the tone of one
of the spots has been changed, and in consequence its
attractive force Is decreased. There may be a mathe
matical formula for determining the point of equilib
rium, but its complications are so many and its results
of such doubtful value that it is unwise to pursue the
mathematics of it further. It is readily seen that the
principle is the same, but that mathematics gives way
to judgment. In balancing attractive forces differing
In tone. In measure, and in shape, we are thrown still
more upon judgment and sensitive feeling in estab
lishing a point of equilibrium. But if we were to
Inclose varied attractive forces within a rectangle, we
would see to it that the balance point of the attractive
forces coincides with the center Hne of the inclosing
form. Now we have to consider still another type of bal
ance, related only indirectly to the definition above, —
a balance of the values of our scale. In balancing
Hnes and forms we were concerned chiefly with the

46 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
physical law of balance ; but in balancing contrasts of
values and colors we pass beyond any possible assist
ance from mathematics to questions decided only by
careful discrimination and sensitive feeling.
We sometimes speak of a balance of two tones, as in
Plate 4, I, having in mind the distribution and the
approximately equal quantities of the tones. In the
same way we sometimes speak of a balance of several
tones, referring to their relative measures and distribu
tion. But this is, in reality, the same idea that was dis
cussed in a preceding paragraph. Ina more direct sense
quantity Is not an essential factor in a tone balance.
It is more a question of contrasts. In ii of this same
plate is a balance of value contrasts. The two ends of
the scale have equal contrasts on a middle ground.
The white is just as much lighter than that ground as
the black is darker. In Plate 5, i is another balance
of values. The contrast of dark on the middle
ground is balanced by the contrast of light on the
same ground. In ii, the balance is deliberately upset
in order to give dominant interest to the flowers.
Their attractive force is materially increased by giv
ing them a much stronger contrast on the background.
In Plate 3, vi there is a pleasing adjustment of the
tones of the design, gained through a rhythmic inter
relation of the details and a balance of values on a
middle ground. This combination of rhythm and

ELEMENTARY .ESTHETIC PRINCIPLES 47
balance gives the most satisfactory rendering shown of
the little motif indicated In I of this plate.
Balance, then, like rhythm, should be carefully
considered by the student in order that he may work
with definite aim and purpose, with a complete com
mand over the terms in which he essays to express
himself. Harmony Is a broader term than either rhythm or
balance ; it may in fact involve one or the other, or
both, of these terms. It consists in shunning differences
too pronounced, contrasts too startling ; in giving to
the various elements of a design something in com
mon. Uniformity of details in tone, measure, and
shape might be defined as a perfect harmony. But
uniformity Is assuredly not the most pleasing mani
festation of harmony. The eye craves contrast, vari
ety ; how far to go, where to stop, is the problem of
the designer. Theoretically an octagon and a circle
would be more harmonious in the element of shapes
than a square and a circle. But it may be that the
contrast offered by the square and circle is of more
interest than the former combination. In Figure 19
the first example offers extreme contrasts between the
border and field. It would seem here that the differ
ences are too pronounced. In the second example a
border has been designed that Is more harmoniously re
lated to the field ; the similarities are more noticeable

48 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
than the differences. It is unwise, then, to attempt to
define harmony through any formula, or general state
ment ; it is a question that comes home to each problem
on its own merits. Incongruous elements may be har-
Fig, 19,
monized through association in rhythm and balance in
which their separate identities are lost and the eye
grasps them as a whole.
A question of harmonious measures brings one at
once to the discussion of proportion.* Ina question of
tones one may say, from an abstract point of view, that
the second example in Plate 4 achieves the idea of both
balance and harmony. Black and white, the extremes
of value, is the most severe test one can give to a de
sign. In Plate 5 the first example represents a more
complete harmony of values than either of the two pre
ceding ; as values they have more in common.
A style or period in art may be recognized, in a
* Chapter VII.

ELEMENTARY .ESTHETIC PRINCIPLES 49
broad way, as a manifestation of harmony, — the re
currence of a type, the persistence of similar ideas and
forms under varying conditions. It is this that dis
tinguishes Greek from Gothic, and Japanese from
either of the others. There is, too, the harmony of
association in the forms and motifs employed. One
would not attach roses to thistle leaves, or highly
conventionalized flowers to a naturalistic stem. Much
of the beauty of primitive work is due to the harmony
between the idea, the materials, and the forms em
ployed. Primitive art Is directly related to and ex
pressive of primitive thought and needs.
It may be pertinent to remark that, however thor
oughly one may study an abstract demonstration of
principles, there must enter into any design a quality
which is beyond analysis and which can be imparted
from one to another only in an indirect way. That is
the touch of individuality, the personal quality that
clothes dry bones with life, vitality, and interest. To
understand the essential principles of design is one
thing ; but this understanding is merely a means to an
end. In any work that is worth while there must
enter a live and vigorous imagination, a freedom and
spontaneity, without which a design becomes formal
and deadly uninteresting. We may call it the play
impulse, if we choose, an evidence of pleasure and joy
in the work that comes from under one's hand. In

50 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
nearly all primitive work, and in the work of the medi
aeval craftsmen, there is ample evidence of this play
impulse. In the work of these men there appears a
quaint and whimsical grotesque quality that is irresist
ible In its appeal. We come upon it in the most un
expected places, in the basket or on the carved idol,
on the front of the altar or on the carving of the choir
screen ; no place is entirely free from it. There
seems no good reason why a design should not enter
tain us, even amuse us, and yet be as serious in its
aim and purpose as if we were to approach the subject
in a spirit of bespectacled wisdom.
Problem (Figure 20). This problem is one of
space and mass composition with an interrelation of
parts, like those preceding it, except that we are now
working directly in areas instead of in lines. It was
said that the background or space is just as important
as the mass of the design. You will note the renewed
force of the statement if you will try to think of the
borders in this plate ; — first, as designs of black on a
white ground, then as designs of white on a black
ground. The interest is in the unity of black-and-
white elements. If the whites are left to chance and
become mere holes, due to the repetition of a black
unit, the interest decreases. Each element should
strengthen and support the other. In the first two
problems variety with unity was sought in the positions

ELEMENTARY .ESTHETIC PRINCIPLES 51

Fig, 20.

52 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
and directions of lines ; here it is variety in the shapes
and measures of the areas employed. Avoid the mo
notonous single unit of measure found in the Greek
fret ; avoid with equal care an extreme in the other
direction, a confusion of forms which the eye finds it
difficult to relate. Any one can achieve an example
of variety ; in itself it has no special virtue. The skHl
of the designer appears in combining varied elements
into a consistent whole. The mind finds a certain
sense of satisfaction In the recurrence of a unit of meas
ure in a design ; yet the unit of measure need not
assert itself in a way that is stupidly obvious.
In the present problem it becomes a process of
spotting out areas of white with black, or vice versa, as
the design progresses toward completion. It will no
doubt take a number of trials before that subtle,
scarcely definable quality which challenges and holds
the interest is secured. The result should be a care-
fially tuned symphony of space and mass, under Hmita
tions as to directions of lines imposed in the last
problem. It is notable that the second border in Figure 20 is
reminiscent of the Chinese frets, while the other three
have more the character of Indian designs. And why
should this not be so ? It is quite probable that if we
work under similar Hmitations toward similar ends, we
may come to conclusions not unHke those that others

ELEMENTARY .ESTHETIC PRINCIPLES 53

Fig. 21.

54 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
have achieved. Yet our work may be none the less
" original " in the true sense of the term.
In Figure 21 are examples of work from Indian
weavings quite similar in character to our problem.
The American Indians, in their blankets, baskets, and
pottery, developed a remarkable feeling for space and
mass relations ; their work was invariably strong, virile,
insistent. We are surely loath to credit a poor old
Indian woman with more artistic invention than we
can claim for our own efforts !

CH.IPTER IV
Constructive Designing
" Romance and senumentalitv had no part in the creation
ot Gothic Architecture ; it was molded to the forms under
which we find it bv carefully satisfying social and individual
requirements and diligently observing the stern necessities
of convenience and economy." — Jackson.
IN the concrete expression of an idea the designer
finds that the trail leads through principles of
two closely related kinds, — the assthetic and the
practical. The former deals with composition, refine
ment, enrichment, texture, color, finish, etc. ; the
latter with utility, construction, tools, materials, pro
cesses, etc. But in practice there cannot be, or should
not be, in the mind of the designer any conscious
distinction between the aesthetic and the practical.
The one is to the other as feathers to the bird ; we
cannot say, " Here are feathers, counting for beauty ;
that which remains is bird." It is quite in accord with
modern thought and practice to assume that a practical
man may attend to the practical side of a problem,
leaving an artist to ornament or decorate it. We even
look upon the terms ornament, decoration and design
55

56 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

as synonymous ; appHed design as something that is
applied to something. We put "designs" upon a
thing, hoping thereby to make it beautiful, or to cover
up shabby workmanship, as the case may be.
As an illustration of the organic relation of the aes
thetic and practical, note the chair in Plate 6. It is
clear that beauty
has been achieved
through the con
structive use of
wood, leather,
and tacks ; the de
signer has merely
given assthetic
arrangement to
practical features.
There Is no "or
nament," in the
usual acceptance
of that term ; or,
if we choose to
call the tacks or
nament, we shall
find, like the
feathers on the
bird, that they are performing a very commonplace,
functional purpose. The legs might be called enrich-

FIG. 22,

ri.ATE 6.
Ch.mr. (Bostlin Ml'sI';i'.m (if Fixe Arts.)

CONSTRUCTIVE DESIGNING

57

ment, refinement, or construction, aesthetic or practical,
for they are entitled equally to all these terms. In other
words, the designer of the chair was concerned as much
with his practical questions as with aesthetic problems —
and made no conscious effort to distinguish between
them. He did not build his chair and then set about
the problem of trying to " make it beautiful." The
beauty of the chair in Figure 22 Is of the same sort.
The little carved rosettes on the arms are not " applied
designs " ; they
are merely de
tails of a design,
a touch of en
richment as in
evitable as the
leaves that come
forth on the trees
in the spring.
Of similar na
ture is the work
in Figure 23, the
joinery of a shop-
trained man
turned to an aesthetic purpose. In fitting his rails and
panels together he has been economical of labor and
materials, has adopted methods suggested by his inti
mate acquaintance with the practical phases of his prob-

Fig. 23,

58 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
lem, — but always with the aesthetic end in view. In
Plate 7, the carved doors of the Duomo at Verona, the
refinement and enrichment have been carried further,
the logical conclusion of such an idea as that in Figure
23. Here, surely, is something that may be identified
as "ornament" or "applied design." But it should
be noted that the carving does little more than continue
the thought set forth in the construction ; — it counts
for beauty neither more nor less than the purely struc
tural bronze bolt heads. It is built in, — not built on ;
and between the two there is a vast distinction. This,
then, is the best thought of ornament, — the enrichment
of refined construction ; not design, hut part of a design.
Figure 24 furnishes good illustrations of the func
tional development of ornament. Note the way in
which the carving is tucked in at the end of the plane
where It may bump into rough usages, while it attains
its boldness on the handle where it is protected from
damage. In the Roman ladle the head seems to grow
from the refined Hnes of the handle as if there were no
other conclusion possible. Study the position and
nature of the ornament in the lamp. Here again it is
difficult to say where construction ends and ornament
begins; how much of the distinction is attributable to
the practical, how much to the aesthetic. In each ex
ample it was a process of turning practical principles
to aesthetic account.

Det.aie-

PL.VfE 7.
- Ofter Di'i-'Ri uf DiijM'i Verona.

CONSTRUCTIVE DESIGNING

59

The simplest type of designing, in the concrete,
must be that in which the worker has achieved the
utmost beauty possible through refinement of construc
tion, with a sympathetic use of materials employed.

R«riia?ni?iit And Enrichment
of Fuactiond.! Elvmcats ^st

Fig. 24.
He need not go beyond this to produce beauty of the
highest order. And the term ornament, if prop
erly understood, implies an enrichment of this con
struction, not as an afterthought but as an integral
part of the whole. The design begins with the first
tentative blocking out of the idea, continues through

6o DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
an immediate interplay between the practical and aes
thetic principles to the final touch. Ornament cannot
be thought out before the construction, nor should it
be applied after constructive problems have been
solved. Working from a constructive-design point of
view there seems no reason why one should strive to
" adapt " this or that style or period of ornament to
his work. To build a " Greek style" house is to put
the cart before the horse, — to make practical questions
subordinate to a borrowed aesthestic idea. It was not
thus that the Greek style was developed. That archi
tecture which was peculiar to Greece was of gradual
formation and represented the aesthetic expression of
practical principles ; it grew out of the thought, feeling,
and environment of the people, a combination of pecul
iar circumstances which has long since passed away.
Quite as distinctive in its time and place was a Japa
nese temple. To adapt either of these styles, in part or
in whole, to our needs is, to say the least, a confession
of incompetence.
Much of the characterless work of to-day comes
from lack of knowledge of materials. Add to this
a lack of practical constructive skill on the part of de
signers and we have another count in the indictment.
Let the student of design build things with his hands,
or enter into active cooperation with men whose
business it is to build things. Probably it is not pos-

CONSTRUCTIVE DESIGNING 61
sible for the student of architecture to work in the
quarry, the brickyard, and the lumber camp, or serve
apprenticeship to the stone mason, the bricklayer, and
the carpenter as a preliminary to the practice of his
profession ; but it Is certain that he might employ to
better advantage " on the job " some of the time now
spent in assimilating styles, orders, traditions of the
past, and thereby make architecture more vital as
an assthetlc expression of practical, twentieth-century
problems. The designer of to-day often actually de
plores the very things from which he may hope to
realize true style and character.
We may assume this proposition then : The
form of an object, together with its structural or
functional elements, should suggest the general
character and position of any enrichment that may
be developed.
In Figure 25 are some examples of pottery from the
work of the past, selected almost at random because the
conditions counting for effective design during the vari
ous periods when these designs were produced were of
the right sort. Study each example In this plate and
note how the esthetic and practical have developed to
gether in the minds of the designers. It is unnecessary
to consider each in detail ; it may be seen that there is
a reason for each line, form, and tone employed ; its
position, measure, and shape is determined by struc-

62 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

(Fferrotwckipiej) Or^&rilc Rel^tioia oF form J functioao.!
Cleizieiztj (Mid Decor«^tioia . si sj sj

Fig. 25.

PLATE 8.
Incised Design for Pottery.

CONSTRUCTIVE DESIGNING

63

tural features. In Figure 26 is brush-made ornament;
every stroke of the brush emphasizes the functional
elements of the
vase and is di
rectly related to
the general form.
In the devel
opment of our
abstract prob
lems two meth
ods will be
followed, — that
which proceeds
from a given
whole to a con
sideration of de
tails, as in the
first problem ;
that which pro
ceeds from an
adjustment of
details to a defi
nition of the
whole. The end
sought, the unity of all elements involved, is the same
in both cases. In the evolution of a constructive
problem the first method would naturally be followed.

Fig. 26.

64 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

though it will probably appear that one unconsciously
follows both methods before the design is completed.
The position, shape, and measure of a detail would be
determined by the first method; but the building up
of the lines and forms within that detail might lead one
to the second method or continue the process of the
first method according to the nature of the detail.
Plates 8, 9 and Figures 27, 28 illustrate the idea with
motifs that occur in two of our problems. In Plate 8,
incised pottery, the subdivision of the big form came
first with a dominant interest at the top and a subor
dinate interest
at the bottom.
The construc
tion of the bor
der at the top
then proceeded along the
Hq3mmFjI lines indicated in the next
problem. In Figure 27 are
suggestions showing the first
Fig. 27. . ...
Steps in the subdivision of
the main form on a basis of the functional elements.
The form, of leather, has two elements, cover and bag.
These must be designed in such way that they count
for unity when seen as one, with the cover buttoned
into position ; they should also be so planned that each
will be complete in itself, when the cover is opened.

.-A\.

./\

.^Cs^
9 1
)
IF] [jd
.Jo[ 11}
T]iii[r
Tiiiim
^ 1 ^
ffl
PL.ATE 9.
CoNsiRrciT\F .Vrranf.e.mfnts of Lfne .anu I-'iJRM E(1R Leathi-

CONSTRUCTIVE DESIGNING

65

The handle and buttons are structural features that
must be accepted, not ignored ; they furnish at once
the clews for the main subdivisions of form. In Plate
9 and Figure 28 are other constructive designs built
up In a similar way. They should, of course, be seen
in the leather with tooling, texture, and color, to form

Fig. 23.

an adequate judgment of the results. On paper they
are merely organic, constructive arrangements of lines
and forms in space and mass, planned for a technique
peculiar to simple processes of leather tooling. They
are not "applied designs" in the usual acceptance of
that term ; each is a " built In " design on a basis of
structural elements. Note in each the dominant and

66 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
subordinate interests and the concentration of the terms
employed. In the completion of the details another thought
occurs that takes us back to the reasons why abstract
design may be studied with profit. While the general
form and structural elements may suggest a clew for
the position and character of the enrichment, the
strength and interest of that enrichment will be no
greater than the measure of artistic invention possessed
by the designer. We are often told to " ornament con
struction ; do not construct ornament." The intent
of the phrase is doubtless right and accords with the
content of this chapter ; but it is only a half truth after
all. We must have wit, imagination, invention to
devise ornament worthy of the position it occupies.
The design as a whole will clearly guage the personal
ity of the designer. Confronted by the question of
enrichment he may be at complete loss for a motif, a
thought, that will give that enrichment distinction.
Or, having a motif, his invention may be of a dull
sort that fails to make the best use of his motif It is
one of the purposes of the problems in this book to
strengthen the inventive faculty, to give it exercise,
to demonstrate the fact that the beauty of abstract
design is dependent on constructive principles quite
as much as concrete design. In the appHcation of
these aesthetic principles to practical problems we may

CONSTRUCTIVE DESIGNING 67
hope to ornament construction with thoughtfully con
structed ornament.
The mosaics in the church of San Marco, Venice,
furnish an interesting study of the rise and de
cline of constructive designing. This old church
offers a rare opportunity for the comparative study
of mosaic work from the ninth century to the present
day. Plate 10 shows one of the early Byzantine
mosaics. Plate 1 1 is the work of the brothers Zucato
from the sixteenth century. The first illustrates the
beauty of construction ; its design In line, form, and
tone is in structural unity with its architectural environ
ment ; it is organically related to the constructive lines
and forms about it. The second represents the con
struction of beauty; it is the work of men who accepted
their commission as an opportunity to display their
ability as painters ; it is a picture within a half circle ;
its beauty is of a character quite independent from the
structural features of the church. To understand the
first it must be seen in the space which it occupies;
the second can be quite as well understood when it is
isolated from its surroundings. The ingenious brothers
Zucato even ignored the limitations of their material
and employed the brush to acquire gradations of tone
in their picture which a legitimate use of mosaic did
not allow.
Illustrations might be multiplied from every line of

68 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
industrial activity. As shop-trained men ceased to
be designers the structural fitness of the work de
creased and the peculiar character that came from an
intimate knowledge of practical principles gradually
disappeared. In the evolution of a Gothic cathedral from the
early chapels is a most impressive object lesson in the
coordination of the practical and the aesthetic. The
unique character of these structures would never have
been possible if the builders had not frankly accepted
the constructive clews that appeared and turned them
all to aesthetic account. They were not conscious of
any distinction between building and architecture ;
the one merged into the other as naturally as a root
sends forth and provides nourishment for the flower.
In the final expression of the Gothic idea we find a
structure in which every feature, one might say every
stone, performs, or did perform at some stage in the
development of the style, a functional purpose. The
cathedral is a living organism, vital in every line and
form, a nice adjustment of thrusts, counter thrusts, and
weights, in which each detail, from the carved pinnacles
to the traceried windows, may be followed back to a
constructive origin. Those flying buttresses (Figure
29) which give unique character to the exterior started
as strengthening pilasters, were, through gradual evo
lution, pushed above the roof of the aisles to those

CONSTRUCTIVE DESIGNING

69

remarkable systems found In such churches as Amiens,
Rheims, etc. The window openings, starting from a
need for subdivision, gradually extended Into the
wonderful tracery of the later years ; and with the
builders came the glass workers, growing in strength
and power as
designers with
their growth of
opportunities. In the cathe
dral as it, finally
appeared we
find those fac
tors so essential
to vital creative
work: a real
need, a thought
to express, a
consummate
command of the practical principles of construction,
and an aesthetic sense which enabled the builders to
make the most of every clew that was offered.
A similar spirit may be followed like a golden thread
woven into the product of all the mediaeval craftsmen.
It is true that throughout Gothic craftswork may be
found forms devised by the builders but freely em
ployed by other workers more for sake of enrichment

Fig. 29.

70 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

Fig. 30.

CONSTRUCTIVE DESIGNING

71

than function. In Figure ^o the carver has borrowed
an idea from the stone masons of the cathedral in his
traceried forms. A detail of
this work (Figure 31) shows
the grouping of pier bases
such as may be found at
Rouen. The locksmith in
Figure 32 has chiseled in iron
similar forms of architectural
derivation. Back of these traceries bits
of bright silk or velvet were
generally placed, suggested no
doubt by the glass of the
church windows. Other va
riations of tracery occur in
the keys of Figure 23- ^^
one key two tiny windows fig. 31.
have been pierced. But if this man borrowed, he also
gave something in return. They worked hand in hand,
those old craftsmen, always to something better and
finer. In Figure 34 is another instance in which forms
peculiarly functional have been employed for enrich
ment. It is this which gives to that period of work
the unique distinction which we designate a " style," —
varied interpretations of a similar thought. Under the
conditions which led to that work cooperation was the

72 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

Fig. 32,
those forms has long since
passed away ; the principles
alone remain vital. It is
not in imitation of those
forms, however skillfully
achieved, that we may hope to
give character to twentieth-
century work.
The message of the past
is of principles, not of
" periods." In following its
principles we, too, may create
something expressive of our
lives, our needs, our environ
ments. But in a superficial

keynote rather
than individu
ality ; the per-
sistence of
forms in con
struction and
ornament was
a logical se
quence. But
the thought
which led to

Fig, 33,

CONSTRUCTIVE DESIGNING

73

adaptation of its outward
forms we have a crust,
but no pie. To-day we
are continually haunted
by the characterless sem
blance of things which
we have loved in the
original, because in our
study of the originals we
found ourselves living
again in the past with
those old craftsmen who
lingered over the last de
tails of their work with a
sincerity of purpose that
imparted real worth and
human interest to the
product.

FIG, 34

CHAPTER V
Materials
" Primitive art offers the best possible facilities for the
study of the fimdamental principles of assthetic develop
ment," — William H. Holmes.
THE simplest type of designing is that in which
the worker is concerned with assembling and
giving orderly disposition to materials in
herently interesting or beautiful. Of such type are
the two necklaces In Figure 35. In the first example
a cachelot tooth has been chosen ; possibly it possesses
some fancied charm to the wearer ; but it is material
ready at hand, provided by Nature, with a minimum
of skill or invention in the way of preparation. As
sembled with this central piece are shell disks, black,
white, and red in color, all strung on braided strands
of light and dark brown vegetable fiber.
The second necklace is composed of shell sections,
light in color, graded in size. Into the crevices of
each shell section some dark substance has been rubbed
of a tone similar to the brown fiber to which the shells
are bound; and on the inner circle is a row of teeth, with
holes drilled in them, one tooth overlapping another.
74

MATERIALS

75

Both of these are very beautiful indeed, — in the
pearly white of the shells, the rare, creamy tone of the
teeth, the rich browns of the fiber, and, in the first.

