Lit and Archi

7/27/2019 Lit and Archi

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By PERCY E. NOBBSArchitectural expression, like literary expression, has

a wide field; dancing, sculpture, music, painting aremore limited than either, both as to theme and inemotional range. All these arts, however, are richerthan either literature or architecture can ever be, inthat third element which makes direct assault upon oursenses to lead us happy captives in the realms of puredelight.

Now, the subdivision of literature into prose andpoetry is misleading. One might, with equal reason,divide building into construction and architecture.The place where prose and poetry meet may be clearenough to the typographer, and the place where con-struction and architecture meet may be obvious to thestonemason, but to the critic-by which I mean an in-telligent representative of the public not unwilling toappreciate-the matter is not so easy. One may bepardoned for taking a leaf from the books of themodern zstheticians and for dealing with these twogreat modes of expression-architecture and literature-as if art and expression were synonymous terms,even while holding most strongly that they are not,accepting only half the proposition and admitting thatall art is expression, while stubbornly insisting thatonly all rhythmic expression is art. That, however, isnot to classi fy poetry and architecture as against proseand construction. The difference between the ex-pression that is and the expression that is not art ismore subtle than that. True, inventories and time-tables, and workshops and trainsheds are all by natureeither prosv or constructional, while hymns of praiseand choragic monuments are by nature at once poeticor architectural. But we must not forget that railwayviaducts and histories of Rome, while essentiallyexpressions, may be something more, in virtue ofrhythmic disposition of their several elements, and maythereby achieve emotional potency and a claim to aParnassian environment.

have far more in common than they have of difference.It is to the analogies of literature and architecture thatI would draw attent ion. There is set purpose in this ,for today literary criticism is perhaps more highlydeveloped and certainly more generally understood thanever before. Strangely enough, architectural criticism,outside the perfunctory but sympathet ic columns of ourvery technical professional press is non-existent. Bycriticism we should mean just appreciation, with thebias favorable if anything. The common implicationthat criticism is necessarily destructive rather than con-structive, affords evidence in favor of the old doctrineof the total depravity of man.

Now, before the invention of printing by movabletypes, the builded stone answered for the printed wordin the scheme of things. Architecture then held herproud place as the great democratic vernacular art.Today we can tell what manner of men lived inXIIIth Century England or IIIrd Century Ital y farmore truly and really by looking at their many eloquentbuildings than by reading their few stilted books. Butnowadays our books reflect the best that is in us moretruly than our buildings do.

The other day I came across a sentence by AugusteRodin, the great French sculptor, aptly translated andset out in graceful script, by way of dedication to aGerman book on ancient art. It ran:


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THE JOURNAL OF THE AMERICAN INSTITUTE OF ARCHITECTSmaterials. Then you will f ind the period label, if it isan old building, and the stylemonger label of refer-ence and resemblance to some past mannerism or tradi-tion, if it be a new one.

could literature live under such a blight? I trow not.

Modern descriptive writing is full of Nature andher moods , and occasionally architectural objectsobtrude; if the writers would only treat theirarchitecture as they do their nature, there would belittle to complain of. But the moment the materialcreations of man are touched on, the writers lose gripand proceed to revel in all the things about architEcturewhich are irrelevant-the limbs, the organs, the flesh,the clothing. But, on the spirit of the building, thesoul of its builders, the real fundamental subject matterof the monument, there is silence. The arts are, ofcourse, ultimately untranslatable, and things spiritualcan be built that cannot be said or sung, and vice versa.But without asking the writers to attempt the im-possible, we might expect them to see that some build-ings are instinct with spiritual life, and that some areless so, and others not at all, and to differentiateaccordingly . Mountains are allowed to be gloomy,and lakes to smile, and rivulets to sing; even ruins arepermitted to frown. Why not let the houses be dis-creet or smug, the hotels be pompous, hospitable, orvulgar, and the churches chaste or ascetic, and not allbe merely physically and materially convenient, plusstyle designation, plus valuation.

But there is more in a building that has architecturalqualities than its own particular mood which i tsdesigner may , in a happy moment have bestowed uponit. In the mere determination of this mood he revealssomething of his personality, but in the elaboration ofthe idea he can conceal nothing.

