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An Historical Review of Art, Commerce and Craftsmanship |
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Commonwealth Institute, London.
Walter Gropius,
the well-known architect and founder of the Bauhaus, spoke somewhere
of the "fatal legacy from a generation which arbitrarily elevated some
branches of art above the rest, as Fine Art, and in so doing robbed
all arts of their basic identity and common life." This strikes me as
a wonderfully vivid and concise statement about a social malaise which
lies at the back of the whole of Western culture. The generation to
which Gropius is referring is of course the one which lived in the
first half of the 16th century, and to which Leonardo Da Vinci and
Michael Angelo belonged, as did also Giorgio Vasari the painter and
author, whose writings had, I believe, a considerable influence on the
growth of this legacy. In actual fact the arts and the crafts are
parts of a continuous sequence, extending from spheres of activity
where the imaginative is maximal and craftsmanship is subordinate, to
those where craftsmanship is dominant and imagination has no place at
all. In this context one must remember that a lathe worker machining
parts for engines, or a pottery worker tending a jigger, are both
craftsmen at the non-imaginative end of the sequence. Clearly one can
have craftsmanship without what we call Art, but one cannot have art
without craftsmanship. Somewhere in this sequence there is, one might
say, a frontier zone where art becomes craft in the non-imaginative
sense. It is unfortunate that this is thought of as a fixed line,
arbitrarily located, instead of as a zone with room to manoeuver. The
creation of a work of art involves the artist in innumerable movements
back and forth across this zone. He switches between the purely manual
and the purely imaginative, and the two merge continuously. It is
perhaps even more unfortunate that people find themselves, or so they
think, located on one side or the other of this imaginary line. In
consequence you get people who, in certain situations will proclaim
indignantly, or even concietedly "I am an Artist" and thereby put paid
to any further argument, and others who when brought into contact with
what they think is art proclaim pathetically "Of course I am no
Artist" and venture no comment. The probability is that in fact
neither of them is uttering the truth. These arbitrary divisions are a
post-renaissance phenomenon. One might say post-renaissance social
irritants, because before the 15th century these distinctions were not
made. Men and their occupations were distinguished on the basis of the
physical tasks they performed. Painters made pictures.
Image makers carved in stone and
wood. Potters made pots, and although they made some exceedingly fine things
- beautiful things - significant things - exciting things-whichever
adjective happens to be fashionable, yet none of these people were called
artists. The interesting thing is that their languages had no such word, and
the thing we call art was liable to emerge in almost any artifact that
craftsmen made. In consequence-and with an absence of bally-hoo-a cultural
something, a human something, permeated the entire social environment. One
should note that the question of the relationship between artist and
craftsman did not arise as they were one and the same person. This
spontaneous creativity in the human make-up is as old as the record of man's
works. There is no escaping the extraordinary beauty of the tools and
artifacts of stone age man, and the work of the Maoris and the Aborigines is
full of fine examples. Graham dark, the eminent archeologist, points out
what an ancient characteristic of man this is. In a reference to hand-axes
of the mid-pleistocene, i.e. 300,000 years ago he says: "It would be
perverse to account for the finest hand-axes in terms of their function
alone since they were better made than large numbers which must presumably
have been adequate. The cult of excellence, the determination to make things
as perfect as they could be made, even if, at a purely utilitarian level,
perfection might seem excessive, is something which began this early in the
history of man." It is sobering to reflect on the magnificent things that
have been done outside what we like to think of as civilisation, and to
remember that the acme of barbarity can also be found within it.
I am stressing an aspect of social history
because it also helps to explain the peculiar light in which potters
tend to see themselves today. One might think that with all this
interest in pottery and with numerous magazines apparently devoted
solely to this subject, that the potters vocation was an up and coming
thing; that his self esteem and his social standing was at a high
level. There is, however, something misleading about all this because
in the Anglo Saxon world as a whole this new-found eminence is based
on something else. For instance when I was shown round the ceramic
department of the University of Hawaii, by Claud Horan, he showed me
the work of his students, and explained apologetically that none of
his students wanted to make pots anymore. This was evident from the
fact that all the work was what is called ceramic sculpture, and no
hollow object was classifiable as a functional pot. Woven into all
this is a preoccupation with status, and I want to record an
experience of mine of some 30 years ago which illustrates this. When I
was engaged by the Crown Agents for the Colonies to work at Achimota
College in the Gold Coast, I thought I was being engaged as a potter.