.^'T^-

Fig, 35,

the contrasting touches of black and the coral-Hke red.
To Nature the beauty of materials ; to the designer a
discriminating selection, and a composition of the

76 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
materials to the utmost advantage. The results are
infinitely more beautiful than many of the modern,
mechanically spaced strings of pearls or diamonds
having little claim for distinction beyond the intrinsic
value of the materials employed. There is a vast dif
ference between intrinsic value and inherent beauty.
The commercial jeweler of to-day seeks materials of the
greatest intrinsic value, brings mechanical skill to bear
upon them, and may generally be counted upon to rob
the materials of any inherent beauty which they may
have possessed. A man with less skill but more taste
may seize upon a beach pebble and a scrap of copper
and so utilize their inherent beauty as to produce a
design of true artistic excellence, though of little in
trinsic value.
But it is plain that the two necklaces here shown
involve a narrow margin of artistic invention. The
instinctive feeling that chose and arranged this material
is often quickly shaken at the sight of a few tawdry
glass beads or a yard or two of cheap calico. Primitive
man, left to his own devices, produces work of artistic
merit ; his materials and appliances are few and simple
and his instinct leads him to an appropriate use of
them. In Figure ;^6 are five unique hairpins of primitive
workmanship. The first, like the two necklaces, rep
resents a happy choice of material. A bone, nicely

MATERIALS

77

adapted to its purpose, has been shaped into service
able form, carefully rubbed and polished to display
the material to the best advantage. The second and

Ntw Quiaee. Solomon lilajicla'C^roUaelsI&ndai Burroiia.

Fig. 36,
third represent combinations of simple materials, fine
feeHng, and excellent workmanship. The second is
as charming a piece of craft work as one might hope
to find, exquisite, refined in every part. One may see
how a slightly bent bamboo sprout has been cut to the
center and then split to the bottom, the top whittled

78 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
to the shape of a square with a little knob, and with
slightly cut ornament at the end. The lower part of
the top Is neatly wound with yellow straw, the upper
part with red straw. In the third, shell disks of two
colors have been pushed over a spindle left on the end
of the hairpin, the whole being carefully polished.
The fourth pin is perhaps no more interesting or im
portant than the others, but it involves designing of a
somewhat different character. It is a single pin of
bamboo ; but the pattern scratched about the top is a
bit of pure invention ; there is nothing in the material
to suggest it, as in the other three. The cylindrical
form of the bamboo would naturally suggest a banded
treatment ; but there is no clew here in the material to
the pattern itself. In the fifth pin we advance beyond
any of the others to a point where all the credit belongs
to the worker. The material was in the form of an un-
suggestive and unlovely chunk of bronze, furnishing
not the slightest clew to the product as we see It,
Here then, assuredly. Is designing of the highest order,
in which the worker fashions materials to conform to
his own needs and ideas, the beauty dependent upon
thoughtful design, fine craftsmanship, and an intimate
sympathy with and understanding of the materials
that will give to the result a character peculiar to bronze.
Following the same thought of these pins, study the
combs in Figure 37, a development through ah the

MATERIALS

79

Vest Africi. -CbTved Hcij-d. Wood

Fig, 37.

8o DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
stages from simple, assthetic use of materials ready-made
to the skillful expression of an idea in the materials
selected. It is unfortunate that a serious study of primitive
art is left very generally to the archaeologist. To
many students of design this vast, intensely interesting
field is unexplored. Racinet, in his laborious " Grammar
of Ornament," defines primitive work as " anterior to
rules of art," and devotes a single page of ill-chosen
and mechanically rendered fragments to its elucidation.
One should be thankful that there still remains open
for study a field that is anterior to " rules of art." In
the study of Historic Ornament it is usual to take a
first deep plunge into Egypt, and emerge with the
idea that the beginnings of art are somewhere away
back in distant ages and of minor interest.
On the contrary, the story of primitive art is one of
absorbing interest and much profit for the beginner.
And why go so far afield ? Here close beside us and
within reach of all is the remarkable art of a people
who have just left the stone age behind them ; an art
almost contemporary with our own times, indigenous
to a soil and climate which we know. Through our
own National Museum and its invaluable pubHcations,
to be found in any library, the student has access to a
most important period of work. Here may be found
the art of people who were unhampered by conflicting

MATERIALS 8i
traditions, whose natures demanded beauty in all ob
jects of daily use ; and if this is not " fine art " in the
best sense of the term, how indeed may it be defined ?
The work of more advanced civilizations may offer a
wider range of invention, finer distinctions in line,
form, and tone than the work of primitive man ; but
certainly no more evidence of the spontaneous develop
ment necessary to the very life of art.
We know too much to be true, and simple, and
spontaneous in our own work. We are burdened with
too many conflicting traditions and precedents. In
this day of inexpensive casts, pictures, and photo
graphs we find the world's work spread out before
us. We select for purposes of study those things
that are far beyond us in the terms of our own ex
perience. We are induced to Imitate and copy those
things because of their manifest superiority over our
own immature efforts. We are impatient of time, and
study, and experiment. If we are workers in wood, or
metal, or what not, we find it easy to achieve a logical
solution of the constructive demands of a problem, but
difficult to complete It with appropriate refinement and
enrichment; we have no ideas to express, so bring
forth a formidable array of arguments to prove that
there never was such a thing as originality In design ;
and in the meantime complacently appropriate the
work of others to our own ends.

82 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
Primitive art comes as a refreshing breeze. Here
were people with real needs to meet with such beauty
as they could devise. They gathered, perforce, their
own materials from the mountain slopes and the river
bottoms, made with their own hands all the tools, and
wrought a product simple and honest in construction,
strong and insistent in its grasp of fundamentals. The
work of primitive man comes from his heart; from
his nature rather than from his knowledge. He de
signed beautifully because he could not help it, and
the step from his idea to its vigorous execution is so
simple that it can be readily studied. In all justice
the feminine pronoun should be used in a description
of Figure 38; but to simplify matters let us allow
man to shine with reflected glory !
The questions of tools, materials, and processes are
reduced to their simplest elements ; we may trace the
experiments and influences from one material or pro
cess to another. In our Southwest, gourds were com
mon in many sections, and were used as utensils for
various purposes. For convenience in carrying the
gourd, and possibly for protection, a coarse weave of
wickerwork was made about it. There is good rea
son to believe that this suggested the weaving of
baskets, merely by increasing the strands of the wicker
covering. A wicker basket lined with pitch or clay
was more durable than a gourd; it also demanded

MATERIALS

83

©

FromR?:port5 of theDarrduof
DJiBoIo^y.dnA. Descriptions by
holmes Mid Cu3hiqp

Fig. 38.

84 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
greater strength than is possible with the loose weaving
of a wicker framework. As basketry came into wider
practice other utensils were made, and the materials
and processes involved in the craft underwent a de
velopment on their own merits. Strands were bound
together in coils to give greater strength ; baskets were
made for boIHng water, after the primitive method ;
for parching pans, and for other domestic uses. Now
the parching pan was lined with clay, as were also the
cooking and boiling baskets, to protect the basket from
the charcoal. Naturally the heat baked the clay,
shrinking it into a form similar to the basket. A clay
pan was an obvious suggestion. Here was a new ma
terial with new possibilities to be studied. But whOe
clay may be pressed into the shallow parching pan
and then fired, it is apparent that forms for boiling or
carrying water cannot be made in the same way with
out destroying a good basket for each piece of pottery
made. Knowing no better way, the primitive worker
employed the same process of coiling developed
through basketry, even using a basket at the start
for shaping the bottom of the clay vessel. He is ever
slow to abandon old materials and methods. The first
pottery was rough and partook, not only in form but
in texture, of the antecedent baskets. In the course
of time a slip was devised whicli gave a smoother tex
ture to the pottery; and with this new texture the

MATERIALS 85
basket character decreased. Here was a different kind
of surface to be treated. In the meantime there was
developing through basketry a variety of weaves and a
highly organized system of geometric ornament. With
the dyes employed in basket making, the first of the
smooth vessels were painted; and for motifs the artist
naturally turned to the geometric ornament of weaving,
for there, through hard-earned experience, he felt on
safe ground. One of the dyes stood the test of the fire
and thus became the standard. Gradually the severe
geometric ornament of weaving underwent modifications
during the translation with new tools, materials, and
processes ; angles were softened, curves appeared ; yet
throughout the periods of the best pottery the lessons
so well learned in weaving were never quite lost from
sight. And so the story continues, always interesting,
always instructive, proceeding along the Hnes of least
resistance, clear and spontaneous at all times. Space
does not permit us to follow it to a conclusion ; but it
is hoped that enough has been said to induce the reader
to seek at first hand, from those who are able to speak
with authority, the story of primitive art.^
The technique of weaving and basketry inevitably
gave rise to a geometric ornament. The growth of
pattern was slow, because primitive man, as we have
already seen, was a conservative designer in spite of
1 Reports of the Bureau of Ethnology,

86 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
the vigor of his utterance. From one generation to
another the simple patterns were passed, with gradual
changes tending toward a more complete expression.
We cannot appreciate the completeness of the result
until we sit down to a careful examination of an Indian
basket ; count out the strands of the pattern and note
how difficult the task becomes.
Into these patterns there entered at an early stage a
fresh element of interest. The primitive man looked
out upon the world through the eyes of a child. Science
had not robbed him of his fairyland ; the forces of
Nature, from the forked lightning to the blade of
grass pushing upward with the new rains, were explained
only in the lore of his mythology. His gods of the
wind, the rain, and the sun were real deities to propitiate.
He lived close to the heart of Nature. And, as the hand
serves the mind, there inevitably appeared in his work
earnest efforts to interpret the natural phenomena about
him, developing in time a rich symbolism which we
can only in part understand or translate.
His pictorial art, like his designs, strikes out boldly
for essentials, for lines expressing movement, action, life.
He was more intent on recording impressions than in
nice distinctions of texture, color, light, and shade.
He was the first of the " impressionists." He even
recorded his ideas through pictographs in Heu of a
written language.

MATERIALS

«7

There entered, then, into the technique of his weav
ing certain nature-derived elements, often arbitrary
and unreal. Sometimes we recognize the motif as
nature-derived ; again it requires the ingenious logic of
an archaeologist to assure us. The Interplay between
the two Is so intimate that it cannot be said positively :

Fig. 39.
This Started In technique ; this in Nature. A whimsical
twist In a line may have furnished a suggestion suffi
cient to send a given pattern toward Nature ; or again
the designer may have done the best he could for
Nature under the circumstances. The point is il
lustrated in Figure 39. Is the development from

88 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
I to 8 ; or from 8 to i ; or from the extremes to the
center ?
There is a remarkable similarity of development in
the arts of primitive peoples, separated though they
may be by thousands of years in point of time.
Primitive needs were much the same and were met
with similar materials and processes, flint cHpping,
weaving, pottery, etc., each developing in due season.
From one art to another we may trace a similar over
lapping of materials and forms, whether in ancient
Greece or in Arizona. The early clay vessels of the
Iroquois Indians show the influence of birch bark
forms. If the Alaskan Indians had chanced upon the
making of clay vessels, we may be sure their first efforts
would have been influenced by the wooden forms in
ordinary use among them.
The persistence of forms from one material to an
other may be traced throughout the history of art as
well as among primitive workers. We know that
conch shells were in use for lamps in early Babylon, —
because the first stone lamps were cut in that form.
The Lyceans, in their tombs, laboriously cut from the
solid rock a form of timber construction in common
use ; and the influence of timber construction un
doubtedly survives in many of the forms and some of
the ornament of the Parthenon. Gothic work, as we
have seen, is full of translations of form from one

MATERIALS 89
material to another. The first silk weavers of Florence
imitated the designs of the tiled floor in the Baptistry
until they found assurance in their material and its
processes. Many other illustrations might be cited ; but
one point must not be overlooked, — all of these in
stances came at times when art was a growing organism,
and were the results of an intimate cooperation among
many workers. It was what may be called a process of
unconscious imitation. It offers no excuse for the de
liberate, thoughtless imitation of cut stone with cast
cement so prevalent in building construction to-day, or
the molding of plaster forms grained to imitate wood
carving. These Indicate a thoughtless disregard of
material, or a sham and pretense for sake of cheapness.
The designer should learn to think in terms of the
materials he wishes to use. Lack of knowledge of the
limitations and possibilities of materials, of the peculiar
charms inherent in wood or stone, iron or glass,
accounts for much of the characterless work of to-day.
In such jewelry as that shown in Figure 40 there is
the rare beauty that ever distinguishes the work of
men who have learned to play with their materials,
who have an intimate acquaintance with metal, shell,
coral, ivory, etc., and a sense of beauty that seeks to
preserve the unique qualities of each and display them
to the best advantage. Such things can never be
thought out by the paper-trained designer who has, at

90 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

.....

Q'jrma^ny

Indidv.

II

>k

•c-/

P,

Csj-olincr lalA-ndi
LoiabarAy India.

Fig. 40,

MATERIALS 91
the best, a theoretic knowledge of materials, tools, and
processes. A man who has carved in wood will find a
broad field of suggestion in the twist and turn of the

Fig. 41.

grain, the texture, the finish, the handling of the tools,
— in fact the very things that distinguish wood carving
from stone carving. In the two scraps of leaded glass
in Figures 41, 42 we may note how the frank

92 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
acceptance of materials gives character to the first ;
while in the second th^ designer ignored, or sought to

Fig. 42.
avoid, the limitations of lead and glass, with a conse
quent loss of force and strength.
There can be no doubt that much of the work of
the past was thought out directly in the materials
themselves. But there is no reason why a man should

MATERIALS 93
not do much of his thinking on paper. The term
paper-made design is a reproach only to the man who
possesses no intimate knowledge of his materials and
necessarily loses thereby the very quality which counts
so much for character and style. There are possibilities
in the materials which find no response in his work.
Problem. From Figure 39 there is this to be
gained of immediate application to the present prob
lem : however much of interest there may be in
primitive man's pictographs, the value of his design
increases as it approaches the geometric. Whatever
the motif employed may be, it is the relation of lines
and forms that furnishes bones, giving character,
strength, vigor to the work.
You were asked, " What do you expect Nature to
do for you ? " Just this : she may clothe your
work with fresh life and interest, for the mind may
well tire of abstract lines and forms, however thought
fully composed ; but you must furnish the bones ;
and if the bony structure is weak or poorly jointed.
Nature cannot hide the fault. Nature may stir one's
ideas and suggest motifs and forms ; indeed, geometry
supplies poor nourishment as a long-continued diet for
the imagination to work upon. But Nature insists
that the organic structure of the design shall come
from the designer ; failing there, from lack of skill or
understanding, the result fails as a design.

94 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
Let us now bring to the " bones " of the previous
problems a fresh element of interest, working toward
rather than from Nature. Insect life offers a sugges
tive and, at this stage, a comparatively safe motif. For
our purpose the insect is a mere symbol characterized
by lines and areas combined. It is not the intention
to "conventionalize" any particular insect; the sug
gestion of Nature is merely a bit of fancy woven into
the fabric of the design. Hence we may treat the in
sect with considerable Hberty in the construction of the
design. The closer Nature is brought to the abstract
the less essential it is to keep to any particular, recog
nized form ; as the abstract character of a design
decreases consistency demands a correspondingly closer
study of and adherence to Nature's laws of growth,
and a recognition of the distinctive characteristics of
special forms. Nothing could be more stupid than the
mere repetition at regular intervals of a naturaHstic
insect. Think of the designs in Figure 43, as well as in the
following plates, from a broad view point first. Study
them as wholes, as compositions of space and mass ;
then descend gradually to details in order to find what
it is that binds the results together into unity. Ana
lyze the structural arrangement of the Hnes and forms ;
if an attempt is made to change a line or a form, it is
soon found that it bears some relation to other Hnes

MATERIALS

95

E.3'"^E.S"E'.3"E.3'1

®

tf^

10:

M

.SC3L

h^S^T^

M

rES

Fig, 43.

and forms ; they all work together like a good team of
horses. It is this how and why of each element in a
design that should interest us as students.

96 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

a B s B a

IFlFat^liFiB ? '^ -»

This interrelation of the elements of a pattern has
been defined as Rhythm, — that reciprocal relation of
the different parts of a design which enables the eye
to find a way through all of its details, binding them
together into a unity.
In Figure 44, i the regular repetition of an unique
shape carries the eye through the pattern like the beat
of a drum in a
march. The
parallel Hnes in 2
strengthen and
support the
movement; there
is nothing in the
result to give
direction to
the movement,
though the eye,
presumably from
force of habit in
reading, seems
naturallytomove
from left to right. In 3 a slight element of variety Is
introduced without breaking the essential regularity of
repeat. In 4 the element of variety is increased, in
space and mass and in the directions of lines ; but not
at the expense of unity, — it is still bound together as

% if [I ^jj^

JL L -IC,,,3Cm3

Fig, 44.

MATERIALS 97
an organic whole. As an illustration of a still closer
binding together of the elements 5 is added. Here the
white, or space, hooks into the black, or mass, if it may
be explained through such a picturesque phrase. Now
to this simple demonstration it is the purpose to add
such interest as the statement of our problem has al
ready indicated. In 6 are suggestions for a start ;
carried further in 7. In 8 the structural relations of
line and form, space and mass are readily seen ; note
the value in this result of the two Httle white spaces ;
note also the impomnce of concentration. It Is prac
tically a design in three tones, — black, white, gray.
It has been said that there is no special virtue
attached to the mere repetition of a unit at regular in
tervals, however interesting and complete the unit may
be in itself. In 9 is a symmetry of shapes ; in a regu
lar repetition of this symmetry, as in 10, it is found
that another symmetry appears in the design and must
be accepted as a playmate whether we wish it or not.
In the present case this second symmetry has the
greater attractive force, and we find our interest imme
diately transferred from the mass to the space. It is
now the playmate that sets the pace, and furnishes a
clew to the completion of the design in such way that
all the elements may take part in the game. Having
some such motif as is shown in 7, the interval of repeat
would be sought and the space between studied, as

98 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
in 1 1. This space may be given more interest ; but it
would be well to subordinate one or the other of the
two symmetries involved. In constructive problems
the interval of the repeat is governed largely by the
part the border might play in the design as a whole or
the position it occupies. In the row of sculptured
kings on the fa9ade of Notre Dame in Paris, a distinctly
vertical character is given to the repeats of a long hori
zontal border, as in 12 ; but every line and form on the
fa9ade demands that those repeats shall fall into vertical
lines. On the other hand, if a border in which the lines
fall into similar relations were to be placed upon the floor
of a room about a rug, we might feel that a movement
in the other direction in harmony with the long Hnes
of the border would be pleasanter and more restful.
As an abstract question a comparison may be made be
tween the second and third examples in Figure 43.
It would be unwise to shorten the interval of repeat
in the second ; quite as unwise to lengthen it in the
third. But to say that it is unwise to do thus and so
is quite different from saying, " Thou shalt not." Ah !
how simple this would all be if one might formulate
a rule-o'-thumb to be appHed upon all occasions when
in doubt ! It would save a deal of worry and work !
In Plates 12, 13, 14, 15 are other constructive
arrangements of lines and forms built up in a way simi
lar to the examples we have just been discussing. Each

PLATE 12.
X.l. 1 IRF SA.MRciIo.

PL.VTE 13.
Katirf SvirEiiFs.

r«:

•Mm

m

%- • ''7'/'^

&

J^S

Ejl

^^- '

E

w

fQl_

¦%

/ji/'^

PL.VTE 15.
Nait/re .S\mi;ols.

MATERIALS 99
element in these designs has a reason to justify its po
sition, shape, and measure, a function to perform as
part of an organic whole. Note in each design the
way in which the details are bound together into one
ness by the interrelation of Hnes.

CHAPTER VI
Tools and Processes
«' Yet, notwithstanding its remarkable expression of life based
on Nature, the work of the Gothic carver is, as a rule,
appropriately conventionalized. Only those abstract quali
ties of form which are capable of effective monumental treat
ment are taken from nature," ^ C. H. Moore.
A GREAT many of the interesting patterns devised
by the workers of the past for the purpose of
enrichment are traceable directly to the tools
and processes employed in execution. A given tool
suggests to the tool-trained man a character of treat
ment in design that could never possibly enter into the
work of a paper-trained designer unfamiliar with tech
nique. The old worker knew that certain lines and
forms were readily produced by certain tools ; and
through the combination of different tools many of his
patterns were evolved. These patterns in turn were
modified through other influences or suggested clews
leading to other forms ; the immediate effect of the
tool became less apparent as technical skill increased ;
but throughout the periods when shop-trained men

TOOLS AND PROCESSES

IOI

were designers, the tool influence remains as a potent
factor in the unique character of the work.
It is difficult to estimate the loss that modern work
has suffered from the designer's lack of tool training
alone. The design of the old worker moved along a
path through which his experience in execution had
previously cleared a way ; he unconsciously recognized
the limitations of his tools, materials, and processes,
and knowing their limitations he was in position to
realize their possibilities to the utmost. His thought
in design was in terms of technique ; his ideas often,
one may say generally, received direct expression
without the Intermediate step of paper and pencil. If
paper and pencil preceded actual execution, it was
merely as a convenient shorthand note, a blocking out
of big forms in which details were left to clews fur
nished by the tools.
In Figure 45 is a simple example of what may be
termed tool-wrought ornament ; the worker turned to

,.e«9^^l

Fig, 45,

his tools for the clew to the pattern. Similar in char
acter is the carved enrichment of Plate 7, or the first

102 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
spoon in Figure ii. These are all patterns suggested
by the tools themselves. Chip carving, when properly
executed by those sufficiently endowed with invention
to make it interesting, might serve as an illustration of
similar work. If any preliminary studies were made
for such designs, they were doubtless sketched directly
upon the material and an immediate execution started
with the tools. The cut-glass worker of to-day follows
a similar method. The design may consist of a few
broad red lines painted on the glass to indicate the spac
ing, but quite unintelligible to one unfamlHar with the
processes of production. To the worker, with his vari
ous-shaped wheels of emery, the lines have a real signifi
cance. Whether or not we approve of the results is
beside the point ; the character of the design is due to
the tools and processes employed.
The skilled worker — that is to say, one who is
skilled in ideas as well as in execution — generaHy
needs fewer tools than the unskilled worker. Or, to
put it another way, the skilled worker is able to gain
with a few tools a maximum of effect ; his artistic, as
well as mechanical, invention finds many uses for a
single tool. The skilled bookbinder produces a great
variety of patterns from a few simple tools. A prelimi
nary pattern, with the aid of a piece of carbon transfer,
may be stamped upon paper ; but the effect is due to
the artistic invention with which the tool patterns are

TOOLS AND PROCESSES

103

combined. The metalworkers of India use the simplest
possible tools and processes, often so primitive that

^^^wm,^

'0-

Fig. 46.

the achievements excite wonder. A fertility of inven
tion enables them to employ their simple appliances to
the greatest possible advantage. In Figure 46, a por
tion of a brass plate of modern workmanship, three