Architects themselves, like writer; and painters, havehearts-good ones and bad ones, hard ones and softones, kind ones and cruel ones, deep bottomed heartsand hearts as shallow as saucers, and whether theylike it or not (but often with conscious effort in bloodand sweat and tears) they do inevitab ly build theirhearts into their buildings today just as they did beforeprinting was invented, and just as any writer does, andmust inevitably do, in his pages. But now that all theworld has learnt to read, and forgotten how to see,none but the architects are any the wiser or the betterfor it all.

Reverting now to the current fallacy o f architecturalstyles as disembodied traditions, independent alike oftime and place, it is pertinent to enquire: Howwould the literary artists like it if the principalcriterion of public appreciation amounted to the cita-tion o f arid resemblances with respect to ancientmodels:-if the first thing to be remarked about thestyle of a novel was that it was Jacobean or LouisXIII ; or about a play that it was XVth CenturyItalian; or about a song that it was Queen Anne-

But architecture is expected to thrive under this handi-cap, imposed b y the superficial information which isthe hall mark of our time, and something far morediff icul t and dangerous than honest ignorance. Howcan it?

The evil is greatly accentuated by an accident oflanguage. Odd uses of words usually enfold somefundamental truth, but the double meaning of theword style is not a case in point. I am not philologistenough to know whether the word has crept into ourlanguage from two different sources or not. That&would be an explanation. But as things are, thie isa fundamental fall acy crystallized by the use of theselfsame word to denote what is individual and whatis generic. When applied to a literary effort styleconnotes all that is differentially characteristic of theauthor in. his power over his technique. When appliedto an architectural effort the word nearly alwaysconnotes something general, shared, gregariouslyhabitual, imitatively inane, confessedly imbecile, anegation of technical achievement and progress, a denialof evolution.

Yet, architects do achieve s tyle in a precisely similarsense to authors-only, unfortunately, the public is noteducated to the perception of it, and accords toachitecture a flabby interest in impersonal tradi-tionalism, whose highest manifestation is associationalpreference when rival traditions are brought intocommercial competition by the rival propagandists ofmullions, or lintels, cottage craftsmanship, or the grandmanner. Now, all this would soon come to an endif people would write about architecture in preciselythe same spirit as they write about poetry.

The musical analogy- frozen music as a definitionof architecture for instance,-is ver y slight, but theliterary analogy, if not pushed too far, affords someillumination.

Architecture has its words, and even its spellings,its phrases and sequences of arrangement to renderthem intelligible, its statements of fac t, its comment,its rhetoric laden with similes, its historic allusiveness,and above all, whether the architecture be anarchitecture of prose or an architecture of verse, ithas its rhythm or it is&as nothing; just as proseand poetr! /either have rhythm or, wanting it,are altogether inane. And what o f the cadences,and echoes, and rhymes and jingles in architecture-the metrical formula, the speech in numbers? It isin metrical quality that architecture is pre-eminentamong the arts. If the practice of architecture bedefined as the discovery of form and one school ofarchitecture would stress the discovery while an-other stresses the form, still all agree that in thesearch for that form,-a thing itsel f compact o f ele-ments of mass, of scale and of proportion,-abundant

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LITERATURE AND ARCHITECTUREuse is habitually made of certain metrical 8formul~.These, in their simplest and most elementary, almosttheir embryonic form, are the orders o f the ancients,Doric, Ionic, and what not, and in their more elaboratedevelopments are often called the styles when thesystems would be a far better word.

Now, if a man writes today in iambic pentameters,no critic in his senses would feel that by calling atten-tion to the fac t he had done more than state the obvious.If he is a critic of the head rather than of the heart,and says the metre used is inappropriate or wellchosen, that is better. If he leaves the metre alone andcan tell how he responds to the verse he has beenreading, that is best of all.

So, with architecture-to tell us there is an Ionicorder and that the style is classic, is to say nothing;to tell us that the scale of the order or the severity ofthe style is impressive is better; but to tell us of themood in which contemplation of the building leaveshim, is best of all.

McFee, in his very wonderful work of wistful ap-preciations of men, books and places, Harbours ofMemory, makes these quotations from a long-sup-pressed preface to The Nigger of the Narcissus, byConrad. They constitute, in the firs t place, an epitomeof what a great literary artist thinks about himself,in relation to his work, and in the second place theyhave the imprimatur of another one-no less eminent-who accepts the words as requiring neither commentnor elucidation.