The officials in London flinched visibly at this but they recorded it
so. Quite soon after my arrival in West Africa it was explained that
the title Ceramist would be more suitable-what they meant of course
was more prestigeous. I was duly referred to as the Ceramist, although
many Europeans in the area admitted that they didn't know what such a
one did for a crust. Being young and perhaps a little flattered by all
this status-padding, I accepted it and made no protest. Five years
later, when I resigned from the job, Michael Cardew accepted the
position, and of course when negotiating with the Crown Agents in
London he encountered this terminology. He too thought of himself as a
potter and being 15 years older than I was when I took on the job, he
had the necessary self-confidence to make a public issue of it. I was
present when Michael Cardew made it known to the assembled staff that
he wasn't having any truck with this nonsense; he was a potter and
that was what he expected to be called. I felt an awful worm because
at that point it looked as though I had introduced the whole snobby
idea. I had tolerated it and that was bad enough. Twenty-seven years
later I see that this little bit of status-padding is still
contributing to the irri-tation. I am sure this stems from the
publisher straining every nerve to advertise his product, but there it
is, explained on the dust cover of Cardew's recently published book,
that he held the post of Ceramist to the Institute of Arts and
Industrial and Social Sciences at Achimota. It is obvious from this
impressive title what important tasks we were engaged upon, and how
necessary it must have seemed that we should appear as earnest
ceramists and not just common potters. In North America, and in some
quarters in New Zealand too, it is astonishing how much energy goes
into splitting hairs over the classification of potters. Anything to
avoid the simple title potter. This is all port of the "fatal legacy"
as Gropius calls it and is mostly confined to those who think of
themselves as the elite, arid it is interesting that most European
languages include these hair-splitting distinctions between straight
potters and other potters. I have already referred to the fact that
potters have managed to insinuate themselves into the world of Fine
Art. We need to face the fact that they are holding their position in
that world largely by not making pots-by not being potters. The
Canadian potter Tarn Irving once remarked aptly that "there is nothing
wrong with making ceramic neck ties if people want them, but they do
also want pots." He was saying of course that sculpture is a
three-dimensional art-form just as valid in burnt clay as in wood or
stone or metal. Pottery is another three-dimensional art-form which
happens still to have links with the business of eating and drinking.
The fact that sculpture has largely lost its social role as a means of
commemorating heroes and saints is no reason for potters to abandon
the social role which they still have. My plea is that pottery is a
valid and viable art-form in its own right, and that potters should
have the courage to be potters. The business of making useful pots
does present several rather formidable hurdles, besides the one of
giving expression to creative talent. One wonders how much the hurdle
of acquiring skill, and the hurdle of mastering technological
expertise, is the explanation for all this. It could also be explained
by the fact that it is coming to be accepted that the time-cycle
between the first lesson at night school and the first "one man show",
as the phrase goes, should not exceed six months flat! Joking aside,
this last can of course be accounted for in part by the extraordinary
multiplication of commercial galleries. Some see this as a cultural
blossoming, but one should remember the vested interest which lies
behind such premature promotion of exhibitions and the preoccupation
with status which makes them so tempting.
There is an aspect of the growth of the English
language which throws some interesting light on the distinctions made
in Anglo-Saxon thinking with regard to the words Art and Craft. "Art"
and "artist" derive. from the Latin "Ars" meaning skill. "Craft"
derives from the teutonic, an old German and Norse word also meaning
skill. Both words have had infinitive forms. It was possible at one
time to "art" something, as it is now to "craft" it, which gives us
the revolting phrase "hand Grafted". Both words expose social
shortcomings in the related words "artful" and "crafty". The word
"craft" came into the language with the first Saxon and Danish
invasions after the departure of the Romans. After the Norman conquest
England, as is well known, was a land with two languages. The Normans,
the ruling class, spoke French, and the Saxons, the ruled, spoke a
Germanic dialect. There are many examples to show how, when the two
languages merged, Saxon words remained attached to the menial aspects
of life while the French was attached to the more privileged and
dignified aspects. Take the classic example of the words "sheep" and
"mouton", "sheep" being what the underprivileged Saxon called the
beast he tended, and "mouton" (mutton) being what the privileged
Norman called it when he got it served up on the table. The point here
is that 500 years before the Italian Renaissance, English was already
equipped with explicit linguistic distinctions denoting what were to
become the menial and what the dignified aspects of the visual arts.