104 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
tools only were needed for the design : a cutting tool,
a circular punch, and a mallet or hammer. The cut
ting tool used for the holes was apparently used with
less force for the lines, the short lines being made by
tipping the tool at different angles with the surface.
The punch was employed for the double row of cir
cles about the inside of the rim. The result has re
markable interest, rare harmony of treatment, and the
unique character which gives distinction to the work
of a tool-trained designer. Such designs cannot be
foreseen on paper.
There are two points of view from which the influ
ence of tools and processes in design may be profit
ably studied : first, that work which may be termed
adventitious, in which the patterns were directly sug
gested by the tools, as in the double row of circular
punch marks in the plate already referred to ; second,
that work in which the tool has exerted a notable In
fluence in the development of the designer's idea and in
which the tool is responsible for the character of treat
ment, — as in the center and outer border of this plate.
Just where the tool ceases to influence the character
of treatment it is often difficult to say. In the hands of
a consummate craftsman, such as an artisan of old Japan,
the last trace of the tool may be removed. It must not,
of course, be assumed that tool tracks are always
desirable, or are in any sense essential to a beautiful

TOOLS AND PROCESSES 105
product. But there is a vast difference between artistic
finish and mechanical finish. Where to stop and when
to stop are questions that remain with the worker.
A plank squared, planed, and laboriously sandpapered
has less beauty than the hewn planks of mediaeval
houses. But to take a plank from the mill and cover
it with adze marks, with the idea of making it beautiful,
would be an affectation inconsistent with its surround
ings, a superficial imitation of primitive methods and
results to be avoided. Machine carving is deplorable
because it seeks to imitate results peculiar to hand
processes. A maker of scientific instruments might
turn his hand to leather tooHngwith accurate precision,
yet produce results hopelessly uninteresting ; mechani
cal exactness generally drives the last trace of beauty
from a product. A person less skilled of hand but
more artistic of mind might gain with the tools a more
interesting piece of work.
Mediaeval iron work furnishes material that is par
ticularly interesting in a study of tool-wrought orna
ment. The use of iron as a strong factor in art
properly begins with the period of mediaeval history.
The ancients used iron ; but the material occupied a
subordinate place in their work. With the beginning
of mediaeval history the blacksmith enters upon the
scene as an artisan of the first importance ; in no other
craft can one trace more clearly the significant influence

io6 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
of the tool in shaping forms and patterns, — a beauty
that was achieved upon a background of generation
after generation of tool-trained men.
Iron would seem to be the last material to which a
man would turn for beauty's sake alone. Its associa
tions have generally been with stern necessity ; its
forms have almost invariably been those that utility
has demanded for strength and resistance. To other
materials more easily worked, or of greater intrinsic
value and inherent beauty, such as Ivory, gold, silver,
enamel, or wood, the craftsman has turned for forms of
convenience and luxury. But iron, the least promis
ing material of all in its crude state, has generally
come to the hands of the man who must build as util
ity points the way. More credit to the blacksmith
that, through the distinction which comes from fine
craftsmanship alone, he should rise head and shoulders
above the purely useful trades and place his work be
side that of the goldsmiths and silversmiths as a prod
uct possessing the highest order of beauty.
Consider for a moment the form in which the iron
was deHvered at the forge of the mediaeval smithy.
The ore was smelted by simple processes at the mines
back in the forests or on the mountain sides, rudely
formed into ingots of such size that they might be
easily transported, and brought to the towns to be
bartered in trade. To-day the iron may be purchased

TOOLS AND PROCESSES 107
in a great variety of forms, rolled into sheets of any
desired thickness or into bars and rods, round, square,
octagonal, of such lengths or dimensions as the worker
may specify. But the early smith started, perforce,
with the rough ingot, beating it out with the most ar
duous kind of manual labor into forms adapted to his
purpose. Nothing could be more unsuggestive than
the raw material left beside his forge. To win from
it a straight, flat bar suitable for a hinge was in itself
a difficult task. Persistently stubborn and resistant, it
could be overcome only during the brief interval after
it was pulled sputtering hot from the fire. Then back
to the fire it must go again to bring it to a workable
condition. There was no coaxing with light taps, no
" correction to righteousness " ; each blow must needs
be forceful, direct.
The worker started with a forge, an anvil, two or
three hammers and chisels, a punch, and similar tools
of the simplest contrivance. The material, as we have
seen, must be shaped while hot; and while in this
state separate pieces may be welded together. As
work typical of these conditions the early hinge from
St. Albans, Figure 47, is a good example. Construc
tively, the hinge had to spread out over the surface of
the door to bind the planks together and secure a firm
clutch for the service it had to perform. It was bolted
through the door to plates or straps of iron on the

io8 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

inside. In this hinge one may readily note the character
that came from the processes employed, and in all of
the details the tracks of the tools are plainly indicated.
The rudely formed head in the enlarged details is
nicked and scarred with chisels ; the welding points of

Fig, 47,

TOOLS AND PROCESSES

109

Fig. 48.
the various pieces are enriched in a similar way ; the
surface of the hinge is cut with a simple zigzag pat
tern. It possesses that organic, intimate, personal
quality which none but a tool-trained man could
achieve. It is iron, — and looks like iron. In Fig
ure 48 are other typical bits of tool-made ornament,
literally split off with the chisel and hammer.

no DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
During a period of about two centuries simple,
forged ornament of this type continued to be made.
In France some ingenious smith devised a method of
working that brought a note of variety to the flat
treatment generally followed, as may be seen in Fig
ure 49 and Plate i6. The terminating ends were
gained by beating the hot metal into swage blocks or

dies. It is interesting to trace the wanderings of some
craftsman familiar with this method of working into
other lands, and the efforts to imitate the work by
others unfamiliar with the process. The term jour
neyman worker had a real meaning in those days.
Through his handiwork a man estabhshed a reputation,
and he was often sent for from distant points, followed
in the wake of conquest or journeyed on peaceful mis
sion bent, from one town to another. This peculiar
type of work offered additional possibiHties, culminat-

I

TOOLS AND PROCESSES

1 1 1

ing in the wonderful hinges of Notre Dame of Paris,
beyond which there seemed no skill to venture. Noth
ing could serve as a better illustration of the fact that
beauty entered into daily work than that these masterly
hinges were generally credited to the devil for lack of
definite knowledge as to who made them. It was a
time when workmen in
every craft were capable
of rising to the finest
achievements in the most vV^^
unassuming way when
ever the opportunity
occurred. Into the worker's kit
there came in due season
other tools, such as the
drill and file ; and here
again we may follow the
trail left by these tools
through innumerable
examples of openwork
ornament leading to forms of leafage and intricate
traceried patterns. Working on the cold metal was more
generally practiced, and the character of the enrich
ment accordingly underwent a change. The traceried
patterns, suggested presumably by the masons, were
of rare beauty, often complicated in appearance and of
ingenious workmanship (Figure 50).

Fig.

50-

112 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

Plant forms first appear in an abstract way, gradu
ally developing into more specific forms. The worker,
with increasing skill and better appliances, turned, as
does every designer
sooner or later, to
Nature for assistance.
In Figure 51 is a
very abstract sort of
leafage, just the thing
that a workman with
punch and cold chisel
would shape from a
flat piece of metal ; it
is tool-made Nature.
In Figures 52, ^j the
tool influence is nota
ble throughout. We
may feel sure that the
forms of leafage in the
early work were first
suggested by the iron
as it took shape under
the hammer rather
Fig. 51. , r
than rrom any con
scious effort to conventionalize some specific natural
form. Abstract leaves, as in Figure 54, would inevi
tably lead to leaves of a more imitative sort. The

TOOLS AND PROCESSES

13

Fig. 52.

hinge ends in Figure 55 illustrate the close relation be
tween tool work of a purely abstract character and tool
work influenced by observation of Nature. In Figure
56 and in the German door pulls of Plate 17 the

114 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

Fig. 53.

refining influence of Nature again
appears. For a long time the
'•T-^fa craftsmen stood at the fascinating
borderland between technique and
Nature, when it is difficult to say :
" This started from the tool ; this
from Nature." But even in the
most delicately forged and chiseled
leaf work we may see how the de
signer's thought followed closely
upon his tools, materials, and pro
cesses. In all these things there is a
refreshing vigor, a simplicity, a
direc t
relation

between the idea and its
execution lost in the work
of later years. The rugged
quality peculiar to iron gives |
way to finer finish, to ele- ^^::j)
gance of line and form, and ' '
to a close Imitation of Na
ture. The turning point is
reached when the iron worker
subordinates the technique
of his craft to imitative

Fig, 54-

TOOLS AND PROCESSES

115

work; when he essays the production of such
things as may be seen in Figure 57, festooned

Fig. 55.

garlands of roses with flying ribbons. Whatever
there may be of grace and elegance in the result,
however consummate the skill of the worker, wind
blown iron ribbons and strings of naturalistic iron
flowers are illogical and inconsistent with the material
in which they are executed. Then, when we find that
touches of paint were added to enhance the naturalistic
appearance of the work, we have arrived at the other
extreme of the transition. The iron worker began by

ii6 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

drawing upon Nature for suggestions that would add
beauty to the structural lines of his design, and ended
by subordinating his ma
terial to a minor plane of
illogical imitation.
Problem. In the
definition of principles
through abstract work it
may be noted that three
types of problems are
available : A figure in
closed on all sides, such
as the square ; a figure
inclosed on two sides,
like the border, but pos
sible of indefinite exten
sion on the two other
sides ; a pattern which
may be indefinitely extended on all sides, like the sur
face repeats of this problem. As a constructive ar
rangement of the elements of design the surface pattern
demands persistent effort, close attention to space and
mass relations, and the rhythmic connection of details
to secure unity. Here, as in the previous problem,
nothing could be more stupid than the mere repetition
of a "unit," leaving to chance the organic relation of
the repeats.

Fig, 50,

PL.ATE 1 8.
LnsECt Symbols

PLATE 19.
Nature Symbols.

TOOLS AND PROCESSES

117

The designs in Figure 58, and Plates 18, 19, are not
made to meet the technical requirements of print
ing or weaving ; nor has their construction demanded
any knowledge of " drop patterns " or the other
mechanical ques
tions which the
designer of tex
tiles or wall
papers must ac
cept as limita
tions. It is not
even contended
that these designs
are beautiful or
that one would
care to live with
them day by day.
They count for
" orderly think
ing " ; for constructive skill, as essential to the designer
as to the carpenter, under limitations so simple that
common sense may be permitted to take precedence
over assthetic " inspiration." The enthusiasm of the
amateur is sometimes dampened on the discovery that
the study of design is quite as troublesome and arduous
a process as the study of music or medicine ; that de
signs are not inspired during the pleasant interval fol-

<sl>

¦ Rocoto.5ty If -Af|erneyef
Fig. 57.

ii8 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

' JrAii y^\
Ilk jyk j(

S
Fig. s8.

TOOLS AND PROCESSES

119

lowing lunch, but are built up through the unremitting
concentration ot every faculty of mind, eye, and hand.
In the development of a surface repeat a " unit" is,
of course, necessary ; but of greater necessity is a clearly
defined idea of what one is trying to achieve with a
unit. All that has been said in explanation of previous
problems is applicable in principle to the present ef
fort. The motif and Hmitations are those of the last
problem ; the process is the same under slightly differ
ent conditions. With a tentative unit in hand draw
a vertical line in the center of a sheet of transparent
paper and a similar line through the unit itself. A
tracing should then be made in the center of the sheet.
On two smaller pieces of transparent paper two more
tracings of the unit should be made, — four in all.
Now, with purpose in mind, try different combinations
of these units before committing yourself to the first
repeat of the surface pattern. As a problem in design
it is now fairly
started ; you are |
in a position to
adjust the rela
tions of the pat
tern as a whole to ""• ' '"" " ""  •*
I 1 1 - Fig. 59.
the end that it
may be more than the mere repetition of a unit at
regular intervals. Doubtless the unit itself, consid-

,?. ,? ^ t^Jl[^JI|^^ R*^ Rf

inr

120 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
ered as a detail in a larger whole, will have to be
changed. Elasticity of all the details is essential to
the building up of the pattern on constructive Hnes.
Figure 59 furnishes a clew to the process. We seek
as many rhythmic connections as possible counting for
unity with concentration of spaces and masses, each
element to contribute a share in the final result.

CHAPTER VII
Refinement of Proportions
" But while beauty, in line and mass, may somedmes
seem to be curiously confirmed by such tests as these (analy
sis of proportions), it mav be doubtful whether it can be
created bv them ; for elasticity, life and freedom seem to
be the essential qualities ot true art."
IT is difficult, in the planning, to acquire the habit
of thinking of things as a whole ; to work
from the whole to the parts ; and, finally, to
consider each part as related to the other parts in a
unity of effect. We are prone to adopt the process
of the child who drew a button first and then built a
man around the button. It takes more than a multi
plication of trees and flowers to make a park ; more
than streets and houses to make a beautiful city. The
whole is always more important than any of its parts;
or, to put It another way. It takes more than the asso
ciation of beautiful details to make a beautiful whole.
Each detail, like each instrument in an orchestra, has
its part to perform. Its proportion, position, char
acter, are relative to other things.

122 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
In a constructive problem the first step toward true
beauty would be the adjustment of the proportions of
the whole. It may be well to note a radical difference
between proportions and dimensions. We feel pro
portions ; we measure dimensions. A draughtsman
may develop a remarkable facility with the ruler and
compass In the laying out of dimensions, yet be with
out any appreciation or feeling for fine proportions.
Proportion is the comparative relations of various
dimensions. In any constructive problem our choice
of proportions is necessarily limited by the function of
the object. In a table or chair, for instance, certain
dimensions must be accepted as limitations. Harmo
nious proportions result when a unity is secured in
which all of the measures are intimately related. Says
Hegel, " Harmony is a unity, all the terms of which
are in interior accord."
Let us illustrate the point : In Figure 60 the first
sketch is a square. This, it may be inferred, is more
harmonious in its proportions than the other sketches
because the terms are identical. The pleasure which
we derive from harmony, though, is not in uniformity,
but in variations and oppositions bound together by a
" manifestation of their reciprocal agreement." Har
mony and contrast, unity and variety, — these are not
terms of opposite meaning. Contrast is the spice that
gives interest to harmony. Unity with variety in-

REFINEMENT OF PROPORTIONS

123

terests us ; but with uniformity our interest ceases.
Even uniformity though, as a relative factor, may be
well justified. In B there is variety ; but we are
troubled by a lack of clearness. It is almost, though
not quite, a square. It was said that a design must be

A
Dn

II "¦ II -> 1

« 1

t

1

1

1 • 1

1 •
1
 sJ
F
Z3ni
1
z]nno
y
DO
CH
??
Fig. 60,
clear and coherent in expresssion. In practice this
also may be justified; as, for instance, in Plate 20 one
surely has no desire to attempt an improvement upon
this weaver's idea. In C (Figure 60) the square is
doubled, giving an agreement of terms that is obvious.
Continuing to D are proportions more subtle, though
bound together by a dominant unit of measure, " the
rhythmic half" One half of the end goes three times
in the side. Considering these four sketches in the
abstract, it may be said that D excites our interest
more and holds it longer than the others ; it is clear
without being too obvious ; it is a harmony of con-
124 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
trasts. Suppose we wish to break this rectangle into
space divisions. In E we approach uniformity again
with a consequent loss of interest. In i^ is a more
interesting breaking that gives unequal but related
areas. With the next step, G, the Hne of safety has
been overstepped ; the divisions are not only unequal,
but are unrelated as well. In H there is a return to a
sane expression of the idea, continued through further
subdivisions in the final sketch.
Note the subtle relations of line and space in the
old Korean cabinet shown in the same figure. There
is no possible element of chance in it ; the designer
has achieved beauty through a thoughtful adjustment
of proportions. Carry the principle into the setting
out of the end of a room ; if more thought were given
this subject, architects might find more appreciative
clients. The question pursues us to the last scrap of
ornament that we may choose to employ. Secure
variety, but remember that in variety alone there Is no
merit. There must be coordination of all the parts to
make a whole.
It is not the purpose to enter into a prolonged
discussion of good proportions, but rather to direct
attention to the importance of this point and then
develop the significance of the principle as the work
progresses. Many ingenious theories and systems
have been devised to explain the proportions employed

REFINEMENT OF PROPORTIONS 125
by the Greek and mediaeval builders. Any one par
ticularly interested in a scientific demonstration of the
subject and the various systems involved should con
sult such a reference as Gwilt's " Encyclopedia of
Architecture." There is no doubt that the builders of
the past used various geometric schemes tor proportion
ing a building ; it Is a logical method. In mediaeval
times builders were architects, and the elaborate work
ing drawings of to-day were unknown. Cathedrals
were built as one might build with blocks. Giotto's
Campanile was formed of six cubes, one placed on
another. Ina similar way we may analyze the propor
tions of many churches and temples. A unit of
measure dominates the whole and the parts. That
some dominant unit of measure may be felt, though
not necessarily measured, or advertised, as in the Greek
fret, seems a logical conclusion from an analysis of
many examples of satisfying things.
Let us study some definite instances (Figure 61).
A familiar example is found In the Greek fret, so
called, though as a matter of fact it was invented
sooner or later by nearly all primitive people who
practiced the art of weaving. This fret comes peril
ously near to the obvious ; the dominant unit of
measure is given advertisement. But it Illustrates the
statement that It is generally unsatisfactory and unwise
to isolate a scrap of ornament from its surroundings.

126 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

This fret was often employed in positions where it
served as a contrast to other features. The very
things that seem monotonous were highly desirable
under those conditions. Again, when carved in stone,
sunlight and shadow must be taken into account.
Below it is the setting out of one type of a Greek

Fig. 6i.

temple. Here the unit of measure is less apparent,
though quite insistent. In the center is a section from
Amiens Cathedral with more spice of variety, yet under
the restraint of a dominant measure welding the parts
together into unity. At the right is the setdng-out
scheme of Notre Dame in Paris. The dignity and
grandeur of the structure as a whole is dependent on
these big relations first estabhshed. In this general
scheme each detail plays its part.

REFINEMENT OF PROPORTIONS

127

In Figure 62 is a Greek vase form. We feel that
it is right without worrying it with a yardstick.
There is no possible desire to change a line, a curve,
or a space. That it fulfills its function may be known
from paintings and sculptures in which the use of
this particular
type of vase Is
portrayed. Then
it must be beau
tiful, else where
should we expect
to find beauty ?
In the means
employed to gain
this singular
charm we have, as students, an Interest. The diagram
explains Itself Compare some of the measures noted
and consider how very important this master designer
deemed the question of proportions. Note again the
harmony of curves used throughout ; the same curve
varying in proportions.
In Figure 6^ is a Gothic credence after a sketch by
Viollet-le-Duc. A miniature representation of this
piece of furniture appears in one of the scenes on the
carved choir screen at Amiens. There is no excuse
for imitating its superficial details ; it would be better
to trace its beauty back to the source. The first test

Fig. 62.

128 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

is in the elimination of its ornament. Is its beauty
gone ? Far from it. A tree is still beautiful after its
leaves have fallen ; when the poppy is gone, the seed pod
remains; more, it was for the sake of the seed pod that
the poppy was given its transient beauty. The charm
of the credence is not in its ornament, but in the con-

Fig. 63.
Structive relations of which the ornament is merely
a part. In the adjustment of these constructive
elements, in the " reciprocal agreement " of aU
the parts, is the mainstay of its beauty. Last of
all, though first in importance, does it adequately fill
the purpose for which it was made ? Now reverse
the process and follow it up to the last shred of orna
ment, and we have the logical development of any

PLATE 21.
Medleval Cabinet Work, i Metroi'Oi.itan Museum.)

REFINEMENT OF PROPORTIONS

129

constructive design. Nature teaches us that parts
which differ in function should
differ in appearance. With
this in mind note the way in
which the ornament is used.
Plate 21 is a conspicuous
example of well-related pro
portions, the practical and the
aesthetic bound together, as
must ever be the case in a
constructive problem. In
Figure 64 are other schemes
showing the setting out of
proportions and the continued
subdivision of forms into de
tails of ornament. It is this
process that results in "built-
in " ornament. As a startling
comparison with these simple,
organic, restful things examine
the cabinet in Plate 22. Here
a sense of oneness is lost in a
jumble of unrelated details;
too many elements clamor for
attention. Much of the or
nament might be lost or mislaid and one would never
miss it ; it is not organic enrichment ; it is huilt-on

=

Fig. 64.

130 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
ornament, not built-in ornament. Skilled technique has
outbalanced fine discrimination.
As a study in the proportion of parts and the
distribution of space and mass nothing could be finer
than Plate 23. It is a piece of Coptic weaving, a
masterpiece of the highest order. Study it as a dark
and light composition ; it leaves nothing to be desired.
Similar in character is Plate 20, a splendid adjustment
of proportions and relative interests.
In the planning of proportions we may adopt the
logical method of the Greek potter in Figure 62, or
we may depend upon intuition, as doubtless did the
Coptic weavers. In either case we are led to the
same conclusion : proportions in the final test are felt,
not measured ; and no amount of ingenious juggling
with ruler and compass will establish harmonious pro
portions if the sensitive feeling for them is not within
us. Lacking this feeling, there is no theory par excel
lence by which good proportions may be obtained at
all times and on all occasions ; no system on which
we may hobble about as if it were a crutch. We, too,
may design a temple and invent some ingenious
formula for the purpose, — only to find when it is com
pleted that it is wholly bad and uninteresting. That
intuition v^Kich. feels good proportions may be cultivated
only through persistent study and practice. Many ex
periments of an abstract nature may be tried with profit.

'~V"f;,

^:^.^-, *:^^I^5^--*^^^^^ct>^i^.^^

w R
H ^
< <-•
hJ "^ y.