The literary art, says Conrad, (. . . must stren-uously aspire to the plastic ity of sculpture, to the color ofpainting, and to the magic suggestiveness of music, whichis the art of arts. And it is only through complete un-swerving devotion to the perfeqt blending of form andsubstance ; it is only through an unremitting, never-dis-couraged care for the shape and ring of sentences that anapproach can be made to plasticity, to color, and that thelight of magic suggestiveness may be brought to play foran evanescent instant over the commonplace surface ofwords: of the old, old words, worn thin, defaced b y agesof careless usage.And again, o f the writer:

He speaks to our capacity for delight and wonder, tothe sense of mys tery surrounding our lives; to our senseof pity, and beauty, and pain; to the latent feeling offellowship with all creation-and to the subtle but invin-cible conviction of solidarity that knits together the lone-liness of innumerable hearts, to be solidarity in dreams,in joy , in sorrow, in aspirations, in illusions, in hope, infear, which binds men to each other, which binds togetherall humanity-the dead to the living and the living to theunborn.

/So h e sums it up. Beyond this, in placing the boundsof the authors art, it is impossible to go. One is per-mitted only to add, for the purpose of supplying a fittingconclusion, the fina l paragraph. The humble and indus-

trious among us may smile incredulously, yet toil on witha better, heart, when they read that our aim should be:. . . to arrest, for the space of a breath, the handsbusy about the work of the earth, and compel men en-

tranced by the sight of distant goals to glance for amoment at the surrounding vision o f form and color, ofsunshine and shadows; to make them pause for a look,for a sigh, for a smile-such is the aim, difficul t andevanescent and reserved only fo r a very few to achieve.But sometimes, by the deserving and the fortunate eventhat task is accomplished. And when it is accomplished-behold!-all the truth of life is there: a moment of vision,a sigh, a smile-and the return to an eternal rest.

Now, in applying these same sentences, withoutmodification of structure or essential sense with hereand there a word altered, but no paraphrasing, one getsas complete a statement as one could wish to find, in-vent or compass of the position of the architect as tohis work. For instance: ARCHITECTURE muststrenuously aspire to the plastic ity of sculpture, to thecolor o f painting, and to the magic suggestiveness ofmusic, which is the art of arts. And it is only throughcomplete, unswerving devotion to the perfect blendingof form and substance; it is only through an unremit-ting, never-discouraged care for the shape and LOOKof BUILDING FORMS that an approach can be madeto plasticity, to color, and that the light of magic sug-gestiveness may be brought to play for an evanescentinstant over the commonplace surface of STONES: of theOLD, OLD STONES, worn thin, defaced by ages of carelessusage.

Now, I have changed but four words-for theliterary art I have written architecture, forring, look, for sentences, building forms, andfor words, stones-that is all. And so, with theother quotations.

Such is the aim, difficu lt and evanescent, and re-served only for a very few to achieve. But sometimes,by the deserving and the fortunate, even that task isaccomplished, and when it is accomplished-behold!-all the truth of life is there; a moment of vision, asigh, a smile, and the return to an eternal rest.

These words need not even a fortuitous substitution.Apply them to architecture and they stand, and thereis little more that can be said.If people, and particularly writers, would regardbuildings as they regard poems, and pictures and plays,and men, women and children, and animals, andflowers, that is to say , as organisms with character, theywould obtain and spread much spiritual refreshment inthe exercise. If a @ is wanted, one cannot dobetter than read Mr. Geof frey Scotts delightful bookThe Architecture of Humanism, which sets forth thevital qualities of the buildings of the Baroque period,by a system of thought and analysis just as applicable,I think, to buildings of any and every other period, andtherefore (though he would not admit i t, being

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obsessed by the Baroque) of quite universal applicationwithin the realm of architecture, and probably outsideit.

There is at Marlborough College a Chapel designedby Bodley and Garner, who brought to bloom thefull flower of the Victorian revived medirevalism, W&

6ne of the school masters made it his pleasure and hisprivilege to show visitors over this part of what Mr.Veblen would call the Material Equipment of theinstitution. One visitor asked this master whether,on entering the chapel the first time, people said Oh !,and was assured that it was invariably so. Then,said the visitor, I know nothing about architecture,but I know that this chapel is all right. That manknew more about architecture than most of us, I think.