Remember that in 1066 there were still no "Artists".
The association of these two words with the idea
of skill has another interesting lesson to offer. Art was interpreted
as skill right up to the late 19th century and for many people this is
still how it is used. An artist is an able draughtsman, and he who is
not an able draughtsman is obviously no artist. It is astonishing how
much relief and satisfaction people will often reveal when, after
considering a modern painting in non-representational mood, they are
able to point to some early drawing of a more conventional sort by the
same artist. The reaction is to say "You see he can draw," or "It
isn't that he can't draw." Few people seem to realise that the purpose
of drawing in an artist's training is not only to develop skilled
draughtsmanship, but more important to develop sensitivity to form and
powers of perception. It is interesting that the Oxford dictionary
takes the inter-pretation of art as skill right up to Matthew Arnold.
Quite apart from the discovery of primitive art, which began in this
century, it had already become obvious that machines and cameras were
getting altogether too clever, so that if we were to continue to pay
homage to art it became imperative to find something else in it
besides skill. This is an example of the way value judgements swing
violently from one extreme to another. We have jumped from Victorian
prudery to the almost totally permissive in less than a century. Art
has somersaulted in a similar way, until now signs of skill are
sufficient grounds for derogatory comment, and nowhere more so than in
the world of craft revivalism. If the craft in question happens to
involve a function it is difficult to dispense with skill altogether,
but the status value of being associated with Art, rather than Craft,
is so great that function is often gladly dispensed with.
I was very thrilled to read recently a statement
by Gio Ponti, the well known Italian architect, in which he records
his gratitude to the organisers of certain museums in America. He was
referring to the fact that in that country what he called conventional
art (nice phrase) was exhibited alongside the work of primitive
peoples and simple craftsmen, and he rejoiced in the fact that this
presented the creative genius of man as a single whole. He pointed out
that in Italy what he called conventional art would be found in an Art
Gallery, and the rest in an ethnographical museum. This applies of
course to museums and galleries in most parts of the world. I was
excited to discover this passage because it reminded me of an
experience of mine in 1935. I was in Paris enlarging my knowledge of
the visual arts, looking at the Louvre and the Luxembourg with an eye
preconditioned by the conventional concepts of what is called Art. One
saw there an overwhelming mass of material, some immensely moving, and
some equally depressing, and one felt relieved that one did not have
to live with so much bombast created to natter the egos of princes.
Later while sightseeing in the vicinity of the Eifel Tower I came upon
a building called the Trocadero (since pulled down). It was some sort
of theatre built in the round and had immense circular galleries which
contained a vast ethnographical museum. This, for me, was a discovery.
Here was another side of man, displayed through a collection of the
works of primitive peoples, an uninhibited side uninfluenced by the
egos of princes and patrons. Those familiar with that remarkable
little carving called the Wiilandorf Venus, will know that this was
the work of an unknown Aurignacian who lived deep back in the last ice
age, some 20,000 years ago. It is in a museum in Vienna, and it is a
classic example of the sort of work of art which is normally
classified as an ethnographical or archaeological exhibit. If one were
to put the Wiilandorf Venus alongside a Henry Moore or an Alberto
Giocameti, a pot or two from neolithic China, or contemporary West
Africa, with perhaps a Van Gogh or a bronze from Benin and a few stone
age implements, one would begin to see our heritage as Gio Ponti does
in its true perspective. I must say I felt saddened and sorry for all
those generations of young artists referred to by Sir Kenneth dark in
his recent lectures on civilisation. He was happy to think of them
having, generation by generation, padded back and forth across the
Pont des Arts, between the Ecole des Beaux Arts and The Louvre as they
strove to equal the classic tradition enshrined in that gallery. I was
sad to think that the ethnographical museum had not been on their
itinerary. Thinking also of the universality of the arts of man I felt
there was something significant, and very symbolic, in the fact that
the Ecole des Beaux Arts is situated at the extreme end of the Rue de
1'Universite. If one follows the Rue de l'Universite to its other
extreme, which is quite a long walk, one arrives at a point just
opposite where that famous ethnographical museum used to be.