REFINEMENT OF PROPORTIONS

>3i

u

u
for it is not alone through observation but through ex
periments and comparisons that one's judgment is
strengthened. Such little things as those indicated
in Figure 65 may 
make all the differ
ence in the world
between a " carpen
ter-made " chest and
a piece of furniture
that challenges one's
attention through
harmony with con
trast, unity with va
riety, in the schem
ing of the rela
tive proportions in
volved. Let us note the
application of the
idea to a definite problem, — a jewelry casket. Its con
struction involves the use of wood, leather, and metal.
In Figures dS, 67 the general form and proportions are
assumed and the structural elements indicated. The
function of each part is emphasized, body, cover, feet,
hinges, handles, and clasp ; the relative proportions of
these, parts of wood, leather, and metal to the proportions
of the whole is decided upon. In an acceptance of these
Fig. 65.
132 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

Fig. 66.

elements we have the clews for a consistent design.
In such a problem it
is, of course, neces
sary to think in
terms of three di
mensions. A cover,
a side, an end, each
good in itself, may
not make a good
whole. It is the re
lation of these three
that counts.
In Plate 24, the
first example, a very simple refinement of the structural
elements is shown.
Dominant interest is
given to the metal
work ; to this all
else is subordinate.
The metal handles,
hinges, and clasp
furnish the clew for
the space divisions ^-^^^5.
of the body and
cover. Each func
tional element is strengthened and emphasized by the
parallel lines tooled on the surface of the leather; the

Fig, 67.

i^*sS=

^:^

j\

¥

(S]

REFINEMENT OF PROPORTIONS

133

angles are strengthened and a note of variety given to
the tooling by a slight opposition of lines. In the
second example of
Plate 24 an enrich
ment of a more
complex character is
suggested; but the
development from
the whole to the
parts (Figure 68) is
the same as in the
simpler example.
Whatever the char- ^"^- ^^-
acter of the enrichment, it must be organically related
to the struc
tural elements,
of which it is
merely a part.
Now, in or
der to justify the
interest which is
directed to the
metal work, it
should, of
course, be given thoughtful attention. With punch,
drill, saw, and file, holes might be cut to define a pattern
or framework (Figure 69). The lines of this pattern

Fig, 69,

134 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
should be bound together so that there would be no loose
ends or sharp points. The interest may be primarily in
the lines of the pattern, though it is necessary to keep
in mind that the holes must have variety in shapes and
measures, and must not be left to group themselves
awkwardly. To the mediaeval craftsman metallic features of any
kind were accepted as structural necessities in his
design. He seized upon them joyfully, gloried in
them, wrought them with all the loving care of an
artist. About them he built his panels ; to them he
made the lines of his carving conform. But now we
of a more enlightened age call them " hardware." The
door fixtures, handles, lock plates, which were the joy
of the old craftsmen, which men once deemed worthy
of their best thought and effort, are now a cheap and
brassy mockery. The blight of modern commercial
ism has descended upon them. They are ugly and
unlovely because to make them beautiful would de
mand deep and earnest thought ; and the only evi
dence of thought to be found in our hardware is of a
mechanical origin ; for the rest we seek dillgendy to
cheapen the material, cheapen the process of manufac
ture, cheapen and degrade the workman, — and from
this array of cheapness beauty flees as from a plague.
Beauty has demanded ever that men shall question,
" How thoroughly and with what thought and feeling

REFINEMENT OF PROPORTIONS 135
may this piece of work be fashioned ? " not " How
cheaply may the job be finished and how much of
sham and pretense may enter into its execution ? "
There are bits ot metal work on the doors of houses
in some of the old German towns with an honest
beauty sufficient to stampede all of our pretentious
modern hardware back to the melting pots. Those
things possess a human interest because they were
fashioned to meet the demands of adequate service ;
but, more than this, because those who made and used
them were impelled to rise through and beyond all
demands of immediate necessity to the expression of
some sentiment or feeling in all that became a part of
daily life and work.
Study the hinge as developed by Gothic craftsmen
(Figure 70). With a broad, firm hold it clings to the
casing for support, and reaches out across the door to
grasp it in a strong, secure clutch. It must be actually
strong; but it must also convince us of its strength.
This is always an important consideration in design.
A functional element must be adequate for the service
it is expected to perform ; but that it is adequate must
be made apparent to the eye. We must feel its
strength. The leg of a table might be so strengthened
that It could be made comparatively smaH in diameter ;
but the result would be unsatisfactory because it would
not assure us that it possessed the strength necessary

136 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
to support a burden. The hinge clutches the door by
means of screws or bolts. Thus, while the hinge it
self is functional, it in turn must conform in line and
form to the elements which secure it to the door. In

Fig. 70.
Other words, the only structural reason for designing
the hinge is to give position to a certain number of
screws or bolts. Note in Figure 70 that the curve on
the casing is so fashioned that the screws will not all
enter the same grain of the wood. This would tend
to split the casing and destroy the value of the hinge.
A piece of work is not finished until the last scrap of
detail has been accounted for. If a washer appears in

REFINEMENT OF PROPORTIONS 137
the design, it should be given a distinctive beauty of its
own. Even the head of a bolt may be given interest
by the judicious use of a file. Keys, knockers,
handles, — to hide them from sight or to ignore the
claims which they have, or to shirk the possibilities
which they offer is a confession of our inability to
design on the basis of adequate service.
Problem. To think of Nature in terms of design
is one of the difficult tasks that confronts the student.
As the beauty and interest of the design is not in the
motif or subject-matter chosen, but in the constructive
relations of lines, forms, and tones, it would seem
desirable, before approaching Nature for assistance, to
acquire through practice the habit of working from a
design point of view. The term conventionalization
unfortunately conveys to many the idea of worrying
some natural specimen into an unnatural appearance,
of putting Nature into a strait-jacket, as it were,
through a process that tends to rob the original motif
of its peculiar, often transient, charm without supply
ing that other subtle charm from which a design
derives strength and character. Students frequently
seek help from Nature before they have learned to
think from a design point of view; and having little to
take to Nature, they receive little in return.
It is the thought of the present problem to develop
a design from an abstract symbol suggesting plant form,

138 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
though not " based on " any particular natural speci
men. The symbol may be stated as three berries 
two leaves. The limitations are the same as in the
last problem, lines having the directions of the vertical
and horizontal, right and left oblique forty-five degrees.
The possibiHties of any design are to be sought in
its limitations, — to shirk or ignore them is to form a
dangerous habit. The wise designer generally seeks
his limitations first. In practice they are from con
structive or technical reasons. There are two reasons
for the arbitrary imposition of limitations in these prob
lems ; one is to simplify matters in order that a rhythmic
interrelation of details may be assured and a harmony
acquired through the recurrence of certain clearly de
fined lines ; the other is purely a matter of disciphne.
The demonstrations to the present point have been
sufficiently detailed to require no further explanation
of the method to be employed in building up such de
signs as those shown in Figure 71, and Plates 25, 26.
The four inclosed figures in the last plate have been
chosen with purpose. Study them carefully with these
thoughts in mind: (i) Each result is complete in
itself (2) There are three things to consider in each,
— the center, the sides, the corners. (3) Note the
proportion of space to mass in each. (4) Note the
shape relation of the space to the inclosing form.
(5) Note the different positions of the dominant interest

1

PLATE 25.
Nature Sy.mbols jn Three Values.

PL.VTE 26.
N.iii RE Symbols.

REFINEMENT OF PROPORTIONS 139
in each secured through the concentration or grouping
of unique shapes, or from tone contrast, or both.
Let us utilize another factor that may contribute to
the interest of the problems, — the adjustment of tone

¦" tiiaa el^Tf^a c^irj 

©

Fig. 71,
relations. The " charcoal gray," as mentioned in the
preface, is a neutral pigment. With this pigment and
varying amounts of water it will be found that a grada
tion of tone can be made from black to white. It is
desirable for purposes of study to render this gradation
in a series of definite notes. The number of distinct
value notes which the eye can discriminate is surpris-

140 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
ingly few, probably not more than twenty-five. It
will simplify matters to choose a scale of five notes of
gray corresponding to the scale in Figure 3. This
may be referred to as the value scale; the value of a
tone, whatever its color may be, means the relative
position it bears to black or white. Such a scale of
values is shown in Plate 2. It seems unnecessary to
explain how it is made ; its mechanism has been so
often explained In other publications that the scale now
may be accepted as a fact accomplished. It is enough
to emphasize the importance of the half note as the key
to the scale, midway in value, as well as posldon, be
tween the extremes. It will be seen that ten different
value schemes of three notes each are possible with this
simple instrument.

CHAPTER VIII
The Play Impulse
" When man no longer finds enjoyment in work, and
works merely to attain as quickly as possible to enjoyment,
it is a mere accident that he does not become a criminal."
— Theodor Mommsen.
THERE is a peculiar and never failing source
of interest in that type of work which has an
element of the grotesque in its make-up. If
we were to remove from the field of art all that is of a
grotesque nature, we would lose much that has appealed
to human sympathy, much that has given joy and pleas
ure to the producers. There are few things indeed
that approach the height which a philosophy of art
defines as ideal ; and if we in a study of art history
examine only those things which achieve the ideal, we
shall miss, through lack of sympathy and understand
ing, many things that are real and vital. We generally
try to read into art that which we think should be there
in the light of our own thought and experience ; it is
difficult to place one's self in the position of the man who
produced a piece of work. We learn much about art;
but the information acquired often fails to respond to
our own environment and needs. Information about
141

142 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
art is vastly different from artistic feeling. We pass
over much that possesses fresh interest, real significance,
because our experience has not been such that we are
in a position to appreciate that bubbling over of the
play impulse which comes to those engaged in creative
work under favorable conditions. We seek those
things that have become crystallized into a " period "
or " style " which may be conveniently labelled and
classified in our minds, but have no formula that en
ables us to follow the trail of art through humble,
unclassified products which are often strong and insist
ent with personality.
Broadly noted the grotesque is of two sorts : that
which is purposeful, intended to incite laughter or fear;
that which is unintentional, the result of incomplete
observation or unskilled technique.
It is always necessary to draw a distinction between
the wholesome grotesque, which arises from a sponta
neous and irresistible play impulse, and the unwhole
some grotesque, which proceeds from a determination
to be bizarre and unique at any cost, descending to
ribaldry and insolent jest in the effete and waning days
of the Renaissance, and in much that we call Art Nou-
veau of the present day. The wholesome grotesque
comes straight from the heart ; its appeal is to that side
of human nature which makes all the world akin.
There is in it the same quaHty that is found in the work

THE PLAY IMPULSE

143

of children who, at certain ages, express themselves
with pencil or brush in a way that is free and genuine.
We can find nothing of interest in the child's work
unless we have a sympathetic understanding of the
spirit in which it was produced. The unwholesome
grotesque is of a self-conscious sort ; lacking imagina
tion the worker seeks to devise senseless, formless
shapes disclaiming law and order, leering figures termi
nating in floral or vegetable growths, an incongruous
association of ideas and motifs.
In primitive art, in the work of the mediaeval crafts
men, and in many phases of Ori
ental art, the wholesome grotesque ^
is found at its best. The pleasure
which men derived from their work
is reflected in every stroke of the
hammer or cut of the chisel. We
are entertained, even amused, by
playful fancies, by a na'ive and spon
taneous touch. Figure 72, from
Peru, and Figure 73, the work of a
mediaeval blacksmith, are typical ex
amples of the wholesome grotesque.
Those men were not striving after
unattainable ideals ; nor were they
hampered in the expression of their thought by the fear
of breaking some precedent; they were pleased with

Fig. 72.

144 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

their jobs and brought to their daily problems such
unaffected invention, wholesome sense, and honest
craftsmanship as they could.
Similar in character are the sketches in
Figure 74 from an old Byzantine hunting
horn, and in Figure 75 of the twelfth
century. If there was any humor in a sit
uation, those men might be depended upon
to depict it.
It is true that much in primitive and
mediaeval art that appeals to our sense of
humor may not have been intended by the
makers to be of a humorous nature. There
¦are many rude designs that had a significant
message to people of contemporary times,
Fig. 73, 1 • I T •
long since lost to us. It is sometimes
difficult to say whether a given design was intended
to be quaintly grotesque or was symbolic in character.

Fig. 74,

But we cannot help feeling that even the chimeras,
griffins, and other monsters of the mediaeval craftsmen
were wrought in much the same spirit in which two

THE PLAY IMPULSE

145

boys carve a jack-o'-lantern out by the back yard fence.
They assure each other that it will frighten all who be
hold its fearsome countenance, yet they know full well
in their hearts that no one Is going to be really fright-

FIG. 75.
ened. It is merely a symbol, and ah evidence of fear
on the part of the beholder is his share in the game.
To follow the grotesque back through primitive art
is to pass from comedy to buffoonery. In the effort
to make his image really frightful the primitive worker
displayed unique ingenuity. Yet in his dancing masks
it is still the symbol rather than the actual form that
inspires fear. Instead of putting a "keep out" sign
on his grain storehouse the New Zealand Maori
carves the house with symbols calculated to strike
terror to the heart of evil prowlers. Figure 76 is a
dancing mask from Nigeria and Figure 77 a wooden
image from Nicobar Islands. These latter people
strike close to the extreme limit of the grotesque.

146 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
with their wooden images smeared with paint. The
primitive man carves a grotesque figure on the prow
of his canoe or paints one on his shield, not to scare

Fig. 76,

his enemy but to taunt him with a symbol proclaim
ing his fearlessness.
Again, much that we deem as quaint was doubtless

THE PLAY IMPULSE

147

the result of technical limitations and incomplete
observation. In Figure 78, for instance, a figure from
the front of Saint Andrea in
Pistoja, it may be assumed that
most of the quaintness is due
to incomplete observation and
clumsiness of execution. We
can easily find in our art schools
and studios hundreds of students
who can draw or model a figure
more truthful in proportions and with
more grace of action than did this old
carver. But there are comparatively few
who will ever speak out with such virile
strength, vigor, and enthusiasm. There
are many who spend years in the train
ing of observation and in the acquisition
of technical skill who have nothing to
say that is worth while, nothing that touches human
activity at any point. To this old craftsman technique
was merely a means to an end. He had something to
say, an idea to express, and struggled with his limitations
as best he could. " If you would have the thought of
a rude, untaught man, you must have it in a rough and
untaught way, — but get the thought, and do not
silence the peasant because he cannot speak good
grammar or until you have taught him his grammar.

Fig. 77.

148 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
Look for invention first, and for such execution as will
help invention."
It is a long way from the rudely carved Christ in

Fig. 78.

Figure 79 to that other Christ that stands at the portal
of Amiens. Yet each was sufficient in its time and
place, and each represented the best effort of the
worker. In Figure 80 is an old Benin savage's representa
tion of one of his European conquerors. How closely

THE PLAY IMPULSE

149

-¦^^S?^-

it resembles that other bronze figure made in Sardinia
many centuries before. Uncouth and barbarous, we
insist. Nothing of the kind ! It
is charmingly frank and genuine,
full of character and action. Every
line tells of the honest pride which
the workman found in making it.
Moreover, supposing the average
person of to-day were to attempt
to model in clay his impression of
a man on horseback ! Ten to one
it would be incoherent, without half
the interest or character to be found
in this one. Our ideals are so vague
and indefinite that we cannot work
them out at our finger tips. It is
easy to criticize the work of an
other ; but few of us dare try for
ourselves. " The step from know
ing to doing is rarely taken."
As art products these things may
be relatively unimportant; but if
we would penetrate below the sur
face of many things which we pass as rude and uncouth,
and seek the spirit of enthusiasm that prompted men
to speak out with such skill as they possessed, we might
find a deeply interesting story in unimportant things.

Fig. 79,

150 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

It is what men have to say, the strength of their emotions
and the clearness of their assertions, that makes art vital,
rather than skillful technique and fine finish.
Much that we pass as uncouth has within it a poten
tial force which we fail to grasp, — imagination. If we

Beniii. Afr-lcSk ¦• R?pre5Pntatioi.-i of
Sai-dinieir!. Droaze • Dowi22a.ix
(jrom. Pprhot 6iid CWpiez)

Fig. So.

scratch the surface of many rude things, we shall find
an imaginative force, deep, intense, real. Many of the
mediaeval workers, who did common things uncom
monly well, found a wider range for their imaginative
power in later life in the production of important works

THE PLAY IMPULSE 151
of art. The master designer has ever been the man to
whom many childhood fancies have tenaciously clung.
The broadening activities of a later lite have never been
quite strong enough to drive all of the fairies from the
grass, or to dispel the voices that laugh and whisper
with the winds in the tree tops. He designs in words
and we call him a poet ; in tones, a musician ; in color,
a painter ; in form, a sculptor. And to whatever task
he turns his hand, there appears in his work a touch
that we feel but cannot analyze, that finds a responsive
chord within us, that brings light to the eye, and a sense
of satisfaction to the mind. We sometimes call it per
sonality ; it is in reality the soul of his work, that which
remains after all else has been weighed and classified.
It is the force of imagination that imparts life and
animation to a Gothic cathedral. And, per contra, it
is the utter lack of imagination that makes all modern
adaptations of Gothic architecture incapable of awaken
ing a spark of enthusiasm. One returns to the old
cathedral day after day, and each visit reveals new
beauty ; even away back in cobwebbed corners one
comes upon the "soul stuff" of some humble, worka
day fellow who wrought in the same spirit and with
the same sincerity of purpose as the master who built
the pulpit or frescoed the chapels. But in our modern
adaptations there is neither interest nor reason in the
arbitrary disposition of details in cement and plaster.

152 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
in papier-mache and cast iron. We have a husk with
out meat ; a body into which no soul can be conjured
to take its abode.
It is the spirit of enthusiasm, of love, of pleasure in
work, that gives to mediaeval art the most fascinating
aspect of any period in art history. We are brought
close to the hearts of a multitude of simple, honest,
workaday craftsmen who imparted to their work a
significance and vitality that made it a real factor in
daily life. The sphere of art was sufficiently broad to
encompass any task to which a man might turn his
hand ; nothing, from a cathedral to a candlesdck, was
too trivial or unimportant to be given its touch of dis
tinctive beauty. It was an age of what we now term
industrial art ; but then there was no other kind of art.
Our modern phrase of " art for art's sake " was un
known either in theory or in practice. It was a time
when " any village mason could build a church and
any village carpenter could crown it with a hammer-
beam roof" What the work of the early craftsmen
lacked in refinement and polish was more than com
pensated for in its vigorous grasp of essentials, in its
truth and unaffected invention, and, above all else, in
the fact that its appeal was comprehended by all. We
have been too much Inclined to look upon art as a cul
tural asset. The practice of art has been left to a few,
professionally trained in complete isolation from the

THE PLAY IMPULSE 153
practical, industrial problems of life. It was once the
glory of art to be of service. It is difficult for us to
fully realize the spirit of an age when art was actually
practiced by a great mass of people ; when carvers in
stone and wood, workers In iron, textile weavers, potters,
goldsmiths, found daily opportunity and incentive to
bring invention to bear upon their problems, to apply
creative thought to the vs'ork of their hands. It was a
time when builders were architects ; when workmen
were designers ; when contracts called for nothing more
than sound materials and honest workmanship, — the art
was thrown in as a matter of course. Our modern
craft workers expect unreasonable prices for unimpor
tant productions because " the design is original and will
not be duplicated." What was once the rule is now
the exception.
The training received by the mediaeval craftsman
was peculiar to the guild system of the time. Many
of the masters whose names are familiar to us now in
our study of the history of art were duly apprenticed
to a craft as soon as they could read, write, and count.
Often at an age of ten years they went to the home of
the master workman, with whom their apprenticeship
was to be served, where, as was the custom of the
time, they lived. The years of apprenticeship were
years of hard work, often of drudgery ; but in the
great variety of commissions undertaken by the shops

154 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
of the time an opportunity was presented to lend a
hand at many interesting tasks. There seems to have
been a spirit of cooperation among the various shops
and workmen that the keen, relentless competition of
modern times does not permit.
After serving his apprenticeship a lad became a
companion or journeyman worker, and finally tried
for his degree, if it may be so termed, by submitting
to examination for the title of master workman. In
this examination he was called upon not only to pro
duce his masterpiece, but to fashion such tools of his
craft as were necessary for its completion. The stand
ards of the guilds were so high that to become a
master meant the production of a piece of work satis
factory to the judges artistically as well as technically.
This completed the education of a craftsman of the
time, producing a workman who was encouraged at
every step of his training to combine beauty with
utility, technical skill with honest workmanship. The
competition was for excellence as much as for gain,
and the greatest masters were simple and frugal of
habit, finding more satisfaction in producing work
that people were proud to possess than in " the pay
envelope." From stories left by Boccaccio, Vasari, and others,
and from documents found in ancient archives, we
can penetrate into those old-time workshops, pass

THE PLAY IMPULSE 155
back into the busy workaday life of the times where
art was produced by men with tools in their hands.
The greater number of the master craftsmen are not
known, or at best their names are unfamiliar except
to students of musty records. Most of those whose
names are famlHar to students of art history served
their apprenticeships In the shops of the goldsmiths,
— Orcagna, Ghirlandajo, Botticelli, Lucca della Rob-
bia, Ghiberti, Donatello, Brunelleschi, — and when
they in turn became master workmen, we know not
whether to call them goldsmiths or bronze workers,
carvers or sculptors, painters or architects, for their
training was such that they could turn their hands to
any of these with distinction. Orcagna could build a
church, cut the stone, lay the mosaics, paint the fres
coes, or carve the crucifix, and we know not where most
to admire him. While Ghiberti was engaged in the
production of the bronze doors for the Florentine bap
tistry, his journeymen workers were seldom so early at
the foundry but that they found him there in his cap
and apron. Brunelleschi watched the building of the
cathedral from his bench long before he dreamed that
it would be his part to crown it with its great dome ;
and when he and Donatello went to Rome to study
the antique, they replenished their empty purses by
following their craft. What manner of architects
were these who went to the quarry and picked out

156 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
their own stones, who superintended the construc
tion, directed the erection of scaffolds, who could teach
others how to lay the mosaics or carve the ornament-
and during leisure intervals wrote sonnets, built
bridges, planned forts, and invented weapons of de
fense ? When a master received a commission to
build a church, a municipal palace, a fountain, or
what not, he took with him his own journeymen and
apprentices ; and when the commission was an impor
tant one, he gathered about him to cooperate, in a spirit
that knew little of rivalry or jealousy, the best master
workers of his day.
Problem. Our problem may seem at first thought
to be one of amusement only ; but a conscientious
effort to solve it will soon indicate that it has other
claims of a serious nature, — in fact the mental disci
pline involved in its solution would sufficiently justify
it. It is a fitting test of one's ability to think in terms
of line and form, and to turn the limitations imposed
to the best possible purpose. Previous to this we
have brought a suggestion of Nature to the lines and
forms employed under given limitations ; Nature has
been an incident, a symbol. Now, under the same
limitations as regards the directions of lines, working
to the same end, it is the intention to go directly to
Nature, choose a particular type, translate it into
straight lines, adapt it to our purpose without los-

THE P.LAY IMPULSE

157

ing its individuality or unique character. It is the
purpose to seek a happy middle ground between
Nature and the geometric basis on which the work has
developed, to retain the distinctive character of a nat
ural form without sacrificing the distinctive character
that claims interest from a design point of view. A

Fig, 81,

reasonable knowledge or observation of animal anatomy
is, of course, essential ; with such facts of observation
at hand, together with a spice of imagination and a
sense of humor, the limitations of the squared paper
will be found more interesting than if greater liberty
were allowed. Figure 81 indicates the general charac
ter of the results that might be expected from practice

158 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
with the pencil, — not from a few moments of playfiil
practice, but from several hours of thoughtful study.
Do not try to be archaic or rude; you will fail. Do
the best you can under the conditions of the problem.
The naive rudeness of primitive work charms us; but to
imitate it is pure affectation, and will generally appear
as such. The primitive worker did the best that he
could for Nature ; his feeling for design dominated his
records of observation. He was always sincere ; his
quaint symbols had a real meaning and purpose, their
forms were generally due to the influence of the tools
and materials through which his ideas received direct
expression. Figures 82, 83, 84 show the end sought in the prob
lem, a balance of attractive forces in symmetry within
an inclosing form. Four points should be kept in
mind : the figures
must be related or
ganically to the in
closing form, not
look as if they were
merely fenced in
with a line ; the two
parts of the symmetry should be bound together by as
many rhythmic connections of line as possible, — the
line analysis in Figure 84 will serve as an illustration ;
the shapes and measures of the areas of black and

Fig, 82.

