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Title: Euterpe
       Or, the future of art

Author: Lionel R. McColvin

Release Date: December 18, 2022 [eBook #69571]

Language: English

Produced by: Tim Lindell, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed
             Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EUTERPE ***





  EUTERPE
  OR
  THE FUTURE OF ART




  TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW

  _A Full List of the Series will be found at
  the end of this Volume_




  EUTERPE
  OR
  THE FUTURE OF ART

  BY

  LIONEL R. McCOLVIN

  Author of _The Theory of Book-Selection_,
  _Music in Public Libraries_, _etc._

  LONDON:
  KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., LTD.
  NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO.




  Made and Printed in Great Britain by
  M. F. Robinson & Co., Ltd., at The Library Press, Lowestoft




EUTERPE




I


At the outset it will be desirable to state that when I speak of
the future of art I do not mean the “art of the future”. Art can
be considered from either an inside or an outside point of view;
that is to say, we can deal either with its nature, problems, and
performances--art itself, or with the amount and quality of the
interest taken in art by men and women--the “art-life” of the
community. The latter subject is that dealt with here.

The “art-life” of the civilized world is at present in a transition
period, which is fraught with distinct, though maybe unrealized,
dangers. Its problems are only indirectly related to the present and
the future state of art-production: whether we foresee development or
retrogression in modern tendencies in literature, painting, music, and
so on, these dangers will need to be faced, or they will, at least,
minimize the value of the creative work of to-morrow. For we are
concerned not with the production of art but with the enjoyment and
appreciation of art. As the latter is the more important, since without
it production would be sterile, it is an essential preliminary that
the conditions necessary for the healthy growth of a more widespread,
deeper-rooted love of the beautiful should exist. We are now viewing
the situation as sociologists, as men, rather than as artists. The
artist can be satisfied when he attains a certain level of performance:
at least he can work with content and happiness while he is seeking to
reach a may-be unattainable perfection. He is, naturally and rightly,
concerned with absolute values; and the critic and the individual
lover can maintain the same attitude. If a painting or a poem reaches
perfection, he asks no more. But the sociologist must take a different
attitude. To the artist and the critic the work is the end; to the
sociologist it is the beginning. It is not enough for him to know that
the painting is great, since to him it is only the means by which men
attain artistic enjoyment; it has no significance until it has acted
upon the minds of men. That being so he must ask other questions about
it--firstly, _How many_ men can see it? How many are able to appreciate
its value intelligently, gaining the full aesthetic, spiritual, or
intellectual stimulus from it?--in short, What is the aggregate of its
human significance?

It does not follow, of course, that we can relate the quality of a
work of art to the “quantity” of its appeal; it would, in fact, be
absurd to suppose that it is necessarily better that 100,000 should
know and appreciate the second-rate than that 100 should love the
finest--neither, with certain reservations, need this necessarily be
untrue. The point I would urge at present is simply that the value
of art to humanity does depend very largely upon the desire and
opportunity of men to take advantage of it. The poet whose works are
ignored saving by the very few may be as impotent as a mute inglorious
Milton.

Therefore there are two factors--production and reproduction, or, shall
we say, creation and distribution. A musician composes a symphony,
a dramatist writes a play, a novelist a story--that is the first
factor. If no one ever performed the symphony, produced the play, or
published the novel, of what importance would this creation prove to
the world?--Practically none. The art-product must be distributed
before it can accomplish any part of its essential purpose. It
necessarily follows, moreover, that the _wider_ the distribution, the
more adequately will it function. This is all very obvious, though
often forgotten, and will disclose the next step in the argument,
which is that, were it not for certain tendencies, increased means of
reproduction and distribution would lead to a better developed, more
valuable, and more active artistic life. That being so, the present,
which is a period when mankind is enjoying the benefit of recent and
important reproductive inventions, should be imbued with hopeful
tendencies--Is it?

Yes and no. Let us take stock of our position. Reproduction is
almost entirely a mechanical matter, depending upon non-artistic,
purely material factors. Production is the business of the creative
artists; reproduction that of the scientists. The latter have given
us within recent years inventions which have revolutionized artistic
conditions--the mechanical processes and innumerable secondary
inventions such as stereotyping, and mechanical composition and
binding, which have facilitated the reproduction of printed matter,
the three-colour and other photo-mechanical methods of reproducing
pictorial matter, the gramophone, the piano-player, and wireless to aid
the distribution of music, and so on, throughout the range of pure and
applied art.