An event which first opened my eyes on the
matter of what is Art and what is not Art, and of status in the arts,
occurred when I was an art student aged 17. I had taken a job as a
decorator in a pottery. My parents were happy about this as it meant
that I was associated with something which they thought of as Art,
though nothing could have been farther from the truth, because as I
now see it, the pots were appalling. I was very intrigued with the
whole potting process and pleased to be able to earn a living this
way. I had also learnt to throw and it seemed I was fairly good at it.
One day the owners asked me if I would like to leave the decorating
and learn the throwing side properly from an old man who worked there.
I was delighted and agreed, but when I told my parents about this they
were quite crest-fallen. I had failed them on the academic front and
the vision of my plodding up the ladder in the local council offices
to the eventual pension had been abandoned. Art seemed to them to be a
presentable alternative, and who knows there was always the
possibility that I might do something "original" but there I was,
about to learn to be a thrower. To my mother this was a terrible
come-down. She was reduced to tears, and I was perplexed and unable to
understand the reason for this reaction. Many years were to elapse
before I was able to see how events in social history could lead to
such a distortion of values. There is a greater clarity today about
the forces that influence value judgements, but I was recently
reminded how much this kind of thinking about relative status still
persists. This came about in the process of collecting data about the
house we live in, and about its former occupants. The list included a
retired gentleman, a builder, a vicar, etc., but one name had no
occupation. In answer to our query about him we were told "Oh-he
didn't do anything, he was only a labourer."
The dividing element which caused the Fine Arts
to separate from the other arts was of course money- money, the medium
by which commerce has become the dominant and all pervading motivating
force of society. With regard to the status obsessions I won't say it
was the cause, but it certainly was, and is, a prime factor in the
fostering of false concepts of status. Someone has said very aptly
that money is like manure. When you pile it up in a heap it stinks,
but when you spread it out thinly it has a wonderfully stimulating-a
fertilising, effect. The rise of commerce out of ages with, so to
speak, no commerce at all, has twice had this stimulating effect in
Europe. Gordon Child has traced the fascinating story of the first of
these in the late bronze age. The growth of the period known as the
middle ages is the other example with which I am concerned here. This
was preceded by the system of regional subsistance economies called
feudalism which spread all over Europe after the fall of Rome. Then
came the Crusades, provoked by the spread of Islam, which in turn
brought into being the Order of Templars. This order began by assuming
the role of pious protectors of pilgrims to the Holy Land, but soon it
was involved in trading and money exchange as well. The Templars
therefore became the founders of a primitive banking and credit
organisation which extended all over Europe and which was accompanied
by very considerable trading activity within Europe, and also between
Europe and the Arab World. The result was the fantastic cultural
stimulation of the middle ages and the birth of the great spate of
cathedral building. It is no coincidence that the first Gothic
cathedral was built in Paris when the Templars were at the height of
their power with their banking headquarters also in Paris. By the year
1300 the Templars no longer dominated the banking scene. Banking in
Paris was already a private merchant adventurer's field, and Florence
already had its famous banking names. By the Renaissance the manure
heap stage had been reached and the diffused culture of the common
people began the long slow withering with which we are all familiar.
Only in the vicinity of the manure heap of the great banker merchant
princes did the arts flourish like giant over-nourished docks. To some
this may seem a very irreverent way to speak about something which has
been eulogised for 400 years as a pinnacle of Art and Culture.
However, this is the point in history referred to by Walter Gropius as
having left us that fatal legacy, as he calls it, and it isn't the
only misshapen bit of inheritance it has left us. I think it behoves
us to try and see all this in its true perspective. Remarkable as some
aspects of this cultural peak undoubtedly were, one should not lose
sight of the fact that it was also the point in history when two
similarly remarkable civilisations were destroyed by Renaissance
Europeans. The Inca and the Aztec civilisations were both wrecked at
that time, and one should also remember that it was the same
generation which revived the sale of slaves. Africans were first sold
into slavery in the West Indies at that time. Ever since the fall of
Rome, slavery had been slowly on the way out. Feudal Europe had its
serfs it is true, but at least the buying and selling of slaves had
stopped, and freedom was on the increase everywhere in medieval
Europe. The great wave of city charters is the evidence, and it was
the free men of those cities who formed the guilds and built the
cathedrals to which I have been referring.