THE PLAY IMPULSE

159

white must be given equal attention, — an approximate
balance of the two in quantity will be found most effec-

FlG, 83.
tive ; it must be remembered that the space between the
two parts of a symmetry forms a strong attractive force
in the design whether we wish it or not, — it should be
studied, not left to accident. It requires no skill or
thought to " fence in " an example of symmetry ; but

Fig, 84,

there is ample exercise for both skill and thought in
the problem as stated. Figure 85 is quite in line with
this problem and illustrates the points enumerated
above. Let us now note the constructive application of a
motif such as we have been using, — a match safe to

i6o DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
hang upon the wall (Plate 27). A match safe is chosen
merely because it offers a convenient means of empha
sizing the relation between theory and practice, be
tween our abstract problems and constructive designing.
It serves to show once more the interplay between aes-

<^:>>

Peruvian* Clay

Coptic 'TextiU

ۥ:

Fapua.!! . CArvincj_

Fig. 85,

thetic and practical principles. The essential elements
are of first importance (Figure 86). There must be a
receptacle for the matches. It may be vertical (I), or
horizontal (ii), its inside dimensions to be determined
by the length of a match. If in a vertical position, the
dimensions of the box should be so planned that a
single match will not fall too far below the top.
There must be a piece of sandpaper, a back piece,

PL.-\TE 27.
CONSTRUCTn-E Designi.ng,

THE PLAY IMPULSE

i6i

with a hole at the top for the nail or hook on which
the match safe is to be hung. These structural ele
ments should form the basis for the design ; they are

Fig. 86,

demanded by utility. The material employed may be
wood. Two combative black cats seem appropriate as
a decorative motif. The problem is now clear in its

i62 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
development. We must first define the positions and
relative proportions of the essential elements. The
sandpaper may be on the box (iii), or below (iv), but
not above it (v), because the matches within the box
would be in danger of Ignition. The scheme may be
planned horizontally (vi), in which case two holes at
the top would seem advisable. We have now to at
tempt a refinement of the structural elements and such
an adaptation of the decorative motif that it shall be
organically related in line and form to those elements
in a unity of effect. For the sake of simpHcity, let us
first discuss the steps involved in a refinement of the
essential elements. There are several errors which it
would be well to anticipate. The first is in vn. Here
there is no reciprocal relation between the curved lines
of the back piece and the rectangular box. In viii the
box is supported by the parallel side lines ; but there
are three weak points in this arrangement. There is
not enough difference between the top and bottom of
the design : the curves indicated by the arrow tend to
lead the eye away from the center of interest ; the di
vision of the top into three equal parts is unfortunate,
giving a result which lacks variety in proportions. In
ix the second error is corrected — the curves keep the
eye within the inclosing form. But there is another criti
cism here. At the points marked by the crosses the
curves should be either continuous or the angles should

THE PLAY IMPULSE 163
be more acute. In x, xi, xii, xui are suggestions giv
ing variety with unity in the lines and proportions
used. Now, with these criticisms in mind, let us re
turn to the point of the problem, the organic relation
of the lines of the decorative motif to the structural
elements. In xiv-xv are two sketches showing the
adjustment of the proportions and the interrelation of
all the lines of the design. These sketches emphasize
the necessity of working from the whole to the parts.
Ornament should never be added as an afterthought;
it must always be developed with,, and related to, the
constructive elements of a problem.
Problem. It would be difficult to devise a prob
lem demanding clearer thinking than this one. Any
student who has an idea that it is nothing more
than the repetition of a " squared animal " should go
back to the first problem of this series and take a fresh
start. It requires the exercise of a wholesome play
impulse under the restraint of orderly design. It
seems unnecessary to recite again the conditions and
limitations of the preceding problems as applied to
this one ; mentality may be assumed. Study Figures
87, 88, 89, and Plates 28, 29 30, in the light of past
experience; they are dark and light, space and mass,
designs with additional interest imparted to them from
Nature through the imagination of the worker. Figure
90, as well as Figure 8 1, may serve as the starting point.

i64 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
Incidentally it may be remarked that, these figures
being flat conventions, no perspective should be at-

Fig. 87.

tempted ; the feet, for example, should be on the same

level, if the creature is walking, as in the first four
Instances of Figure 90. Figure 91 shows various

THE PLAY IMPULSE

165

^m /^ ¦ /^ ^M A? 1 ^ I // M /? u //

l^^x

— - —

W9¥^

Fig. 89.

i66 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
experiments with one of these forms in an effort to
secure the best expression for sake of the design.
Experience, assurance of judgment, may be hoped for

on the basis of many experiments and comparisons.
The willingness to experiment must be accepted as
part of a student's equipment for serious study ; it is
the faculty that remains dissatisfied until the best
possible expression of an idea has been demonstrated.
In this case the final example may be accepted as giv
ing the most interesting and complete relation of the
different elements involved in the problem. As a
final, though important, item of interest it may be
said that in a design of this character the creatures
should be doing something, going somewhere ; they
should enter into the spirit of the fun, not stand
dumbly in a row as if waiting to be shot at.

PLATE 31.
Peruyian Textile. (Boston Museum uf Fine Arts.)

THE PLAY IMPULSE

167

In the textiles of the primitive Peruvian weavers
(Figure 92 and Plate 31) is a close approach to our
problem. There is a simple and effective use of

Fig. 91.

animal Hfe to be found in all of this work. The par
ticular forms are sometimes apparent ; again, they
become abstract symbols, as in Plate 31. But

i68 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

.4 If "^J
iljoouQUlUOBUBbUlIUlIWifiUi

^v%

iiuiMvumumii

i

(UBIdBBtfClff

B X.B ^ Ib / B

Fig, 92.

a / a

PLATE 32.
E'ifteenth-Centurv 'Lextii.e — Ii'.vlian. (Smith Kensington Musf;um.)

THE PLAY IMPULSE 169
as designs they are invariably good. The student of
design can find no more fertile field of suggestion at
this stage than a collection of Peruvian art, or from a
close study of illustrations of such work. The Peru
vians were designers of consummate ability, shrewd
observation; were endowed with a keen imagination,
that play impulse which makes art a joy alike to the
one who practices it and the one who studies it. In
their textiles those weavers very frequently employed
the exact duplication of space and mass known as
counterchange. Plate 32, a fifteenth-century textile from Italy, is
also a close and interesting approach to this problem.

CHAPTER IX
The Idea and Nature
" There is little in nature that is ready made to the
hand of the artist. A masterpiece of art is what it is in
virtue of a something which was not in the natural motif of
the artist, but in his treatment of it." — Lewis F. Day.
IF we look back upon the history of design, it wIH
be found that the use of plant form through what
is generally termed conventionalization followed
upon long practice in the arts. Plant form in design
has almost invariably been the last to suggest motifs
to the worker. The development was much the same
at the dawn of history as among the American Indians
of to-day. The first designs were those that arose
through technique ; the first appeal from Nature was
through animate life and through significant symbols
of natural forces. It is not until men have passed a
long way through barbarism into a higher state of cul
ture that one finds an attempt to directly convention
alize plant form. It is not necessary that the student
in his own work should pass through all the stages of
primitive art and barbarism ; to attempt it would be an
170

THE IDEA AND NATURE 171
affectation. But the principle involved in the historic
development of design Is Important In the application
to the Individual student. This principle, in so far as
It seems applicable, is followed through the problems
of this book. It is the writer's belief that the direct
conventionalization of plant life should follow upon
long-continued study of principles.
To conventionalize Nature is to adapt a nature-
derived motif to the structural demands of a problem,
to the space and position which it is to occupy, to the
tools, materials, and processes of execution. A man
who has a thorough command over the technique of
his craft, who possesses a refined feeling, good judg
ment, and common sense will inevitably turn to Nature
for suggestion. If he has an appreciation of the ele
mentary principles of line, form, and tone adjustment,
acquired through persistent observation and experi
ment, he may be expected to adapt Nature to his pur
poses in a logical and consistent way. A paper-trained
student who begins by seeking ideas in Nature and
who essays the production of designs for wall papers
that are never printed, textiles that are never woven.
Iron that is never forged, tiles that are never fired, with
only a superficial knowledge of the tools, materials,
processes, and constructive demands of these industries,
cannot be expected to find in the word convention
alization any other significance than that involved in

172 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
the more or less formal rendering of a natural speci
men. The most interesting conventionalization is
found in the work of a trained craftsman who turns to
Nature for a suggestion that will impart Hfe and anima
tion to the refinement and enrichment of his problem.
He can get along very well and produce beautiful work
without Nature ; but with Nature as an ally he finds
his imaginative and

inventive faculties
stimulated and
strengthened many
fold. His treatment of
the motif which he
^M seeks may be such
as is shown in the
first example of Fig
ure 93, or such as is
shown in the second
example of this fig
ure. They were both
^'°- 53- suggested by the
wild teasel. One treatment is neither more nor less
commendable than the other, and any information as to
the source from which the suggestions were derived is
quite immaterial In a discussion of the results. We can
form no judgment as to the relative merits of the two

THE IDEA AND NATURE 173
designs until we see them in position on the construc
tive problems of which they were merely structural ele
ments. Each was adapted and related to a constructive
whole which led to distinctly different treatments of a
suggestion derived from the same source. As the de
signs stand, in this isolated form, there are but three
questions to be asked : Is each adapted to the tools and
processes peculiar to metal working ? Is each thought
fully arranged in its line and form, space and mass ? Is
each consistent throughout in its treatment ? It would
be inconsistent to place the formal, symmetrical ending
of the second on the rhythmic, flowing lines of the first.
The truth of this Is so evident that it would seem un
necessary to mention it ; yet we find this simple prin
ciple, consistency of treatment, so often violated that
Its emphasis never ceases to be desirable.
In the first example a rough, blocking-out sketch is
shown of the relation of lines, which was established
after the shape and measure of the hinge as an element
in the design, and the style of treatment were deter
mined. A rhythmic relation of lines and forms was
desired ; common sense and the material employed
demanded that all the loose ends of the design be
bound together into a compact whole. The question
of space and mass adjustment was decided, partly by
the application of elementary principles of composition,
partly by the saw and file.

174 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

The amount of conventionalization that is given to
a nature-derived motif, then,
is not in itself a basis on
which any judgment may
be formed as to the merit
of the result. We may
prefer the highly conven
tionalized symbols of the
primitive weavers, or the less
conventional treatment of
Nature to be found in the
Oriental textiles. In either
case we can form an ade
quate judgment of the re
sults only on the basis of
line, form, and tone adjust
ment, and on the technique
involved in the weaver's
craft. In Figure 94 is a pen
sketch of a Chinese lily.
In one sense even this
sketch is conventional in
treatment ; it is an adapta
tion of Nature to the tech
nique peculiar to pen-and-
ink rendering. Its interest, however, is in light, shade.

Fig,

94-

THE IDEA AND NATURE 175
and texture, in the transient qualities which Nature
has imparted to the Chinese lily. It is obviously
unfit, in its present form, for purposes of design.
Whether one prefers a naturalistic treatment in design
or a formal, geometric treatment is immaterial. The
essential point Is that It is necessary to alter, rearrange,
or in some way adapt the lines and forms here shown
before they are suited to our purpose. The style or
character in a design is the result of the treatment
accorded the motif. The character which comes from
treatment Is, as we have seen, dependent upon the
adjustment of several correlated questions. For the
sake of simplicity we have isolated one of those ques
tions for purposes of study. We are aiming at an
appreciation of the aesthetic interest of a beauty that
is expressed in abstract lines, forms, and tones, and
of the appHcation of some of the principles thus defined
to constructive problems ; simple problems indeed, but
such as may be assumed to be somewhat within reach
of our experience.
In the specimen shown we may find, in its typical
growth and unique character, material for our ends;
or we may seek in an analysis of its parts, bud, leaf, or
flower, a suitable motif But one thing is surely clear.
If we cannot use the transient beauty with which Na
ture has endowed this flower, we must in our treat
ment of the motif impart to the work a beauty of

176 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

another sort. Here, as in all things. Nature furnishes
the raw material, but leaves it to man to convert this
material to his needs by such processes as he may in
vent. It is a long step from the tree that grows in
the forest, or the unquarried stone in the hills, to the
houses in which we live. While Nature may furnish the
raw material, she
does not furnish
ready-made designs,
and will baffle our
efforts to find in her
the clew to a beau
tiful design. The
last is our part in
the problem. The
beauty which we give
to design must come
from within us; it
cannot be found in
a study of the specimen, however painstaking or ana
lytical that study may be.
In Figure 95 is a treatment of a Chinese lily that
may claim to be decorative in character. A specimen
has been employed to express a definite idea with no
other change than the elimination of reaHstic details.
That idea was the decorative distribution of areas of
black and white within a rectangle to secure interesting

Fig, 95.

THE IDEA AND NATURE

177

space and mass relations. To give decorative character
to a flower motif, then, is not merely to stiffen its
growth into formal lines or to ^^
place it in a strait-jacket, but to muk
adapt it to the requirements of A^''^i^^^-^>^
a definite Idea, Let us take an /^vv-^tiiS — ^7=^
idea to Nature, — not seek an iu/J,
idea in Nature. /({"
In Figures 96,
97 another idea
has found ex
pression. Here
the lily has served
as a basis for an
interest that is
dependent en
tirely on the rhythmic and balanced
relation of lines and forms. The results
are sufficiently Hke the lily to demand a
consistent adherence to Nature's laws of
growth ; but to judge the beauty of the
results we must revert to the idea which
the lines and forms express, not to the
motif from which they were derived.
In Figure 98 is a line drawing of a single flower,
with two symmetrical renderings of that flower, one
m curved Hnes, the other in straight lines. In the two

Fig, 96,

Fig, 97.

178 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
latter cases an effort was made to relate the petals to
the center and to give some element of variety in shapes
and measures to the areas into which the flower was
divided. Beyond this, these conventions have no par
ticular merit or distinction ; in fact, we may well prefer
the first sketch to either of the others. They should

^5=^^ "^^

f

V

Fig. 98,

be produced by any one who has an understanding of
the simplest of the elementary principles noted in the
first chapter of this book. But these two conventions
were made with a definite purpose in mind, — an appli
cation to a repeated design. In the completion of the
idea may be found a justification for the treatment
accorded the flower.
In Figure 99 the unit shown in Figure 96 is re
peated at regular intervals, with a rhythmic, graceful
movement from unit to unit. The design furnishes a
pattern that is pleasing in character ; it is an obvious
and simple repetition of a unit interesting in itself, in
which Nature was subordinated to a definite idea. As
a surface pattern it demanded a comparatively small

PLATE a.
Nature Deriv.atives.

PLATE 34.
Nature Deri\'ai i\-f-

THE IDEA AND NATURE 179
amount of skill, however. The importance of a design
increases in ratio to the number and variety of elements
that have been disciplined into a unity of effect. In

Fig. 99,

Plates 23, 34 are surface patterns that demanded more
skill and a greater concentration of thought. While
Figure 99 involves the mere repetition at regular inter-

i8o DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
vals of a pleasing unit, these two plates represent the
deliberate building up of a surface pattern with " mal
ice aforethought." The background has been accepted
as an element in each design ; an effort has been made
to adjust three tones, black, white, and gray, into a
unity to which each shall contribute. The achievement,
or, rather, the effort, is to this extent more important
than in Figure 99. In Plate 34 one would probably
never suspect the motif from which the pattern started.
The leaf form is not that of the Chinese lily ; — and
why need It be ? It is here that the idea sought in the
design overrides the specific character of the Chinese
lily ; invention takes precedence over selection. The
design is consistent in treatment throughout and jus
tifies the departure from the particular forms of the
motif. So we find that we may accept the growth and charac
ter of Nature almost literally, as in Figure 95, or may
seek in Nature suggestions which, when adapted to
our ideas, leave merely an incidental trace of the motif
in the result. It matters not from what source the
motif is derived, so long as the result is consistent
throughout in its adherence to or departure from the
specific character of the motif; and least of all is an
identity of the motif essential in a discussion of the
merit of the design. If the treatment has any claim
to be called decorative, it must be based on an interpre-

THE IDEA AND NATURE i8i
tation of the elementary principles of line, form, and
tone composition.
Problem. Instead of attempting a free conven
tionalization from Nature let us approach the subject
from an abstract point of view and seek to bring to our
first studies of plant lite another expression of the same
principles that have been defined through straight-line
problems. We shall endeavor to develop a rhythmic,
balanced composition of blacks and whites, suggesting
plant growth, though not bound to any specific speci
men from plant life. First, let us again thresh out
the question of space and mass. It is ten to one that
the student who has approached the study of design
by accumulating sketches from Nature, and by seeking
in Nature a justification for the principles that are to
govern the structural development of his design, will
feel that the problem of conventionalization is solved
when he has adapted the lines and forms of a specific
specimen to a definite shape. His attention is ab
sorbed almost entirely by the lines and forms of the
specimen with which he is working ; it is difficult for
him to depart from the specific character of his motif
to the abstract consideration of his design in terms of
line, form, and tone. If we are ready to accept the
assertion that the beauty of a design is dependent, in
the final analysis, on its structural fitness and the re
lation of lines, forms, and tones, rather than upon its

1 82 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
relation to Nature, to historic ornament, to " style," or
to pictorial interest, then, whether the designer wills it
or not, the background, or space in his design, what
ever it may be, must be considered as an Integral part
of his composition. Seek where we will through the
wall papers and textiles of modern production, we find,
with very few exceptions, motifs derived from specific
natural forms, arranged in more or less ingenious
patterns. The backgrounds enter into the composi
tion as mere accidents, holes left after the pattern is
repeated. In the worst of these designs sad efforts are
made to imitate Nature in color and form, and to hide
the very structural lines on which the finest ornament
has ever depended for its beauty ; in the best of them
we find a consistent and thoughtful treatment of
Nature ; — and yet we turn with increasing admiration
to the simple, dignified, soul-satisfying texiles of primi
tive men and to the product that came from the looms
of the Orient, from Persia, Italy, Sicily, and Flanders
during the palmy days of weaving. We discard
modern carpets for plain floors and Oriental rugs.
We prefer an unpapered wall to the restless, natural
istic patterns of modern production. What is it, then,
that imparts so much of unrest to our papers and
textiles, so much of restful simpHcity to the older prod
uct ? Aside from the all-important question of color,
it is this : modern patterns are imposed upon a back-

PLATE 35.
Brocade. (Metropolitan jMuseu.m.)

PLATE 36.
Velvet Brocade. (Boston :\Iuseum of E^'ine Arts.)

THE IDEA AND NATURE 183
ground; the older patterns are incorporated into a
background. The modern designer works from
Nature toward technical demands ; the old worker
proceeded from a knowledge of technical demands,
backed by the traditions of generations of weavers,
toward Nature. It is difficult to find a modern figured
wall paper that will harmonize with any environment ;
the old product lends distinction to any environment
in which it may be placed. The first creates holes
through the wall ; the second remains on the wall.
The clew to the character of the designs found in the
best of the old textiles (Plates 35, 36, 37, 38) was not
discovered in plant life. The designers possessed an
intuitive feeling for beautiful space and mass relations,
for the principles governing line, form, and tone ad
justment. Nature gave to their work Its final touch
of distinction.
It is our problem, then, to define the meaning of
rhythm and balance as expressed in curved lines.
The most interesting interpretation of the principles
of rhythm and balance in line and form applied to
Nature is to be found in the flower compositions
practiced in Japan, and explained by Mr. J. Conder in
his valuable book entitled " The Flowers of Japan and
the Art of Floral Arrangement," from which Figures
100, IOI are adapted. To us a mass of flowers thrust
mto a vase, or bound together as a bouquet, is suffi-

1 84 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
cient. But to the Japanese the leaves and stems, their
arrangement and grouping, are quite as important as the
flower itself. They
endeavor to adjust a
few lines and forms
into a rhythmic and
balanced composi-
r^. . Fig. 100.
tion. 1 ney assist
Nature, so to speak, to achieve the ideal toward which
she seems ever striving. This type of composition has
become with the Japanese an art, governed by definite
^3 Cb I P^nciples. By
•el-S" <6/-& r^ careful selection of
<? \/ fp\ flowers, pruning of
^O'l'^ \'S^ leaves, subtle bend
ing of stems, they
attain the desired
'''°-'°'- effect. Mr. Conder
describes and illustrates these laws and principles with
thoroughness and completeness. Figure lOO illustrates
some of the movements to be desired in two, three, and
five-stem compositions. It will be noted that the unity
of the composition is dependent primarily upon the
reciprocal relations of the stems, then upon the group
ing of leaves and flowers. Figure loi illustrates a few
of the many things to be avoided, — formal symmetry,
— equal height, — equal stepping, — " dew spilling "

PLATE 37.
Velvet. (Boston Museum of Flne Arts.)

PLATE 38.
Scutari \'el\'et. (Bosion Museum uf 1'~ixe Ar'Is.)

THE IDEA AND NATURE 185
leaves which carry the eye out of the composition.
The ideas thus briefly noted are the same that must
guide us to the achievement of any interest or unity in
the present problem.
As a simple demonstration of these principles let us
choose an abstract form such as is shown in Figure
102. This form

®

— y^ may represent a
'^X^ solid of three di-

FlG. 102.

^—i—> menslons rather
than a half circle.
To a grouping
of three of these forms we shall first seek to impart
variety with unity. In the first case there is variety on
the horizontal lines ; in the second, variety on the verti
cal ; in the third, variety on both horizontal and vertical.
But in the association of three objects similar in shape
and measure the most obvious thing to do would be to
break them into groups of two and one, as in the final
example. Here is as much variety as is consistent with
the unity of effect. The thought brings us back to
the elementary demonstrations of proportion in the
spacing of lines. There is more interest in the sixth
than in the fifth grouping of Hnes.
In Figure 103 the first example lacks this element
of variety. In the second the grouping of forms and
stem Hnes is unquestionably more interesting. In the

i86 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
third, fourth, and fifth examples another factor count
ing for variety is introduced, — variety in the direc
tions of the movements of growth. Considering these
forms as elementary flowers a breaking of each form
into petals must be attended with the same regard for
variety ; in the sixth example each form is subdivided
Fig. 103.
into equal but related space relations. This breaking
has been done without disturbing the rhythmic move
ment of all the details. In the following example It is
apparent that the balance is lost ; also that the Hnes
which break up the big forms are not in good rhyth
mic relation to the rest of the lines. In the last case

PL.VFE 39.
Nature Svmho

THE IDEA AND NATURE 187
a few slight changes restores the balance of the whole
and the rhythmic movement of all the details.
In Plate 39 the same abstract lines and forms are
studied for the sake of repeated patterns. The leaf
form emploved is quite arbitrary, chosen because it
seems in keeping with the end sought. Compare
these simple borders with the straight-line designs that
have preceded them and it will be seen at once that
their interest is due solelv to their structural character.
Every element within the borders, space and mass
alike, has been made to contribute its share to the
effect. In Figure 104 a surface development is shown
from a clew suggested by one of the borders, and in
Plate 40 is another step in which the reciprocal rela
tion of space and mass is readily seen. The back
ground is composed of dark and light leaves working
in unity.
A study which strikes a happy middle ground be
tween Nature and the abstract in its treatment is shown
in the Japanese textile of Plate 41. Note the group
ing and breaking of the flower forms and the charming
treatment of leaves and background.
Problem. It is not proposed to develop the idea
of decorative composition from Nature along the line
indicated in Figure 95. Rather, let us seek in Nature
a stimulant for the inventive faculty in the composition
of abstract forms ; the b.est time to go to Nature is

1 88 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

Fig. 104.

PL.\TE 40.
X.A'IURI-; SVMRfil-

mm

I'L.VrE 41.
J,\t.\nfse Textile.

THE IDEA AND NATURE 189
when the imagination falters. As a preliminary study
for this problem it would be well to analyze a flower
of careful selection, — say, a rose that is set with
particular beauty upon its stem. Let us pass the rose
of symmetrical growth for one which offers a variety
in petal curvature, with a balanced disposition of lines
and forms of growth. Study it in outline and in mass,
in different positions ; note the relation of the petals
to the center and to each other. Detach a few of the
petals and draw them from different points of view.
With these forms as a keynote let us try the con
struction of similar forms suggestive though not imita
tive of flower petals. As areas their beauty will be
dependent on the relation of contour lines. It is then
the purpose to build up an abstract flower form from
the garden of the imagination. Its beauty will be a
test of the feeHng for rhythm and balance that is within
the worker. Figure 105 may serve to indicate the
start. A few tentative lines may define the general
form of the flower and the subdivision of the parts.
In shaping the petals into which this general form is
to be subdivided, it is essential to bear these points in
mind : each petal must be graceful in movement,
pleasing in shape; there should be variety with unity
in the shapes and measures of the different petals ;
they should be united in a movement toward a com
mon center ; should hang together as a whole ; and.