Until recent years the percentage of the population who were in direct
contact with the fine arts had remained much the same in civilized
countries from probably the earliest times. Art had almost invariably
depended upon direct patronage of some kind or other, religious or
secular, if not entirely at least to an important degree. I would
not denounce this; one cannot, when one remembers that the system
fostered art which has not been equalled under the new régime. But
direct patronage by the few is rapidly declining and is to-day almost
negligible. It has been replaced, simply as a result of the mechanical
factor, by a more democratic economic basis. Some arts are still to
some extent produced for the few, but others entirely for the many. The
important fact is that wherever reproduction is easiest that art is the
most democratic--books and music, for example; wherever least possible
its range is narrower and its support less democratic, e.g., sculpture,
household decoration, etc.

       *       *       *       *       *

The character of our artistic experience has therefore to a very large
extent been decided by purely non-artistic factors. That which _can_
be reproduced has been reproduced, and opportunity has developed
taste. This is a generalization, though not a fallacious one. We
may assume that the artistic needs of men have been led into their
different channels partly as a result of personal inclination, but
very largely through the influence of opportunity. If a number of men
were cast upon a desert island with only books to minister to their
aesthetic needs, the majority would take what was to hand and be quite
content. I am not saying that this is a good tendency but that it is
a true hypothesis, applicable to modern life, and a contention which
is tenable on historical grounds. The favourite pursuits of early
civilizations were not those of to-day, and it is very unlikely that
any one factor has done so much to change taste as the development of
means of reproduction. The pursuit of once-popular arts need not die
out; it need not even decline, since the numbers of those interested in
all the arts is increasing; but the proportionate or relative interest
alters. This being so, can we ignore the influence of the mechanical
factor? It is operating in a striking manner to-day when _relatively_
music is being appreciated by more and literature by fewer people, when
the theatre is attracting, relatively again, fewer every day than the
cinema, when the graphic arts are becoming more significant than the
plastic arts.

To ignore the mechanical factor is to put effect before cause.
Certainly the character of taste has influenced the direction of
invention to some extent, since the scientist would naturally turn
first to fields where his work would be most effective. This aspect
should not, however, be magnified. Sooner or later science has given
all it was capable of giving to _every_ form of art, regardless of its
importance or popularity.

And so we realize that the _character_ of public taste--that is to say,
the proportionate amount of interest in the various arts--has been
dictated by the mechanical factor. We can go still further and assert
that its _quality_ has been largely determined by this same influence.




II


Before we can appreciate the truth of that assertion--that the
quality of public taste has been influenced by mechanical methods of
reproduction--we must be prepared to view the art-life of the community
as a whole. Too often we tend to regard only the better elements, the
top layer, and to ignore the lower strata. We segregate a section of
the populace--that which appreciates, or pretends to appreciate, Art
(with a capital A)--and forget that the remainder, which indulges in
jazz, ‘the pictures’, light fiction, Bovril pictures, and tin-chapel
architecture, is actuated by the same motives. The quality of their
artistic experiences and the standard of their taste and artistic
education may be very different, yet they seek the same kind of
experience as the others. It is entirely a matter of degree.

Therefore we must regard the art-life of a community, as we must and do
regard its social, religious, or political life, as comprising a little
good, much bad, and more that is indifferent. Once this is realized,
and only then, the full significance of the mechanical factor is
apparent.

Let us go back to the pre-mechanical era, when only a small number
of people had any opportunity for contact with art and only a few
had developed a love for and the ability to appreciate its higher
manifestations. At the same time a similarly limited populace found
satisfaction in the second, third--and fifth-rate. Probably then, as
now, more enjoyed the second-best than the finest, and so on, though
probably the contrast was not so great as it is now. However that may
be, when a new reproductive process was introduced it was naturally
applied to the lower types rather than to the better, for an obvious
reason. It enabled _more people_ to be brought into contact, and
these newcomers must naturally be unaccustomed to and incapable of
appreciating the best. The education of taste is a slow process,
whereas the new invention was a sudden force, applied immediately in
whatever direction offered it the greatest scope. And so we find at
once an increase in the lower grades of appreciation which is out of
proportion to the benefits bestowed upon the higher.