The essayist Professor Lionel
Trilling has commented adversely on the claim by Dr. Leavis that the basis
of poetic genius is the "moral conscience" and says "This gives nothing like
adequate recognition to those aspects of Art which are gratuitous, and which
arise from high people was astonishingly varied and vigorous, and it is also
known that they were in trading contact with their neighbours, the Chinese
and the Persians. Their trading activity was intermittent and obviously
spaced out at irregular intervals, and in consequence their commercial
motives were kept separate from their creative motives.
If we now take a look at a very different sort
of society, which thrived 1500 years later we see a rather anomalous
situation. I am referring to the cathedral builders of northern
Europe. Here we have a theocratic society, a settled economy, and the
use of money, but nevertheless a tremendous artistic vitality. It is
worth noting that anonymity is almost as complete here as in the caves
of the Dordogne. One very interesting thing about this epoch was the
loud and long opposition of the theocratic leadership to mammon in
general and to usury in particular. As already noted the system of
banking and credit was operated by a very austere religious order.
This was an actively anti-commercial leadership in a society which was
however considerably involved in commerce. This was the period,
incidentally, which produced one of the most vigorous periods of
creative potting. I shall have occasion to refer to the English branch
of this activity again later. In these three widely separated periods
in our history there are two interesting things to note-both points
that I have already touched on, but they are worth repeating. One is
the fact that one can safely say that in none of them would one have
found that their languages included a word for Art. They had
sculptors, painters, potters, metal founders, all with appropriate
names no doubt, but no "Artists". The other thing is that the spirit
of the thing we call commerce touched them very lightly.
If we now move on another 400 years (to use
round figures) we come to the beginning of our own era in Renaissance
Italy. This was a truly remarkable period- the period in which modern
science was born. It was both forward looking and backward looking,
and although it was in direct line of descent from the cathedral
builders of the Middle Ages, the transition to the age of commerce was
completed at this time. The backward glance was towards Rome, which
was in itself very mercenary, but the general revival of interest in
classical antiquity was stimulated by the fact that Italy became a
sort of refugee reception area for victims of the final overthrow of
Byzan-time Rome by the Turks. This was the period when the principles
of modern banking and double entry bookkeeping were established. It
also produced the first tycoons. The long struggle of the Church
against usury was lost at this time. The Church was slow to give up
this struggle, but the new commercial class had subtle techniques,
lavish donations of works of art to the Church, was one, care being
taken to see that there should be no doubt about who donated what, the
cash value of the gift being inscribed on the gift, together with the
name of the donor-a thing utterly in contrast to the mood of the
cathedral builders of a few centuries earlier. There can be little
doubt that the motive here was to soften the churchman's resolve in
his censure of the links with mammon, and to acquire kudos and
prestige at the same time. This was the beginning of the era of
patronage, when the painters and sculptors began to come into the
social orbit of the merchant princes. In their quest for kudos and
prestige it must have been obvious that this was best served by
commissioning the most gifted and renowned sculptors and painters. In
the process a very interesting and a very significant relationship
came about: the sculptors and painters were drawn into an atmosphere
of social intimacy with the ruling elite. The tycoons and the artists
began to bask, as it were, in each other's glory, and both acquired
kudos from the other's eminence. A familiar pattern.
In 1563 an event took place which has had its
effect on the visual arts ever since. Cosimo Medici the second
sanctioned the foundation of an academy which was to give distinction
to his "artist" friends, and absolve them from the obligations
previously imposed on them by their guilds. Although this was no doubt
justifiable on grounds of talent as well as for practical
considerations, the prestige and distinction which it conferred set
the chosen painters and sculptors-they were not yet called artists -in
a class apart. This permanent separation from other craftsmen created
a temptation to snobbery which was perhaps without equal, and amounted
to giving official sanction to an attitude among painters and
sculptors which had been developing gradually over a considerable
period. The element of snobbish exclusiveness which was thus confirmed
in high places is traceable in the writings of Vasari who was a
founder member and prime mover in the birth of this, the first of the
academies of Art. An academy is precisely a fellowship of the elect,
and fits perfectly into Andre Maurios' classic definition of snobbery.