I90 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
last, you are compelled, under pressure of necessity,
to study the whites as well as the blacks. If you are
able to attain the desired result in a single flower, it

Fig. 105.
will not be difficult to combine lines and forms suggest
ing two flowers, or a flower and a bud, in a common
movement. The demands of balanced composition,

THE IDEA AND NATURE 191
rather than a symmetrical arrangement, will naturally
lead the designer to give dominant height to one flower.
Then see if you can strike a few well-curved lines
having a common growing-point and related by a
movement in harmony with the movement of the
blacks and whites represented by the flower heads.
In the same way see if you can develop a simple.

Fig. 106.

abstract leaf form. The leaves suggested are of the
simplest possible kind ; it should be noted that the
growing point of each leaf is different from its ending.
" Parts which differ in function should differ in appear
ance." The movement of the entire forms, stems,
leaves, flowers, should be felt out together, subject to
change, for sake of the whole, in any of its details.

192 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
F"igure io6 shows such results as might be expected
from this problem. Each example, like a good story,

Fig. 107.

has a definite starting point, a gradual unfolding of its
movement, and a conclusion with a concentration of

PLATE 42.
AllSTRACr RlIVlHMS.

THE IDEA AND NATURE 193
interest in the flower forms. For sake of continuity
of movement a tangential union of all lines is necessary ;
the movement may be sinuous and slow, or rapid,
depending upon the relations of lines (Figure 107).
The eye moves most rapidly along lines closely related
In curvature. Not only In lines and shapes, but In
measures as well, we may seek to gain command of the
rhythmic movement of these studies. In the lower
part of this figure measure rhythm has entered into the
problem. In the first an upward Increase of measures
in both blacks and whites imparts dynamic force to
the conclusion. In the second the downward increase
of measures adds strength to the beginning of the
movement. To borrow terms from music, the first is a
crescendo; the second a diminuendo. To acquire com
plete command over rhythmic forces is the end sought.
Problem. Let us continue the thought of the
last problem under different conditions, a development
of either an abstract or Nature-derived motif within an
inclosing form. A simple version of the problem will
serve to define the Intent of the treatment (Plate 42).
Within a circle of about three Inches diameter see if
you can swing a series of live curves, breaking the
circle into space divisions in which each line is rhyth
mically related to the circumference of the circle. If
you will follow with a pencil the lines in any of the
figures of this plate, you will have the essential point

194 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
of the problem. There is a natural and easy flow of
lines from the circumference of the circle back to the
circumference. As these Hnes are made it will be found
that areas are formed. Each area must be interesting
in its contour and related in measure to the other areas.
It wiU be found, almost invariably, that one area per
sists in remaining as a mere accidental hole in the result,
refusing to come into the same plane with the others.
To subdue this obstinate area and keep all of the spots
in a single flat plane demands more skill than a mere
statement of the difficulty may imply.
Now let us develop a motif within a circle. Plates
43, 44 serve to illustrate the intent of the problem
and an application of the idea in the work of designers
who were masters of their materials. Note in both
the way in which variety with unity has been achieved.
Of special interest is the grouping of the kernels of

Fig. io8.

PLATE 43.
Japanese Sword Guards. flinsTuN Museu.m of E'ine Arts.)

PL.VfE 44.
CiiiNTsF Tfxiii.f. (Bosion Mi--,eum of Fine ,\i:rs.)

THE IDEA AND NATURE 195
grain in the first plate. Here alone there is evidence
of a master's touch,
of a refined feeling
that does not stop
short of the last
minute detail in the
finished product. In
Plate 44 the dragon,
a creature of the im
agination, has been
chosen as a basis for
the arbitrary break
ing of a circle into fig. 109.
space and mass rela
tions of dark and
light. Figure 108 repre
sents the simplest
version of the prob
lem we are now to
solve. Here the
lines and forms of
natural growth have
been fitted to the de
ne, no. mands of a rhythmic
composition within a circle. Figures 109, no indicate
good feeling for related movements of line and group-

196 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
ings of forms. The problem will be found sufficiently
difficult if we eHminate details and treat the growth in
one simple flat
plane. In Fig
ure III, from
the yellow ad
der's tongue, is
a more difficult
expression of the
idea. In the op
position of two
specimens there
is always serious
trouble involved
at the growing
^'°-"'- points. The
trouble was averted by approaching the problem from
the point of view of a black-and-white composition,
subordinating Nature to the principles governing such
a composition of lines and forms. In Plate 45 another
difficulty is added to the problem by attempting to
secure a balance of three values in the result. In this
acceptance of another element the importance of the
effort increases. In Figure 112 the orange has been
adapted to the form of a triangle. The idea involved
in the problem remains unchanged. If you will refer
to Figure 84, you will find the same problem expressed

PLATE 45.
NaIIRE SVMBOL. — RlIVTlLM AND BALANCE.

THE IDEA AND NATURE

197

in simpler terms. If the simple, geometric statement
of the idea was understood, it will be seen that the pres
ent problem merely multiplies the difficulties by re-

FlG, 112.
moving the props furnished by the squared paper and
a Hmitation to straight lines. The design must proceed
from the whole to the parts, from a tentative blocking
out of the lines and forms to the final touches of re
finement of execution. It is unnecessary to enslave
one's self to a "leading line." There may be many shifts
and changes of the first tentative lines as a solution de
velops ; but not for a moment must one lose sight of
the necessity for relating all of the lines and forms in a
common purpose. In Plate 46 are two renderings of
the result. In one is a balance of three values; in the
other a dominant contrast has been given to the leaf
forms. Incidentally it may be asked: Why should one

198 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
commend the treatment accorded Nature in Plates 43,
44 and condemn the naturalistic character of the iron
work shown in Figure 57? Here in one of these
plates the scales of a fish and the leaves of the bamboo
are detailed with painstaking exactness. But if we give
more careful thought to a consideration of the motives
underlying the work of the Japanese artisan and the
rococo blacksmith, we shall find a fundamental differ
ence in the aims and results. To suspend a natural
istic iron festoon of beribboned flowers from a bracket
is quite feasible if the worker has sufficient technical
skill to imitate with more or less exactness or through
technical mannerism a carefully arranged model placed
before him. There is no great amount of mental ex
ertion evident in such a piece of work. The French
potter, Bernard Palissy, in his fervent plea that the
beauty of Nature alone was sufficient excuse for its un
restrained application to design, went so far as to make
casts from frogs, shells, and fishes for use in his work,
giving to these casts all the realistic character that his
glazes permitted. And the closer he came to Nature
the less interesting his product became. He expected
Nature to do his designing for him. In his work, be
yond the admirable technique involved in the execution,
there was no evidence of system or orderly thought ;
the idea was wrong. While a motif from Nature may
be beautiful on its own account, any effort to beat that

THE IDEA AND NATURE 199
beauty into iron, weave it Into cloth, chisel it in marble,
or model it in clay can end in nothing short of disaster.
In the work of the Japanese artisans each detail is made
to conform to the idea that the worker had in mind to
express. Not in the demands of utility alone, nor in
tools or materials, much less in Nature, can be found
the key to a beautiful and distinctive product. A de
signer's work will Inevitably form an index to the
soundness of his judgment, the strength of his imagina
tion, the depth of his feeling. From within him must
proceed the Idea that stamps his work as beautiful or
ugly, distinctive or commonplace, worthy or unworthy.
Nature stubbornly refuses to do his thinking for him.

CHAPTER X
From the Parts to the Whole
" Criticism is easy. But Art is difficult. "
— Inscription, Beaux Arts, Paris.
LET us build up a surface repeat, assuming as a
motif the three berries and two leaves with
which acquaintance was made under the Hmi
tations of straight-line work. As in the former case,
we are not bound to any particular specimen from
Nature, though here, as at all times, it is assumed that
a study of Nature has stored the mind with numerous
available forms. In the demonstrations that follow
purely abstract forms are employed.
Let us begin with the first detail. Figure 113, A.
The grouping of the three berries first claims atten
tion. The bottom group, considering these three
groups without the addition of other details, seems to
possess greater variety in the relative positions of the
berries than the top one, and suggests a more consist
ent growth than the middle one. Any of these
groups might be justified, however, in the arrangement
of other details of the unit. Let us choose the bottom
group. With this simple suggestion as a start it is

FROM THE PARTS TO THE WHOLE 201

now desirable to bring the two leaves of the motif into
some rhythmic relation to the berries.
A few tentative lines might result in some such
movement as is shown in B. There is now a reciprocal
relation of these minor details. In completing the

o

0

Fig, 113,
symmetrical adjustment of these elements, as in C, it
must, of course, be decided whether the widest part of
the unit shall be at the top or at the bottom ; for the
sake of variety it seems better that it should be at
one or the other rather than at the center. It must
also be kept in mind that the symmetry of white within
the unit is just as important as the symmetry of black
formed by the leaves. In the present case it is perhaps

202 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

the more interesting of the two. So much for the
unit ; its lines and forms have been determined.
It is now necessary to gain a reciprocal relation
from unit to unit with a space and mass composition
that will bind the repeated pattern together into a
unity of effect. Experience enables the designer to
foresee, in the shaping of the unit, the possibiHties
that it may possess for a repeated pattern. He shapes
the details with the whole in mind. But the present
aim is experimental in character. As a next step,
draw the center line of the unit as indicated. Then
on a full sheet of the transparent paper draw another
center line. Place the unit in the center of the paper,
underneath, with the two lines coinciding ; trace the
result. We now have the first element of the pattern.
How can the unit be repeated at regular intervals to

-1— J--3-
7V

-\-

S

1\

V<

11 rj/u j^^^ ,xmii
-\~r\ t/mm^ 4»

'K

Fig. 114,
furnish the most satisfactory result ? In the various
diagrams shown in Figure 114 it may be assumed that
the first unit Is represented in each diagram by the
figure I. It becomes necessary to decide upon the

FROM THE PARTS TO THE WHOLE

203

position of the second unit of the repeat. By moving
the original unit about under the transparent paper
the relation of the two units as well as a forecast of the
final effect may be obtained. For sake of illustra
tion it may be assumed that a decision is made as in the
diagram A. A second center line should be drawn on
the paper and the second tracing made. A symmet
rical unit almost invariably demands a symmetrical

Fig. 115.
repeat ; hence an indefinite number of center lines
may next be drawn on the paper with the distance
between these two as a key. Now when the units
numbered 3—4 have been given position, the solution
of the problem as a design has only begun. The two
questions of most importance are to be solved now.
The units must be bound together into a compact

204 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
whole, with some rhythmic interrelation of all elements ;
the space, indictated in each diagram by the figure 5,
must be accepted as another element in the pattern, —
its shape and measure must be developed as an integral
part of the design. Figure 115 represents the steps
up to this point. It is readily seen that in the first
section of this design the space 5 is too large and empty ;
the units are not well related. In the second section
a simple line serves to break in upon the large area
of white, and produces a better balance of space and
mass ; it also binds the units together into a common
movement, relates the blacks and whites, and produces
a third subordinate tone.
That is designing with an eye to the principles
that these problems have been defining. The method
of repetition may vary ; but the idea is exactly the
same. In Figure 116, for example, another develop
ment of this same unit is shown based upon the con
struction indicated in the diagram B of Figure 114.
It may appear that the unit is better adapted to this
repeat than to the other ; in which case the experiment
has made it possible to look ahead, in planning an
other unit, to the completed result. It is thus that
we learn, — by doing, by experiment, comparison, and
selection. It will be interesting to carry this unit through one
or two more experiments, into results more complex,

FROM THE PARTS TO THE WHOLE 205
more important. The original unit may always be
altered at will to suit the exigencies of repetition, as in
Figure 117, for example. Here a slight additional en
richment given to the original unit, as indicated by the
dark Hne in D of Figure 113, furnished a new unit
which was repeated on the structural plan shown in
m m m k
mmmm

Fig. 116,

Figure 114, B. The development was quite the
same as before, — namely, an interrelation of the units
and a breaking up of the background spaces in order
to bring them into the best possible adjustment with
the units. To this end slight additions were made to
the unit, as shown by the lighter Hnes in Figure 113,
D. In the final result each shape and measure of

2o6 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
black and white is made to contribute some element of
interest to the design. It is not a black design on a

Fig, 117,

white ground ; nor is it a white design on a black
ground. It is a cooperation of black and white ele
ments, of space and mass, of line and form, to a com-

PLATE 47.
N.VTURE Sv.MBOLS

FROM THE PARTS TO THE WHOLE 207
mon purpose ; all of which is a return to the original
propositions with which these Problems were started.
In Plate 47 is a still more important effort devel
oped from the same starting point. Here it has be
come necessary to discipline three tones, black, white,
and gray, into a unity of effect, to which each must
contribute its share. If you will keep in mind the
demonstration to this point, the complexities of this
pattern will be found to be more apparent than real.
The first step Is shown in Figure 113, E, F. It
will be seen that the original unit with which the start
was made has now become a mere incident in the
breaking up of the space and mass areas of a more
complex unit. Other experiments might, of course,
produce units quite different in character from this one.
The unit was repeated on the same structural lines as
in the preceding plate, though the increased size of
the unit naturally demanded a spacing at wider inter
vals. If a comparison is made between the unit as
shown in Figure 113 and the completed pattern, several
additions or sHght alterations may be noted. If the
demonstrations have been clear the reasons that prompted
each change in the unit will be clear. The mere
repetition of the unit is a minor question ; the means
adopted to bring unity to the result Is the important
question. And if the principles of composition are
understood, the most prosaic and unpromising material

2o8 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
may be developed into a pattern of interest and beauty.
And, per contra, if these principles are not understood,
material of rare beauty may be developed into a pat
tern devoid of any interest or distinction. Though
the unit itself is comparatively unimportant, the use
that is made of the unit being the important thing,
the best design will always be one that shows a logical
and distinctive construction down to the last minute
detail, an interrelation to a definite end of every line
and form employed.
Now, to return to the first statement of the motif,
three berries and two leaves. Figure ii8 represents
other units equally dependent for interest upon the re
lation of black
and white ele
ments. They
are merely
masses of black

'Jl'
lfi

^^^^

/Jl lkS~-^l/ib-^^ fclC-.^^! broken by
spaces of white,
ftg. ii8. the spaces of
white being subdivided in turn by lines of black,
all bound together into a compact and related whole.
In one of these the squared paper of times past again
appears. In Figures 119, 120 two of these units are
repeated, with such additions in each case as wUl best
serve to bring to the result the character that is sought.

FROM THE PARTS TO THE WHOLE

209

This character forms, here as in the past, the basis of
our experiments. Fortunately there are no rules or
receipts in design, no method that will enable a lazy
individual to achieve distinction, no process that will
supplant orderly thought,
hard work, and common
sense. Such compara
tively simple designs as
those shown in Figures
119, 120 demand orderly
and concentrated thought.
The finished product
may, and should, have
an appearance of sponta
neity ; the drudgery that
its completion may have
entaHed should be elimi
nated. None but those
who have learned the
true significance of the fi°- "9-
htde word study will discern beneath the surface the
many experiments, comparisons, and final selection.
To follow the path backward, then, through the
analysis of a distinctive surface pattern we would ask :
first, that its spotting of space and mass shall be inter
esting when viewed as a whole ; that its structure shall
be apparent to the eye ; that each tone, measure, and

y

illJUi

210 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
shape shall contribute something to the unity ; that all
of the lines and forms employed shall be intimately
and organically related, even to the last detail.
Thus it is seen that the same constructive principles
are involved in the planning of an abstract pattern as

Fig, I20,
in the designing, for example, of an architectural com
position. The beauty of either is dependent upon the
refinement and enrichment of a logical construction.
If the structural lines are weak or are ignored, are
buried from sight under a mass of superficial details,
then no amount of enrichment, whether it be " Greek

PL.VFE 48.
Persian Velvet. (Boston Museum of Fine Arts.)

FROM THE PARTS TO THE WHOLE 211
style" or "Gothic style," or whatever the skill that
may enter into its execution, will produce a result of
character and distinction.
These experiments with surface patterns would
naturally be carried on simultaneously with a study of
textiles, wall papers, etc. In the development of tex
tiles from the mediaeval period on through following
centuries is a profitable source of comparative study.
It shows a progress from severe structural simplicity
to a hopeless potpourri of lovelorn swains, cupids, rib
bons, and flying garlands of flowers. One may note
the gradual separation of the designer from the tech
nical demands of the process ; in later years we find
the workmen vainly essaying the production of designs
furnished them by painters who never saw a loom and
knew little of its possibilities or limitations. Raphael
himself had much better kept to his painting than
designing cartoons for the weavers of tapestries. In
the repetition of such a simple unit as that shown in
Plate 48 there is bound to be a refreshing simplicity.
It is a symphony in lines, forms, and tones. It has no
pictorial interest, and needs none. There is a feeling
of reserve strength throughout, however. The de
signer might have told more if he had chosen ; but he
preferred a simple structural treatment, in a broad, flat
plane of light and dark. He broke his darks with
areas of light, and broke his lights with areas of dark.

212 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
each contributing to a unity. Of quite a different
treatment, though of similar character, is the Japanese
textile shown in Plate 49. Those who express a Hk-
ing for Japanese work because it is " so informal " fail
to understand the character of true Japanese art. All
that was said of the preceding plate^may be said of this
wonderful textile. It is a simple, flat spotting of lights
and darks, each contributing to the effect of the whole.
Note how the legs break in upon the measures of dark,
— the rhythmic movement of the bodies and necks.
The measures of Hght are broken by the bills and
wings. As in the other textile there is evidence of a
definite idea, of orderly thought, and a treatment that
is consistent throughout. It is the repetition of a unit
on the structural lines of Figure 114, A, the units in
the vertical repeat being turned alternately to the right
and left.
If the unit is unsymmetrical one may be justified
in giving it an unsymmetrical repetition, as in Plate
50. The structural basis of tfie repeat is always de
termined, in experiments of this kind, by the shape
and measure of the unit. In other words the struc
ture of the design is determined by the idea which
it is desired to express in the repetition of the motif
In experimenting with this unit to the end that has
been explained, it was found that the most interesting
relations could be established by repeating it on lines

r '^-*^

PL.VTE 49.
Japanese Textile.

PLAFE 50.
Unsvmmfiric.al Surface Repeat.

FROM THE PARTS TO THE WHOLE 213
indicated in Figure 114, D. Incidentally the motif
chosen here was quite as simple as the other ; it might
be stated in these words, — flower, bud, leaf. Different
individuals might render the motif in as many different
ways as in the preceding demonstrations ; and here, as
before, one might seek assistance from Nature or de
velop a motif from imagination. It is a matter of
choice and does not affect, for good or bad, the funda
mental character of the result.
Problem. This is another problem of the same
character as many that have preceded it. Its purpose
is the same, — namely, an adjustment of elementary
forms into which Nature enters to impart additional
animation and interest to a definition of simple prin
ciples. By the use of symbols such as are here indi
cated, one should in time acquire the ability to think
in terms of design whether or not Nature enters into
the question. The motif of this problem may be
stated in two words — fish, water. The aim of the
problem — to arrange these symbols within an inclos
ing form in such way that the various attractive
forces will be rhythmically related in positions of
balance. Before attempting a solution of the problem
it would be well to refresh the memory by a reference
to the abstract demonstrations that defined the ideas
of rhythm and balance in a previous chapter. And a
statement there made will also bear repetition, — the

214 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

artistic interest in the result depends largely upon an
appreciative application of the principles rather than
upon a mere understanding of the formulas through
which they were described. We started to play our
tunes, in the first problem of this series, on a primitive
reed flute of a few simple notes. The range of possi
bilities of this instrument is now increased to the point
where the personal equation becomes the important
factor in the result. Imagination, and the ability to
play under the restraint of orderly thought, will deter
mine whether these little compositions shall be inter
esting and artistic or deadly formal and prosaic.
The character of the symbols for the problem are
indicated in Figure 121. They are fishes reduced to
the fewest possible lines. To these may be added
others based on
an Intimate
study of fish
ife, or made
from the imagi
nation on a basis
Fig. 121. of general know
ledge of such forms. It is desirable that there should
be variety in the shapes and measures of the sym
bols. As a start toward the solution of the prob
lem, the size and shape of the inclosing form should
be estabhshed, although this form may be changed as

PLATE 51.
Composition of Tones, Measures, and Shapes.

FROM THE PARTS TO THE WHOLE 215

the design develops. Then within this form it is our
purpose to so arrange the terms of the motif that
there shall be a rhythmic interrelation between the
fishes and the Hnes indicating the water, and a balance
of all the attractive forces involved in the problem.
It is needless to say that this balance must result from
sensitive feeling and good judgment, not from mathe
matical calculations. It would be well to make a first
attempt through
the limitations
of a black and
white composi
tion, as in Fig
ure 122. The
water is repre
sented by lines
that may be used
to strengthen or check the general movement of the
design. The eye moves most rapidly along parallel
Hnes, or slightly diverging lines that tend to meet at
a common point.
With the addition of two or more values, the
possibiHties of the problem, and, by the same token,
its difficulties, increase. A greater number and variety
of attractive forces call for attention. The different
tone contrasts that arise must be dealt with ; lights are
to be broken with darks, darks with Hghts. Until one

Fig. '122.

2x6 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
has given thoughtful attention to the solution of a
problem of this kind, it is hard to realize the varia
tions that may be given a composition of two or
three flat tones. Let us attempt nothing of a pictorial
nature. These are designs, not pictures.
As self-criticism is one of the chief aims in the
study of a design, it would be well to enter into a
more detailed account of the solutions of the problem
shown in Plates 51, 52, 53, 54. Unity was the first
consideration, a consistent relation of all the forces, a
reason for each. Variety was sought in the shapes,
measures, tones, and positions of the different elements.
Note the grouping of fishes in each example, and the
contrasts in each of shape, measure, and tone. Forces
are related in movement though not pointed in the
same direction. In Plate 51 the movement of the water
adds a touch of variety to a result in which the fishes
follow parallel lines. In this example, though, there
is more variety in the measures and shapes than
in the others. The measure of the large fish was
neutralized by giving a greater tone contrast to the
smaller ones. These three little fishes probably exert
as strong an attractive force in the design as the two
large fishes. These are all points that arise in a so
lution of the problem demanding an appHcation of
sensitive feeling and good judgment.
In rendering, the tones should be flat and clear in

PLATE 55,
Japanese Fish Pri-jt.

FROM THE PARTS TO THE WHOLE 217
statement. Lay a wash of the lightest value first over
the entire figure. Then, keeping in mind the parts
that are to remain in this value, lay the next wash
over everything else.
If we seek examples of such work as this, decorative
rather than pictorial, for purpose of study. It would be
weH to turn again to the Japanese workers (Plate
55). It is impossible for a man to understand all
that such a piece of work has to say until he has tried
to speak for himself in similar terms.