ConclusionNow, no man can arrange ten words for print with-out revealing something of his nature ; so, no man can

design ten courses of brickwork without a like dis-sipation of spiritual forces, and if the heart of thewriter is what some readers seek, as many assuredlydo when they have truck with writers, then I makea plea for the heart of the architect as a no less in-teresting creation.

Of course, it may be urged that the hearts of writersare intrinsically better worth attention than the heartsof builders ; or again, it may be urged that, as thearchitects in these days speak a variety of languages,apart from the idiosyncrasies of accent, they have losttheir traditions in a veritable Tower of Babel ofstylemongery. And there is a good deal in the latterargument.

Still, I will state in conclusion, for the benefit ofthose who infest the precincts we evolve, that allarchitectural languages are in themselves very easy tounderstand, though very diff icul t and subtle to theorizeabout; so simple that many fail to understand themafter try ing, chie fly because they allow themselves to bebamboozled with the clap-trap of the style names andthe mysteries of non-existent quintessential fantasieswith u.gly names such as associationalism.

Industrial RelationsThe Chairman of the Committee on Industrial Rela-

tions has before him two documents which have beenissued during the past month. The first of these is thecircular announcing the formation of the New JerseyBuilding Congress, which is, as may be guessed, the sametype of building industry organization that is now func-tioning in New York City, Boston, Portland, Ore., Seattleand Philadelphia.

The opening words of the document are these: I f hewill but think, everyone will realize that he is affected bythe building industry in one way or another, even if he isnot immediately concerned in its operation. To many,.

THE JOURNAL OF THE AMERICAN INSTITUTE OF ARCHITECTSeven of those who follow some other business, the buildingindustry and its problems are vita l, for , taking it in allits ramifications, it is the second largest industry in thecountry . All need the shelter it provides. All are affectedin its problems.The second document is the Report of the PublicGroup of the Building Indust ry (New York Ci ty) , andits opening phrases are these:

No industry so important as the building industry atthis time can be considered apart from the interests of thecommunity, and therefore any attempt to deal with theproblems arising must give heed not alone to labor andthe employer, but to the public as well.Is it not fai r to assume that the problems of the build-

ing industry are beginning to be understood in theirnature if not in their detail? Both of these documentsrepresent groups of people in two different communities.It is true that the Building Congress is a body composedof representatives of the labor and employer groups andof the public, while the Public Group of the BuildingIndust ry is composed entirely of people representing thepublic at large. But it is the public, let us agree, that isat last finding its place in the tri-partite whole.

These are auguries from which we may hope for realprogress in setting up a clearer understanding of thefunctional relationship which all of the elements in thebuilding industry bear to each other, and it would behard to over-emphasize the value of having made it clearto groups of people that the public must bear its shareof the burden in bringing about a better condition.

The second point of interest is the fact that an archi-tect is at the head of these central groups. Mr. HarryT. Stephens is President of the New Jersey BuildingCongress. Mr. R. H. Shreve is Chairman of the PublicGroup of the Building Industry in New York C ity .Both are well-known members of the Inst itute. Thesethings do not happen by chance but because the parties ininterest recognize the fact that the architect is a pro-fessional man. It thus follows that as his interest iscompletely divorced from the individual interests of theothers, he alone can function judicially. This is afac t which the architects ought to have realized long ago.They were wrong in holding aloof as though they fearedto antagonize this, that, or the other group or class.They are right in now coming forward whole-heartedly,as so many of them are doing, as leaders of groupswhich seek to discover the nature of the problems thatbeset the building industry. They are the ones who cando the most. It is their opportunity.

Of the New Jersey Building Congress I can but saythat we greet it with pleasure and extend to it our heartyassurance of co-operation. The Congress idea is nowtoo well known perhaps to require any detailed explana-tion, but it might be well to recall the fact that it is,from its ntiture. a body which will concern itself withresearch and investigation and not with problems of atemporarily contentious nature. Numerous statementsof the work done by the various Congresses to which Ihave alluded have appeared in the JOURNAL, and, as iswell known, one of its most promising aspects is thesuccess that already has attended the movement toward

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