He has expressed this with such telling alliteration, playing on the
words "Elus" and "Exclus", that I must quote the original. "Les exclus
souhaient devenir des elus; les elus defendent leurs privileges et
meprisent les exclus" (The outsiders long to become members of the
elect; the elect-or elite-defend their privileges and despise the
outsiders.) One has to grasp that this transition was a long, slow
process. The change from a society dominated by religion to one
dominated by commerce took something like 400 years. There is a wealth
of documentary material from which the stages of the change can be
followed, and I am going to quote one or two which interest me very
much as a potter. There is a famous document preserved in the files of
a Genoese merchant banker which indicates a point when God and Mammon
were exerting forces of about equal strength. The man's name was
Datini, and his account books are dedicated, "To the Glory of God and
Profit". Lorenzo Giberti who was at his prime at the turn of the
century in 1400 could see the way things were going. His much quoted
remark to the effect that he had "chosen art in order to avoid the
chase after money" rings a bell which many artists have heard toll in
more recent centuries. By the year 1500 Mammon was well and truly in
the saddle, a more mercenary era there possibly never was. Anything
could be had for money-cardinals' hats and papal throwns included.
Everything was for sale, so why
boggle at the sale of slaves? A safe conduct to heaven, called an
indulgence, could be had for a modest fee, and they were sold in their
thousands to finance the building of St. Peter's and much else besides. This
was the last straw which provoked Martin Luther to make his famous protest
just 17 years later.
Guild
records for the late 13th century in London show very interesting
details regarding the ratio of master craftsmen to journeymen. The
ratio was 1 to 1, so that allowing for apprentices, the numbers of
which were also controlled on a strict ratio basis, this meant that
the overall ratio of employees to employers was at a level highly
conducive to creative effort. It is very interesting to note in this
connection, that this is the period which produced the spate of
"medieval pottery" which is such a remarkable tribute to the creative
vitality of England at that time. The range and subtlety and
individual character of the pots of that period never ceases to amaze
me, and what is so interesting about these pots is that they are all
essentially functional, useful, pots. Another record, this time from
Paris for the year 1292 is a tax list from which the relative wealth
of various citizens can be gauged. This is a very revealing document.
Taxes were based on property and significantly enough the highest tax
was paid by the banker merchants. These were Lombards, be it noted,
and not the order of Templars. They topped the list with a tax of 114
livres a year. The next highest tax paid is a very interesting item of
19 livres paid by two potters. This might seem a big drop from the
banker's 114, but it is astonishingly high when one comes to consider
the rest of the list. A jeweller or dealer in precious stones paid 10
livres a year. Then come several trades paying between 5 livres and 10
livres. There is a painter at 6 livres and an image maker (sculptor)
at 1 livre. Paris at this time was a much bigger city than London and
it is clear from these records that commerce was developing at tempos
relative to their size. The creative qualities of the work of the
potters in the two cities seems to be an obvious reflection of this,
and it is significant that the Guild Hall in London has a large
collection of magnificent pots from medieval London, but the Cluny
museum in Paris has nothing comparable to offer. With the business
prosperity of the potters in Paris standing second only to that of the
bankers it is perhaps not surprising that nothing very noteworthy
survives.
Human
institutions are prone like many other things to growth and flowering,
fruition and decay. The Guild systems were no exception. They always
had a monopolistic streak in their makeup, but at their best, they
were very admirable institutions. In their prime they were not only
concerned to protect their privileges and monopolies, their ordinances
also covered the craftsman's obligations to the consumer with regard
to quality of work, and embraced their obligations to each other.
These obligations included help in times of sickness and old age, and
of course civic responsibility and elaborate ceremony. This, alas, did
not last. The monopolistic element became the ascendant one.
Commercial expansion, plus greed and nepotism within the guilds,
finally changed the ratio of masters to journeymen and apprentices,
and transformed the role and habits of masters out of all recognition.
They became employers pure and simple, controlling large numbers of
workers, and they were actively involved in politics. For example, in
16th century Florence anti-strike legislation soon became their
concern and in this they were even able to call upon Ecclesiastical
backing in the form of threats of excommunication for restive workers.
This was a pattern which at that time was confined to centres of
commerce like Florence and the cities of the Netherlands, but it was a
pattern which was to spread to the smallest provincial towns as the
industrial revolution later came to augment it. The tre-mendous
prestige and the extravagant exaltation of those who practised the
"Fine Arts" was founded on wealth amassed by exploitation which
entailed a loss of freedom and dignity among those who followed the
"other arts".