CHAPTER XI
From the Whole to the Parts
" Conventionality in ornament is the natural consequence
of reticence or self-restraint, of doing, not all that the artist
could have done, but just what is called for by the occasion."
— Lewis Day.
IN the last chapter it was said that there were two
methods of developing a surface pattern : one by
starting with the details and working toward the
whole through the building up of related lines and
forms in space and mass ; the other by striking at
once for the big things and gradually breaking the
measures of space and mass to the last details. But,
though the methods differ, the aims are the same, —
a unity of all the elements involved. The first method
is valuable for experimental purposes and should pre
cede the second in the study of design, as it is a logical
development from simple to more complex questions.
But it should lead to an ablHty to design by the other
method. It is always desirable to work from the
whole to the parts, to plan the big relations and forms
first, and then, to the idea thus expressed, relate the
minor detaHs.
It is now proposed to discuss the development of
2X8

FROM THE WHOLE TO THE PARTS 219
a pattern by the second method (Figure 123). A
greater degree of skill and judgment is demanded than
before. This is a rhythmic design of black and white
elements, in which the white is of dominant interest,
but in which the distribution, the shapes, and measures
of black have demanded an equal amount of care. A
description of this method of working with Illustrations
showing the evolution of the design from its first idea
may be interesting and profitable. It may well be
assumed that the method is in accord, aside from
questions involved in the technique of weaving, with
that pursued by the designers of the old textiles. We
may be sure that they worked from the whole to the
parts, from big, general forms to specific details.
They had learned to think in terms of design, and
Nature stood always at hand to strengthen their imagi
nations and suggest details that would add the final
touch of Hfe and interest to the work of their hands.
We do not care to ask whether their designs are " based
on the rose," or on any other particular specimen of
natural growth. They are beautiful in all that counts
for unity in design. They are based on a sympathetic
observation of Nature and not on a painstaking ana
lytical study of natural forms, as in so many of the
conventionalizations of the modern worker.
The present design represents a problem of an
abstract character into which Nature enters as fiction

2 20 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

Fig. 123.

FROM THE WHOLE TO THE PARTS 221

rather than as fact. If it has any style, it is the result
of a thoughtful adjustment of tones, measures, and
shapes, in accordance with the few simple principles
that have been de
fined. It started
with this motif, — -
two birds and a nest.
There was no re
straint imposed by
an adherence to the
specific character of
any bird or nest.
It seemed better to
allow the forms of
the motif to de
velop as the de
mands of sound
construction might
suggest, leaving
something for the
imagination. With
this thought in ^"'- '"*¦
mind, the main construction lines were established first
of all (Figure 124). To insure a regular repetition of
a motif a geometric constructive basis must be accepted
as the first element in the problem. Two geometric
bases of a repeating character are shown in Figure 125.

222 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

In the completed design this geometric basis may or may
not appear to the casual observer. During the de
velopment of a pattern other interrelations of line and
form, constructive in
character, may be em
phasized and the origi
nal basis subordinated
Fic;- 125. or even lost entirely from
sight. In this example, though, the original basis re
mains as a distinc
tive feature in the
result. The next
step was to seek a
(ew tentative lines
to define the forms
and positions of the
birds, their relation
to the big move
ment and to each
other. The tails
were planned to
cross the Hne ofthis
movement in order
to break its monot
onous length.
The succeeding
steps are shown in yio. 126,

FROM THE WHOLE TO THE PARTS 223
Figure 126. The birds were given a more distinctive
character; a forecast of the tone distribution was made ;
each additional line was related to the other lines. The
size and form of the mass represented by the three eggs
were assumed, and the space of black below this mass
was broken by the two simple leaf forms. Several ex
periments were tried with the nest ; but the most con
sistent treatment of this element led to the adoption
of an abstract symbol. It was a question to be solved
on a design basis, not through a study of birds' nests.
Then came the breaking of the large measures of white
into related details, and a binding together of the lines
of the movement by the twisted leaf stems. In the
final breaking up of the forms, such things as are
shown in Figures 127, 128 from Flemish, ItaHan, and
Japanese textiles, and In Figure 129 some bits of Japa
nese metal work, may be studied with profit. In these
it is less a problem of wings and feathers than of space
and mass ; not so much a question of Nature as of
tools and materials.
Thus we have a result that may serve to again illus
trate the difference between thinking in terms of design
and in terms of Nature. It is this form or method of
thinking that one should aim to acquire. A painstak
ing study of Nature, an accumulation of facts, will
not necessarily lead to orderly thought in design or to
constructive beauty with tools and materials. It may

224 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

Fig. 127.

Fig. 128,

FROM THE WHOLE TO THE PARTS 225
even be said that observation is often strengthened at
the expense of imagination and invention. The char
acter of the design is within us. There is no reason
why one should not make a record of facts of natural
growths and forms in pencil, pen and ink, and color.
But without proper digestive assimilation, those facts,

Fig. 129,
however interesting they may be on their own account,
are of little use. The designer must be a keen ob
server of Nature, — but a sympathetic observer withal.
We too frequently approach Nature with a scalpel
and a microscope, thinking that we may find weird and
unique forms that no one else has ever used in design,
thus stamping our work with pecuHar distinction. We
analyze the wing of a fly, hoping to find there material
of some sort that is ready-made for purposes of design
without the interplay of imagination and invention.
To illustrate this point let us compare the work of
Q

226 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
two carvers who were probably about contemporaneous
in point of time but widely separated in aims and
methods (Plates ^6 and 57). The first is the work of
a Renaissance carver, the second of a Japanese carver.
Each is fairly representative of the ideals toward which
the craftsmen worked. If there is any distinction in
words, the first might be called elegant, the second
beautiful. Each is a piece of consummate craftsman
ship, perfect in execution and finish.
The first is a bit of descriptive carving, an accumu
lation of facts of observation expressed in wood with
remarkable skill. The foot with its hair and claws is
wonderfully carved, leaves are exquisitely turned, feath
ers deHcately executed. But the carver's imagination
did not rise very far above the facts of form and tex
ture. His hand was sure in the execution of such
things. But he had very little to say beyond that.
Lacking a sympathetic imagination, he sought to give
distinction to his work by elegance of lines and an in
congruous association of forms. In the history of de
sign, the surest evidence of a declining imaginative
power is to be found in this hashing together of un
related facts and forms. This style of work, of which
the carving here shown is a comparatively sane ex
ample, went, in times of later decadence, to absurd
extremes. In the second example, though, there is evidence

PLATE 56.
Renaissance Carving, Florence,

PLATE 57.
J,\panese Wood Carving. (Boston Museum of Fine Arts.)

PLATE 58.
Sixteenth-Century Japanese Carving,

FROM THE WHOLE TO THE PARTS 227
of feeHng, emotion, imagination of the highest order.
We may admire the technical excellence of the first ;
but in the second our interest is in the idea which the
carver has sought to express. He, too, must have
known all the facts of his motif; he was a keen ob
server ; but he did not choose to tell all that he knew.
It was the spirit, the poetry of Nature that appealed
to him, the charm of the Mother Carey's Chickens
flitting back and forth through the wave crests. To
him the birds and the water became symbols, a mere
means to an end, for the expression of rhythmic move
ment. He sought an arrangement of lines and forms
that would give true character and style to his idea.
Note the beautiful line relations throughout, between
the birds and the water, the consistent simplicity of all
the details. " Not as I am," Nature might say, " but
as I should Hke to be."
Similar in character and purpose are the Japanese
carvings in Plates 58, 59. These things have real
"soul stuff" in them of a sort that comes from a sym
pathetic understanding of Nature. The strong per
sonality of an artist is carved into every line and form.
It may be said that Plate 59 is too plastic in treatment
for a wood carving. One must see the original (Bos
ton Museum of Fine Arts) to fully appreciate the
technical qualities of the work. Every line and plane
IS turned to make the most of the grain and texture of

228 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
the wood. Moreover, as this carving was to be ex
posed to the weather, the craftsman foresaw the part
that Father Time would play in his work and so ad
justed his planes that storm and sunshine should en
hance its beauty.

Fig, 130.
Problem. In the presentation of problems Hke this
one much is left to the imagination and invention of
the worker. It is sufficient to suggest as a motif a
simple statement such as boat, sail, wave. If the aim of
the problem is understood, — namely, a constructive ar
rangement of lines and forms, spaces and masses bound

FROM THE WHOLE TO THE PARTS 229
together through the reciprocal relation of the various
elements into unity, — considerable opportunity occurs
for individual application of the idea. Definiteness is
the first thought, not a pictorial row of boats in a
sketchy semblance to water. Each line and form has
to be studied carefully, and the part it contributes to
the oneness of the design becomes important. Lack-

irTjL'i''r

Fig. 131.
ing a thorough organization of all the elements in
volved, the result will be little more than a row of sail
boats. In the examples shown (Figures 130, 131) one
may note clearly the means employed to achieve unity.
The boat itself may retain features peculiar to a par
ticular type of boat, or it may become very abstract in
its final rendering. This depends upon the individual
and the clearness of his understanding of elementary

230 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
principles. This motif, in its presentation, is typical
of many others that may suggest possibilities of indi
vidual interpretation. Such motifs as two birds in a
cherry tree, or hen in the grass with corn are sufficient
to arouse latent ideas and give the imagination exer
cise.

CHAPTER XII
Lines of Study
"The spontaneity of undeveloped faculty does not count
for much. It carries us only a little way. Let no one be
lieve that without study and pracdce in design he can recog
nize and appreciate what is best in design." — Denman Ross.
THE Student will find it profitable to pursue
his study at all times along four closely re
lated Hnes. These lines of study have been
indicated in the development of text and problems to
the present point ; it now remains to summarize them
briefly : —
(i) A study of line, form, and tone composition for
the definition of aesthetic principles.
(2) A study, through actual practice and constant
observation, of the practical principles involved in con
structive work. In the union of the aesthetic and the
practical is the end sought.
(3) A study of the work of the past, not from a
superficial historic ornament point of view, — rather to
learn something of the principles involved in the pro
duction of work in the past, what design meant to the
231

232 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
people, what sort of life and thought it expresses, the
conditions from which the work was an organic
growth, in fact all the influences that contributed to
give unique distinction to that work. More impor
tant than the outward forms of ornament are the ques
tions of how, when, and why ornament was employed.
To this study one would naturally apply the aesthetic
and practical principles acquired through practice ; an
appreciation of the work of the past broadens with
one's own experience.
The study along this line should be deep and con
tinuous, — from the point of view of history, geog
raphy, archaeology, ethnology. Many influences were
combined in the development of what we term a style
or period.
The needs of primitive people are very much the
same, — food, clothing, shelter. These are obtained
from materials immediately available with tools and
processes of a simple nature. The resultant forms
are much the same under similar climatic conditions
and environments. The stone age, the iron age, —
these terms have no special place in point of time ;
each has been repeated in widely separated places
through the centuries from preglacial times to the
present. As needs become peculiar, so the forms of
primitive art become distinctive, — here a hunting
people of the plains, there a fishing people ; again a

LINES OF STUDY 233
nomadic people of the desert with their flocks. There
were those who dwelt on the mountains, on the lakes,
in the cold of northern climes ; each followed the line
of least resistance in the development of art forms,
each form the logical outcome of the environment in
which the primitive man found himself.
Gradually at different epochs in history one people
after another has settled into conditions insuring per
manence in the practice of the arts. Shelter becomes
building, and building in turn becomes architecture.
Rude implements give way to better made tools ;
new materials are discovered, new processes invented ;
permanent institutions arise, the outlook upon the
world broadens, ideas become crystallized, a language
of signs and symbols appears. Those races which
become most virile express their decided convictions
in their art.
There comes expansion through conquest and com
merce, each leaving its trace in the arts of different
peoples. A powerful nation impresses its ideas upon
conquered nations, or acquires, through conquest or
peaceful channels, ideas and forms that are assimilated
by its own workers. A raid upon an unprotected
corner of the Roman Empire gives spoils to some bar
baric tribe in Scandinavia, — and with the spoils comes
a new influence that appears as a modification of forms
which those people have developed. From Persia

234 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
and India caravans brought wares which inevitably in
fluenced in design and technique the work of the
western world. The pomegranate, the peacock, the
palm, the many symbols of Persian art appearing in
the product of the Flemish weaver, may indicate an in
fluence from afar. On the other hand, when the cara
vans wended their way home across the desert they in
turn took products that leave an influence sifting
through India even to Korea and Japan. But these
influences were assimilated with ideas already well
established, — and by practical workers who welcomed
a fresh incentive. It was generally an indirect in
fluence, or the new forms were soon interwoven with
and lost in the creative work of those who borrowed
them. It was a different sort of thing from the effort
of the modern worker to achieve through scholarly re
search a direct imitation or adaptation of forms and
symbols which have long since ceased to be vital.
At all times in the course of that which we call a
style was a real need, a vital thought. The rugs of
Persia were attributable to the conditions of that
country, — with the hair of the goat and the camel,
with a nomadic tent life, the weaving of rugs followed
as a natural sequence, — and with these conditions
prevailing for centuries the consummate skill and feeling
came about naturally. Each individual had back of
him the traditions of many generations ; into these

LINES OF STUDY 235
traditions of a technical and artistic nature he implanted
some Httle of his own personality. Changes of line,
form, pattern were not radical ; they were gradual, —
slight changes sometimes covering many generations
of workers. Things were not ordered on Monday to
be done at 10 a.m. on Wednesday, whether or no.
Again, the wonderful creative work of the middle
ages was fostered in the quiet of the monasteries.
Each monastery was sufficient for Its own needs ; the
inmates tilled the soil, practiced the building arts, and
in their shops continued the practice of many crafts.
As the conditions of life became more settled and pros
perity came again to the land the operations of the
monasteries broadened. But for many years in the
cathedral building the individual was subordinate to
the whole. Each individual tried hard to express the
dominant idea about him, subject to the ensemble.
In Japan there came again a peculiar combination
of circumstances which brought another creative period
or style into being, as distinctive in thought and
expression as was the mediaeval from the primitive. But
the lesson is ever the same, — a vital art has ever been
the direct expression of the thought, feeling, en
vironment in which it was created. Other things have
merely influenced it.
Conditions have indeed materially changed. The
term local has a broader significance. Cities that were

236 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
once nations in themselves have long since been
absorbed in wider boundaries. Transportation facili
ties, invention, mechanical processes, have contributed
to spread the world's art on our library tables. The
very surfeit of examples makes it more difficult than
ever to build upon real needs. We follow the line of
least resistance by appropriating whatever we find that
seems adapted to our purposes.
The past should influence us strongly and deeply.
But it should be known that the past has no patent on
beauty. Many unworthy, positively ugly things are
preserved for our inspection. It may be taken for
granted that the work of the past as a whole is more
beautiful than the work of the present. There were
fewer inutilities ; things were made because they filled
a real need. The steps from producer to consumer
were simpler; the bonds uniting them were more inti
mate, and the men who used tools had greater oppor
tunity and incentive to exercise a creative faculty.
Nevertheless there is decadence as well as true growth.
It is for us to sift the good things from the bad, seek
the principles involved in their construction, refinement,
and enrichment. But let us not sneak in at the back
door with a scrap of tracing paper and appropriate for
our own use those things we find.
Can we not do as well as those old craftsmen ?
Probably not; but we can at least try hard to clothe

LINES OF STUDY 237
such ideas as we have in a simple and consistent garb.
The world's art that is loved best, — that which appeals
to the heart with a human interest, — was done by
craftsmen who were trying to give adequate and beau
tiful expression to their ideas. They lived their simple
lives, met their daily problems, and passed away ; now
we treasure the things they did and call it art.
(4) A close, sympathetic study of Nature. Noth
ing is too small or trivial in Nature to pass unnoted.
The hand of a Master designer is everywhere appar
ent, — nothing is left to chance. The art of the
designer involves both selection and invention. He
may select materials appropriate to the problem which
he has in hand ; but he must bring to bear upon them
an artistic Invention which comes from his own thought
and feeling. He may select from Nature forms which
seem suitable for his purpose in design, either through
an almost literal interpretation or through complete
conventionalization ; or he may draw upon his own
imagination for forms, which come perhaps indirectly
from Nature. In either case the measure of his inven
tion is what gives character to the result.
One may study Nature from an analytical point of
view, — a seeking for pattern, for unique forms, for
color principles. But the student should not always
approach Nature with the question, " Can I use this
in design ? " He should not be possessed with the

238 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
idea that Nature is something to be conventionalized.
Many of the results of his study may never be directly
used. It is enough that he has been in close touch
with the spirit of Nature, the grace and beauty of the
life about him. If he has caught the fleeting beauty
of leaf and flower, he has added to his equipment some
thing that will inevitably appear in his work ; his mind
has been refreshed, his imagination awakened. An
effort to paint the flying cloud shadows on a pasture
hillside may appear in a designer's work to quite as
much purpose as a microscopic examination of a bee's
wing in search of a pattern for immediate use. He
will find his mind alert for suggestions, himself in inti
mate companionship with Nature, — and if his study has
been of the right sort, his work will respond with fresh
interest and vigor whether he " conventionalizes "
Nature or seeks within his own mind for the desired
forms. Problem. In studying the work of the past the
student should keep in touch with those things most
in accord with his own experience. Up to the problems
of Chapter VIII primitive work offers the most helpful
material. With the problem of Chapter IX a new
thought in the use of lines and forms opens, and the
student may profitably turn to mediaeval work, to the
products of the Renaissance, and to Oriental work.
A study of mediaeval and Oriental textiles opens one's

PLATE 60.
Ilalian Textile — Eourpeenth Century. (South Kensington
Museum.)

LINES OF STUDY 239
eyes to the fact that invention plays a greater part in
design than mere selection. By study is meant, in
this case, many careful sketches in pencil, ink, and
color of motifs and completed designs in various ma
terials. The purpose of such work is, obviously, to get
into close sympathy with the products, study the motifs
and the sources from which the ideas were derived, —
to put one's self, in a certain measure. Into the position
of the old designer. Such a masterpiece of weaving as
the Brocade in Plate 60 offers food for thought to the

Fig. 132.

Student who goes to Nature, expecting to find designs
ready-made. The assistance furnished here by Na
ture is of an indirect kind ; mere facts of observation
have counted for Httle. The same may be said of the
Indian motifs in Figure 132. There was no clew in

240 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
any natural specimen that would suggest such patterns;
they came from the designer, and any discussion as to
whether they are " conventionalizations " of this or
that natural specimen is of archaeological rather than
artistic interest. As motifs expressed in terms of de
sign they may be considered from an abstract point of
view, in line with the method of treatment in the prob-

Fig. 133.
lems of this book. The sketches in Figure 133 are
of the same sort ; they are breakings of space and
mass with lines and forms, the terms of design refined
and influenced by a sympathetic observation of Nature.
The pomegranate motif of Figure 134 shows how
much the organization of the design depends upon the
worker. In the first sketch is a Hteral pen study of a
pomegranate cut in sections. The designer has re-

LINES OF STUDY

241

tained the general form ; but as a study in the spotting
of lights and darks the problem came home to the
personality of the worker, — it was his invention,
imagination, feeling, expressed through a technique
peculiar to weaving that shaped the design.
In studying such things it would be well to attempt
to work for one's self In the mode of such productions ;
note always how the elementary principles of design

Fig. 134.
have received appHcation and then endeavor to work
from a similar point of view. As an instance. Figure
135 may serve to illustrate the thought. The first
sketch is from a Persian textile ; the second, made
direcdy after the first, was a study of a similar big
form broken into subordinate forms in a way that one
may believe was followed by the original designer.
The result is not far removed from the original ; but

242 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
the second suggested the third, and this in turn a
fourth, and so on through a series of six or eight
studies, the invention of the pupil being awakened with
each effort to new suggestions and variations. As an
exercise the problem has served its purpose ; it is not
the intention to " adapt " a Persian motif, — rather, to
find. If possible, how the Persian designer achieved
such a result.
Following such a series of studies the pupil is in

Fom. ttPersiaJzTextile • Abstract lorrns Suggested by
Fig. 135.

Sdjae-

position to apply the thought to work of his own ;
his study of Nature will now assist him materially ; his
invention and command of principles through practice
should lead to an infinite number of well-organized
forms, breakings of light with dark and dark with light
as the details develop. Figure 136 indicates a few
from many such studies and shows the wide range of
individual thought. They are " original," in the true

PLATE 61.
Coptic Weaving. (South Kensington Museum.)

LINES OF STUDY

243

sense of the word, intelligent efforts to work from the
whole to the parts through abstract principles.

Fig. 136,
Continuing the thought into a result involving a
more severe test, the Coptic weaving in Plate 61 may
serve a purpose. It is a symmetrical, space-filling
problem with flat areas and a grouping of dominant

244 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
masses, with a consistent growth suggested throughout.
The process is from the whole to the parts, as before.
It should begin with the tentative blocking out of a
few leading lines of growth, an indication of the shapes,
measures, and positions of the dominant masses and a

Fig. 137.

gradual subdivision of forms. It is necessary to keep
both space and mass, dark and light, in mind at all
stages, working from one to the other. This, Hke any
other design, should be/f// out from tentative suggestions
to the completed result. With the blocking in of the

LINES OF STUDY

245

first Idea the worker should be alive to any change that
suggests Itself; he should be able to recognize and seize
upon any variation that may lend additional interest or

!C^S9

^B^

Fig, 133.

beauty to his work. The first tentative lines may give
way to an entirely different adjustment as the design
progresses. It is better to be able to adapt one's self to
a new version of an idea that may develop with the

246 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
process than to be enslaved to a " leading line," or to
stubbornly push a first idea through all suggestions.
Throughout the process there should be a measure of

Fig. 139.

elasticity, the parts of the design should be in about
the same state of completion at a given time, — not a
carefully wrought detail in one place, with chaos and
indecision elsewhere. And in the end there should be,

LINES OF STUDY

247

Fig, 140.

as always, a clear, definite, unmistakable statement.
Figures 137, 138, 139, 140 show various solutions of the

Fig. 141.

248 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

Fig, 142.

Fig, 143,

PL.\TE 62.
Abstract Nature Forms

LINES OF STUDY 249
problem as suggested, — with a slightly different solu
tion though from the same point of view in Plate 62.
Problem. This, the final problem of the series.

Fig. 144.

is more fiilly illustrated than any of the others because
it represents a test of ability to apply the principles
outlined in this book to the organization of an idea

250 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
involving many and real difficulties. The results are by
pupils who have conscientiously followed work along
the lines indicated through this book, and go to show

Fig. 145.

an intelligent, individual expression of a thought in
terms of design. The motif suggested was — peacock.
Whether or not the expression of the motif should
approach the specific character of this bird or pass

PL.VFE 64.
Pe.vcock L>i3;iv.ative.

PL.4TE 65.
Peacock Derivative.

LINES OF STUDY

251

into a highly organized arrangement more or less
abstract in character was left to the personal choice
of each pupil. The results in Plates 63, 64, 65, and

Fig. 146.

in Figures 141 to 145 inclusive stand as a summing up
in graphic form of the principles defined and the
problems through which they have been presented.

252 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

Fig, 148,

Each example is a study
in space and mass, an
adjustment of lines and
forms. Note the recipro
cal relations of details in
each ; the ways in which
unity with variety, har
mony with contrast, has been
secured. Each detail is
part of an organic whole,
in which all superfluous ele
ments have been eliminated.
Figures 146, 147, 148
represent variations of the
problem without the sym
metrical plan.
The most profitable field
for the study of the peacock

LINES OF STUDY

253

fl ]
HctaJ Xp of Oi^fi • Iwdia'

Top of PJsb. • lra.dLi<a

lop of LiJTip • Dombdy*

iiiiii*^^^^^^^^

@

Fig, 14c.

254 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
in design is in the work of the Orient, particularly
the work of Persia and India. In Figure 149 are a

iadia^
Ccirved Wood

Fig. 150.

number of sketches showing the form adapted to vari
ous purposes. In Figure 150 are two sketches of the

LINES OF STUDY

255

lalaid VkcA 6iid PVeiri

Fig, 151.