It is very important to grasp that
at the very point in history when fine art, that is to say painting and
sculpture and architecture, was being used as a status symbol by the new
class of wealthy bankers and merchants-and of course as a power symbol for
princes and popes-those who followed the other arts, i.e. the craftsmen or
artigani, were losing their freedom and their dignity in the interests of
commerce. Furthermore one must keep in mind the effect of repetition under
orders from an employer, with the added circumstance of subdivision of
tasks, which had an inevitably dire impact on the element of creative
sparkle in work done. All this took root within the renaissance period, and
the painters and sculptors, having aligned themselves with the upper class,
also began to voice their contempt for lesser mortals. This arbitrary
division between fine art and other art has remained a feature of western
society ever since. The
fashion in neo-classical ideas which began in this period was to
determine taste in the arts for several centuries. It created an
exaggerated respect for polish and outward refinement, and a contempt
for primitive and elemental vitality which took a very long time to
subside. This was of course a product of the split which I have
described. Two hundred and fifty years later at the beginning of the
Industrial Revolution, when Josiah Wedge-wood came on the scene, this
was still the case. One should remember that at this period there were
in England a great many rural potters whose tradition and technique
had come down in an unbroken line from the time of the cathedral
builders, but the days of this tradition were numbered. I have already
referred to the craftsman losing his freedom and his dignity as he was
turned into a proletarian during the birth of capitalism in
Renaissance Italy. There has been a lot written about Josiah Wedgewood.
Those who have read William Cook-worthy's Diary will know what an
astute business man he was. The name of Josiah Wedgewood still
commands tremendous respect, and he is spoken of as the father of
English potters, but he was not really a potter at all. He was an
eminent industrialist-a manufacturer-and one of his most conspicuous
achievements was perhaps his exploration of the idea of subdivision of
labour. He developed the idea of the factory in the modern sense, and
he was also responsible for some very impressive technological
developments. Artistically speaking he merely reflected the
neo-classical tastes of the upper classes, and perpetuated the Greek
and Roman ideas which had percolated down from Florence. The success
of these developments was the beginning of the end, in the pottery
field, of that precious freedom among simple men to exercise the
impulse to play creatively. No such play can take place when the
material advantages of subdivision of labour are being exploited. In
accounts of the period the pre-industrial craftsmen are hardly
mentioned and their work is seen as the "crude antecedent" of the new
industrial pottery. From then on the independent craftsman was slowly
eliminated, and his creative zest withered as his self-esteem
declined. All this was accepted as the price of progress; Art as
understood by the establishment, still flourished in places called
academies. It had the backing of royalty and was essentially something
for gentlemen.
From the
mid 18th century to the late 19th century the independent craftsman
went steadily down hill. Then the craft revival movement, under the
inspiration of William Morris, sought to recapture the creative scope
which was once the birthright of any craftsman, and to allow him to
regain his self-esteem and dignity. These were qualities once enjoyed
by unselfconscious and illiterate men. The new craftsmen of the
revivalist movement were middle class intellectuals, some were even
university graduates and some were trained "artists". Some outstanding
personalities brought the dignity and respect, which society already
accorded them as graduates, to bear upon their new-found vocation, and
did so in all humility and without false dignity. Others repeated the
rather ignominious scramble for status vis-a-vis the "Fine Arts" which
the painters and sculptors of the 16th century had indulged in with
regard to the liberal arts and the social elite who enjoyed them.
As with all social maladies diagnosis is easy.
Remedy is another matter. The malady I have been stressing here is
related to intrinsic values. The vital aspects of art are dependent on
satisfactory value scales in relation to living and the world around
us. A society almost totally dominated by monetary values-commercial
values-is at an extreme disadvantage when it tries to accommodate
other values in its thinking. It doesn't try of course, individuals in
it try, but all they can do is to modify their personal behaviour in
relation to their values. One looks to education for signs of hope,
but it is committed to training young people to man the social order
as it exists, and although it pays lip-service to the idea that things
should be done for the right reasons, only its rebels seem in fact to
succeed in this respect. The truly simple and adequate reasons for
making pots disappear from view when any gimmick is worth a try as an
indication of originality, and any publicity is worth chasing as a
means to fame. To do something in order to appear to be original; to
adopt mannerisms and play the eccentric in order to appear to be an
artist; to pursue fame as a conscious objective are all symptoms of
sickness and examples of actions taken for the wrong reasons. In
saying that potters should have the courage to be potters, one is
merely saying that they should have the courage to do things for the
right reasons. Harry
Davis
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