256 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
same form from the end of a musical instrument. In
Figure 151 is an inlaid foot of a table leg made in India,
though of Portuguese workmanship. Figure 152 is

Fig. 152.

from a modern wall paper, — designer unknown to the
writer, — an interesting treatment of this motif. In
Plate 66 is a symmetrical expression of the idea in

PL.VTE 66.
Constructive .Vpplilatp.in i>e .Motie.

LINES OF STUDY

257

beaten copper adapted to the environment in which
it appears and to the form of which it is a part. The
two last illustrations (Figures 153, 154) form a fitting

Fig. 153.

258 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
cHmax to our work and may well serve as a final
source of inspiration in the study of and practice in
the assthetic principles of design.

Fig. 154,

CHAPTER XIII
Conclusion
" It does not follow, even when our minds . . . are
stored with the terms and the motives of Design, that we
shall produce anything important or remarkable. Important
work comes only from important people. What we ac
complish, at best, is merely the measure and expression of
our own personalities," — Denman Ross,
IT is apparent that the most interesting work
in design was achieved at periods when work
men were designers, when builders were archi
tects. There was no such word or thought as architect
until after the sixteenth century. This combination,
the faculty to design and the skill to execute, lends
interesting and fascinating charm to primitive work,
to the peasant industries, now fast disappearing under
pressure of modern factory methods, to the best prod
ucts of the Orient, and to the work of the mediaeval
craftsmen. The conditions have now radically changed. Work
men have ceased to be designers ; builders have ceased
to be architects ; and the intimate personality which
seems to be the very Hfe of fine industrial work is
seldom found. This evolution, the separation of art
259

26o DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
from industry, was of gradual development ; it is only
from the height afforded by time that we can note the
subtle steps involved in the transition.
The early centuries of mediaeval history were in
a period of reconstruction, when all men were groping
toward an expression of new ideals. In later centuries,
with traditions acquired through hard-earned experi
ence and with ideals more clearly in sight, with judg
ments strengthened and technical difficulties lessened,
workmen with greater ability and taste than their fel
lows became known for the excellence of their achieve
ments. Their presence was sought wherever important
work was under way. From one town to another
they wandered, leaving behind them a trail of noble
churches, palaces, fountains, pulpits, and frescoes.
And as these rnen did more of the thinking, their
fellows did less. Still later, with the revival of classical
traditions, an increase of luxury, and a consequent
shifting of standards, the pathway to artistic renown
ceased to lead through the workshop. But for a long
time, during a period of notable production in the
early days of the Renaissance, there was still a bond
of intimate sympathy between the artist and the arti
san. Old ties and traditions were not easily severed.
Gradually, however, the men who practiced art began
to depend more and more upon a theoretic knowledge
of tools and materials, while the men who knew much

CONCLUSION 261
about technical processes and methods of construction
concerned themselves less and less with the abstract
ideals, the principles and modes of expression of the
artist. It has been left for us in modern times to
add the final step in the transition, with arbitrary
distinctions between fine and industrial art, and sub
divisions of labor for purposes of commercial gain.
One wonders if the skilled craftsman of old who gave
mind, heart, eve, and hand to his work is to be entirely
displaced by the " hand " whose function it will be to
feed raw material into one end of a machine at so
much per day, without questioning why or whence.
It is an odd commentary on the standards by which
we measure our present civilization that our material
progress, our tremendous strides in science and in me
chanical invention, have contributed nothing to our
aesthetic development ; even less than this, — have
consistently contributed toward a lowering of artistic
standards and the degradation of the skHled craftsman
to the position of an unskilled operative. We have
printing presses that are marvels of mechanical inven
tion, insuring speed and accuracy of production; but
it is seldom that we approach the artistic standards set
by the old printers who struggled with their rude
presses in the early days of the craft in Augsberg,
Bamberg, and Venice. We have power looms that
do everything but think; yet we are scarcely within

262 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
reach of the products that came from the looms of
Persia, Sicily, and Italy, or of the old Flemish textiles.
Science and mechanical invention have revolutionized
metal working ; we employ processes undreamed of
by the mediaeval craftsmen ; yet they left behind them
standards of beauty that make a comparison odious.
Our builders have perfected devices unknown to the
master builders of old ; yet we never cease to measure
and photograph the old churches and palaces with
admiration and wonder.
Thus we find that the things now emphasized in
the training of the artist are no longer essential to the
productive efficiency of the workman. Art and in
dustry are scarcely on speaking terms ; whenever they
meet they are mutually embarrassed because they have
no topic in common for conversation. Between the
shop-trained man and the studio-trained man there is
ever a lack of understanding and sympathy. The
artist deplores the lack of feeling and good taste on
the part of the workman on whom he depends to
execute his designs ; the latter is impatient over the
lack of practical knowledge shown by the artist.
Both are right. The one approaches his problem
with a superficial knowledge of technical limitations
and possibilities ; the other in the acquisition of tech
nical skill is afforded neither opportunity nor incentive
to cultivate a fine taste or an artistic judgment. Some

CONCLUSION 263
day we shall have an art training that penetrates into
the activities of daily Hfe, based on the shop principles,
though not necessarily on the methods, of the mediaeval
crafts. We shall think none the less of an art that
seeks expression in terms of painting and sculpture :
but we shall recognize the truth that art rests upon
a basis broad enough to encompass all of man's
activities. In our study of design to-day we turn to the studio
for our traditions rather than to the shop. We ap
proach the subject from a point of view diametrically
opposed to the development of design in its periods
of finest production. We begin by drawing, painting,
and modeling ; we accumulate studies from Nature,
and attempt to conventionalize this material on paper ;
we study historic ornament, make careful copies from
the various historic styles, and adapt motifs found
through this process to our own needs ; we visit shops
and factories (sometimes) and listen to interesting talks
on the technique of carving, weaving, and metal work,
on the relation of pattern to material ; we gather from
practice in the " arts and crafts " a superficial idea of
the tools and materials of many crafts, but have no
thorough or practical knowledge of the technical de
mands of any one craft. We aim to produce studio-
trained craftsmen. What we need most are shop-trained
artists. The examples of industrial art which are so

264 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
carefully treasured in our museums and galleries were
the work of shop-trained men, not of studio-trained
men. A thoughtful study of the history of design would
seem to indicate the futility of trying to teach design
ing through a paper product on a basis of theoretic
knowledge or book-learned information as to tools,
materials, and processes. We may hope to define ele
mentary principles on paper, to appreciate and express
an abstract beauty of line, form, and tone, to stimulate,
in some measure, the imagination, to learn the value
of clear and orderly thought ; but if we wish to go be
yond this abstract expression, let it be on a basis of
practical experience in constructive work. With an
experience that gives one command over the practical
principles of a craft, the aesthetic principles learned
through the solution of abstract problems may be given
a real and vital application. The two should go hand in
hand in order that there may be an immediate and effec
tive correlation between them. Of one thing you may
be sure : if you can impart character and interest to the
Hnes and forms employed in the definition of elemen
tary principles under the comparatively simple limita
tions of abstract design, you will find that much has
been done to clarify your ideas when you attempt to
speak through constructive work. The underlying
principles of composition are not essentially different

CONCLUSION 265
whether we weave an idea into cloth, beat it into metal,
or carve it in wood.
It is well here to direct attention to some of the
general points that have been emphasized throughout
the book. It will, of course, be understood that a few
typical problems only have been chosen to indicate a
gradual development from simple beginnings to more
complex questions. The step from one problem to
another represents merely a new version under slightly
varying conditions of the same elementary ideas.
Each art rests upon principles peculiar to itself, in
herent within the tools, materials, and constructive pro
cesses involved. The principles peculiar to one art
are not necessarily applicable to another art. But
somewhere beneath them all are questions common to
them all. We sometimes speak of the principles of
architecture as applied to the designing of — a book
cover, for instance. The statement is misleading.
The principles peculiar to architecture are not applica
ble to the designing of a book cover. Architecture is
an art of wood, stone, brick, concrete, iron, developed
through the acceptance of conditions that have given
us types as widely divergent as the Parthenon, a Cali
fornia bungalow, and a Chinese pagoda. If there is
any relation between an architectural composition and
a book cover design, it must be sought in principles
that are common to both, in abstract questions that

266 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
belong to one quite as much as to the other. There is
no infallible criterion by which beauty can be meas
ured ; and there will be an inevitable disagreement as
to a definition of the most essential of the elementary
principles. But if we eHminate the questions that are
peculiar to each art in an effort to define assthetic prin
ciples that are common to the practice of many arts,
we shall find our discussions centering about the com
position of Hnes, forms, and tones. Something, at any
rate, has been done if we can find through practice that
there is some common principle shared by the work
of the primitive basket maker, the textile of the medi
aeval weaver, and the carving of the Japanese artisan,
— that the product of each is an interpretation under
different conditions and influences of the same princi
ples of composition. The things that count for beauty
in the vigorous expression of the primitive weaver oc
cur again in the work of the Orient — but infinitely
more subtle and refined.
We have always to accept with a grain of doubt
the judgment of an individual when applied to the
critical study of design. His opinion will probably
be toned by his own practice and experience. We
have likewise to question our own free choice. The
things that appeal to us with most force may, indeed,
narrow our judgment when applied to a broader field
of criticism. Nor can we accept without reserve the

CONCLUSION 207
general verdict of our day. There was a time when
the best architects of England were building classic
temples for use as town halls, — -when Gothic was a
term of derision. Even now there are those who
profess to find neither interest nor beauty in the art
of Old Japan.
The intent of a design should be clear ; if it lacks
interest, there is still hope through continued practice.
An inarticulate, mumbled product Is no more credit
able In a design than In speech. A design is thought
expressed in terms of line, form, and tone, because, per
force, It cannot be expressed In any other way. If the
designer's thought is not clear to himself, he surely
cannot hope to make it clear to others, and cannot
expect others to Interest themselves in a disorderly,
mumbled result. A clear statement of an inferior
Idea is preferable to a vague. Indefinite design that has
to be reinforced by verbal explanations. An unex
plained product Is a fair index to a designer's thinking
powers. If you feel that you have fine ideas, but that
you are unable to give them adequate expression in
terms of design, — try something else ; Nature never
intended that you should be a designer. It is safe to
assert that Nature seldom endows a man with brilliant
ideas without furnishing him some means for ex
pressing them with clearness.
It is always important to know where to stop in

268 DESIGN IN THEORY AND PRACTICE
design, when just enough has been said. As with the
painter, one's study in design is very much a question
of eliminating the superfluous, of choosing that which is
most essential. Those things which appear to be simple
and spontaneous are often the result of years of training
and persistent effort. Question the reason for every
element that enters into a design ; make each detail
perform consistent service.
Learn the value of concentration ; furnish the eye
with a dominant thought and group other thoughts in
subordinate relations.
Do not deplore lack of incentive, lack of interest
ing materials. The world is full of noble, inspiring
ideas. The humble plant by your own doorstep, if
you know how to use it to good advantage, may be
given quite as much interest in design as the Persians
gave to the pomegranate. Look about you, to your
own environment, for motifs, not wander afar.
Last of all, do not be " clever. " No term could
be more of a reproach in art than this. Art is pains
taking ; It demands ceaseless work, toil, drudgery it
may be. That which Is easiest won is generally least
worth while. The worker must ever be open-minded
and watch against clever mannerisms as against a
drought that dries up the river at its source.

INDEX

Abstract and nature. 04, I17, 174, iSi,
1S5.
Abstract problems, de\-elopment of, 63,
116; why studied, 264.
Adequao.' and beauty. iS, 20.
Esthetic and practical. 55. 231. 264.
i£sthetic principles, 35.
Amiens Cathedral, setting out plan,
126.
Animal motifs. 19, S7, 156, 163.
Art nouveau, 142.
Art periods, 48.
Backgrounds, ro, 182.
Balance, of measures, 43. 177, 1S4. 191,
213; of shapes, 42; of tones, 45, 159,
207, 215.
Basketr>', 11, 82.
Beaut>', 6, 7, iS, 20, 22, 210.
Bernard Palissy, 19S.
Bird motif, 218.
Blacksmith in mediasval times, 105.
Borders, 14, 30, 50, 95, 137, 163, 228.
Byzantine mosaics, 67.
Campanile, 37.
Cathedrals, beauty of, 151; practical
and Eesthetic development of, 68.
Combs, primitive workmanship, 79.
Conclusion, 259.
Conventionalization, 94, 137, 156, 163,
171, 200, 238.
Coptic weaving, 130, 160.
Comers, treatment of, 34.
Creative faculty, 5.
Creative work, 2.
Curves, 38, 162, 184, 186.
Dancing masks, 146.
Day, Lewis F., quoted, 170, 218.
Design, abstract and concrete, 16, 231;
aims of study, 3, 16, 263; and nature.

7; constructive, 4. 17, iS, 20. 55, 64,
13T, 150. lOo; historic <lc\'elopmcnt
of, 22, SS, 170, 211, 231. 259;mcthod
of stud\-. 7, 15, Oo, 1O6, 170, 231, 2,:S;
practice of. pa;-t and present. 2, 5, '7,
72. 134. 147,151. iS^. ^y^, -^58, 202;
structure of, 9.
Design and representation, 3.
Dominant interest, 10, 14, 132, 222.
Emerson, quoted, 1, 149.
Enrichment, 17, 21.
Environment, 17.
Floral arrangements of Japanese, 183.
Furniture, 56, 12S, 129, 131.
Geometric bases, 202, 222.
Glass, 91, 92.
Greek fret, 125.
Greek temple, 126.
Grotesque in design, 141.
Hairpins, primiti\-e workmanship, 77.
Harmony, abstract, 47; as basis of art
periods, 48; of measures, 122, 127;
of shapes, 47, 127; of tones, 48.
Hegel, quoted. 122.
Fringes, 108, 115, 135, 172.
Flolmes, W. FL, quoted, 74.
Idea, as basis for design, 5, 17, 22, 37;
and nature, 170, 176.
Imagination, 3, 150, 223, 226.
Individuality, 40.
Insect motif, 94, 116.
Introduction, i.
Invention, 14, 66, 76.
Iron work, 71, 105, 135, 144.
Jackson, quoted, 55.
Japanese floral arrangements, 183.

269

270

INDEX

Japanese print, 21.
Japanese sword guards, 194, 225.
Jewelry, 89.
Joinery, 57.
Knife, Eskimo, loi.
Korean cabinet, 124.
Leather work, 64.
Lighting problem, 22,
Line motif, straight, 9, 30.
Mass, and space, 10, 32, 50, 182.
Match safe, 161.
Materials, their influence in design, 17,
74-
Mediaeval crafts, 69, 103, I34. IS3. 235,
259-
Medieval craftsmen, training of, 153.
Mommsen, Theodor, quoted, 141.
Moore, C. H., quoted, 100.
Morris, William, quoted, 16.
Mosaics of San Marco, 67.
Motifs, animal, 19, 156, 163; boat,
sail, and wave, 228; derived from
study of past, 238; fish and water,
213; flower, bud, and leaf, 213; in
sect, 93, 116; nature derived, 170,
197, 213, 249; nature symbols, 185;
peacock, 249: pomegranate, 241;
plant form, 112: primitive, source of,
86; straight line, 9, 30; suggested
by tools, 100; three berries — two
leaves, 137, 200; treatment of, in
design, 172; two birds and a nest,
220.
Nature, and the abstract, 94; and the
designer, 7, 28, 74, 93, 112, 137, 172,
17s, 181, 197, 218, 236; as a start
ing point, 7, 218; balance in, 43;
plant motifs from, 112, 170, iSS ; in
primitive designs, 86, 169; in terms
of design, 137, 156, 222 ; study of, 237.
Necklace, primitive, 74.
Notre Dame of Paris, 98, iii, 126.
Originality, 3, 9.
Ornament, as enrichment of construc
tion, 21, 56, 58, 127, 133, 163; his
toric, as a starting point, 8, 231,

Palazzo Segredo, 13.
Parts to the whole, 200.
Patterns, paper made, 16, 93.
Peacock, 249.
Periods, formation of, 232,
Plant form, 112, 170, 174.
Play impulse, 49, 141, 156, 163-
Pomegranate, 241.
Portuguese inlay, 233.
Pottery, 61, 63, 83, 127, 198.
Primitive work, 49 ; American Indians,
S3, 80; Benin, 148; Eskimo, loi;
its development, 80, 231; Java, 20;
northwest coast of America, 18;
Peru, 143, 160, 167; rhytiim and
balance in, 43; South Sea Islands,
75, 77, 146, 160.
Principles, aesthetic and practical, 17,
53, 231, 264; common to many arts,
263; elementary Esthetic, 33.
Problems, abstract nature symbol, 137;
abstract plant forms, 181, 189; ab
stract plant forms in circles, 193;
animal motif, 136, 163; areas in
black and white, 30; fish and water
symbols, 213; from study of past,
237; insect motif, 93, 116; peacock,
249; ship, sail, and wave, 228;
straight line, 9, 30.
Processes and tools, 100.
Proportions and dimensions, 122.
Proportions, refinement of, 121, 162,
18s; theory of, 124, 130.
Rectangles, 12.
Refinement of proportions, 121, 162, 184.
Repetition, 36, 97.
Representation and design, 3, 86, 213.
Rhythm, measure, 37, 192; through
interrelation of details, 96, 119,
120, 179, 183, 189, 191, 202, 213;
through regular repetition of shapes,
33; tone, 38.
Ross, Denman, quoted, 231, 259.
Ruskin, drawing and design, 3 ; quoted,
33. 147-
Saint Andrea of Pistoja, 148.
Space and mass, 10, 30, 32, 30, 94, 130,
182, 201.
Spoons, Egyptian, 29; of primitive

workmanship, 2S; of v,arious periods,
30-
Study, lines oL 231, 20;; necessity for,
I, 16.
Style, 2, 60. 71, iS:, 210.
Surface repeats, 116, 17S. 1S7. 200.
:iS.
S.N-mbols frora nature. 137. 170, 1S5.
iSg, 200, 213.
SymmetT}'. 42, 97, 15S, 178, 194, 106,

Teacher and pupil, 2.
Tone, 139. 210; balance. 159, 196,
207. 214: gained through line com
binations, 13: harmony. 4S: render
ing. 139; rhythm, 38; scale, 14.

INDEX
Tools and processes, 17, 100.

271

Units, 32, 41, 97, iiQ, 17S, 200, 212.
Unity. 35, :iO; and uniformity, 47,
122.
Utilitarian basi?. 4, 16, 58, 77.
\'an Brunt, quoted. 121.
Variety. 14, 52. 1S5, 216.
Venice, San Marco, 67,
Verona, doors of Duomo, 58.
Weaving. 53. 130, 167, 169, 182, 195,
211. 223, 239, 243, 257.
Whole to parts, 21 8. 244.
Wood carving, 19, 58, 70, 225, 255.

THE HISTORY OF AMERICAN ART
Edited bv JOHN C. VAN DYKE
This series of books brin^ together for the first time the materials for
a history of American art. Heretofore there have been attempts to narrate
some special period or feature of our artistic development, but the narrative
has never been consecutive or conclusive. The present volumes begin with
colonial times and bring the record down to igo6. They are intended to
cover the graphic, the plastic, the illustrative, the musical, and the architec
tural arts, and to recite the results in each department historically and
critically. That the opinions ventured should be authoritative the prepara
tion of each volume has been placed in the hands of an expert — one who
practices the craft whereof he writes. The series is therefore a history of
American art written from the artist's point of view, and should have special
value for that reason.
THE HISTORY OF AMERICAN SCULPTURE
By LoRADO Taft, Member of the National Sculpture Society.
With 12 photogravures and many text illustrations, $6.00 net
THE HISTORY OF AMERICAN MUSIC
By Louis C. Elson, Musical Editor of the Boston Advertiser.
Author of "Our National Music," etc. With 12 photogra
vures and many text illustrations. %S'°° ^^^
THE HISTORY OF AMERICAN PAINTING
By Samuel Isham, Associate of National Academy of Design,
Member of the Society of American Artists. With 12 photo
gravures and many text illustrations. $S-°° ^'t

PUBLISHED BY
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64-66 Fifth Avenue, New Tork

The Decorative Illustration of Books
By WALTER CRANE
Decorated cloth i2mo $2.00
The author's purpose is to treat of illustrations which are also book
ornaments, so that purely graphic design, as such, unrelated to the
type, and the conditions of the page, does not come within his scope.
The Bases of Design
By WALTER CRANE
Decorated cloth i27no $2.2§
The chapters in this book originally formed a series of lectures
addressed to the students of the Manchester Municipal School of Art
during the author's tenure of the directorship of Design at that
institution.
Decorative Heraldry
By g. w. EVE
Decorated cloth i2mo $2.00
It was with a view to assist in some measure the efforts that in so
many directions are being devoted to the adequate presentation of
Heraldry that this vcork was undertaken.
Design for Schools
By CHARLES HOLLAND
Decorated cloth Ilhistrated Quarto $i.<)0
A handbook for teachers for use in secondary schools, the upper
standards of elementary schools and elementary classes of schools
of art.

PUBLISHED BY
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64-66 Fifth Avenue, New Tork

Writing and Ilkiminating, and Lettering
By EDWARD JOHNSTON
Cloth i2mo Illustrations Diagrams $2.00
This book has been planned as a guide to models and methods for
Letter-craftsmen and Students — more particularly for those who
CLinnot see the actual processes of Writing, Illuminating, etc., carried
out. and who may not have access to collections of Mss.
Science and Art Drawing
By j. HUMPHREY SPANTON
Cloth Svo Diagrams $3-2;
A complete perspective course comprising the elementary and ad
vanced stages of perspective, the projection of shadows and reflections,
with exercises in theory and practice; also the practical application
of perspective.
Practical Designing
Edited by GLEESON WHITE
Decorated cloth i2mo Illustrations Diagrams $1.25
A handbook of the preparations of working drawings. Among the
contributors are Alexander Millar, Arthur Silver, Milton P. Rix,
Owen Carter, Selwyn Image, H. Orrinsmith, George C, Haite.
Alphabets
By EDWARD F. STRANGE
Decorated cloth ismo Illustrations $^.50
A manual of lettering for the use of students, with historical and
practical descriptions.

PUBLISHED BY
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64-66 Fifth Avenue, New Tork

Memorials of Edward Burne-Jones
By g. b.-J.
In two volumes. Illustrated with 40 photogravures , besides draw
ings in the text. Cloth. Svo. $6.00 net. {Postage jo cents.)
A charmingly informal and intimate account of the life and the pictures
of the man who is probably, of all artists of the day, at once the most famous
among the elect, and the best-loved araong the people. These two things
are rarely true of the same artist. This authorized biography presents many
reproductions of his most admired pictures, some of them never before given
to the public in this way.
Pre-Raphaelitism and the
Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood
By WILLIAM HOLMAN HUNT, O.M., D.C.L.
Two volumes. With 40 photogravure plates, and other illustrations.
Artistically bound in cloth with decorated cover. $10.00 net
*' Mr. Hunt has written such a contribution to the history of man's search
after beauty as man will number amongst the choicest assistants to his knowl
edge. It is a book which will be read, we believe, as long as the word
Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood retains any vivid meaning in the history of
art." — St. James's Gazette.
Greek Terra-Cotta Statuettes
By C. a. hutton
Colored illustrations Cloth, $2.^0 Paper, $1.50
This work contains a full description of the Terra-Cotta Statuettes in
Greece, and is beautifully illustrated with many rare colored illustrations.
Considerations on Painting
By j. la FARGE Cloth $ias
French Prints of the Eighteenth Century
By R. NEVILL Cloth $s.oo
Reminiscences of Watts
By Mrs. R. BARRINGTON Cloth $5.00

published by
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64-66 Fifth Avenue, New Tork