The trouble did not end there, however. Greater familiarity tends to
form taste, especially in these matters. Art serves most men chiefly as
a luxury, a relaxation, a recreation; and in our quest for these we are
apt to take that which is most easily obtained. The mechanical factor,
by making the fourth-rate accessible, _generated a desire for the
fourth-rate_: this desire stimulated further reproduction, and this, in
turn, brought more into the artistic fold, at each step lowering the
quality of the most accessible and the most desired.

The result is that to-day the average quality of the whole artistic
consumption of the populace is considerably lower than it had ever
been before in civilized times. Though every day more and more people
are reading some kind of printed matter, witnessing plays--silent and
audible--of a sort, looking at pictures, penny plain or twopence
coloured, though the time is not far distant when every man will be
interested to some extent in art in one or other of its forms, our
art-life is developing not so much in quality as in quantity.




III


There is, of course, a bright side to the picture, and lest we be
accused of pessimism it will be well to discuss this now.

In the first place all forms of art, good, bad, and indifferent, have
benefited by mechanical means of reproduction. The actual numbers
of those who can experience the finest things in art have increased
manifold, and to that extent, the art-life of the world is better
off than before. My only contention is that _proportionately_ fewer
appreciate the best, though _actually_ more do so. My only intention
here is to point out the essentially _quantitative_ tendencies of
to-day, lest we should mistake them for something better. Quantity
alone is not everything, and, if we fail to realize these tendencies
and endeavour to counteract their undesirable features, the time will
come when the disproportion between those who seek the worthy and
those who do not will be very dangerous. Why this will be so I hope to
show in the next chapter.

To return to the bright side--Though quantity is not everything, it
_is_ something. It is better that people should appreciate the lowest
arts than that they should ignore them altogether. Provided, of course,
that any art is not definitely decadent and degenerate, it is better
than none. But even this aspect has its disadvantages. It might be
argued, not without reason, that it is more difficult to wean a person
from the poor thing he knows and has come to like than to introduce an
absolutely artistically-uneducated person to the moderately good. Of
that, however we shall speak later.

Thirdly, improved reproductive methods have enriched art by enabling
minorities to flourish.




IV


And so we approach the real danger, which is naturally more potent in
some fields than in others. We have seen that the mechanical factor
has, by making the fourth-rate more accessible, increased the number of
those with fourth-rate tastes. Now we encounter the commercial factor
which enters at some stage into every art and almost every artistic
activity. Books, music, and pictures must be published, plays produced,
concerts arranged, art-objects manufactured, and so on. Outlay of
capital is almost invariably involved, and those with capital can
seldom be induced to use it without the usual expectation of gain. In
short, to some person or other nearly _all our artistic experiences are
business propositions_. Practically the only exceptions to this rule
are the institutions maintained at the public expense--art-galleries,
museums, public libraries, etc.--and even these are not entirely
divorced from indirect commercial relationships.

Thus the nature and extent of art-reproduction are very largely
governed by commercial considerations. The effect of this is easily
seen. The natural desire of the capitalist is to secure the best return
from his investment, and this may be sought in two ways. Either he
may produce something for which there is a large demand, or he may
produce something for which there is less demand and charge more for
it. He will certainly avoid the thing for which there is only a small
or a problematic demand. Let us now remember that the proportion of
those who desire good art is decreasing, and it is clear that the
commercial factor is not improving the standard of public taste. Within
limits the most demand is for the least worth-while, and yet it is the
satisfaction of this demand which makes the most attractive commercial
proposition. He who wants the fine thing prized by a minority must pay
more for it if he is lucky enough to be able to do so and if he is
fortunate enough to have it produced for him, or go without it if he is
not.

The snowball rolls on. The vicious sequence operates continuously. The
bigger the demand the more ready is the business-man to meet it; the
better the supply, the greater the desire.

The extent to which the commercial factor is potent varies
considerably, and depends largely upon the amount of capital which
is involved in the single reproductive operation. Fortunately there
are still business-men in the art-producing world who are glad to
compromise, who sometimes put their ideals before their pockets, who
are satisfied so long as they are enabled to pay their way, who are
prepared at times to lose. Accordingly, whenever the capital involved
is not large, and whenever the investor can undertake a number of
contemporary ventures the loss on some of which should be covered by
profits on the others, better though less popular art is given its
chance.

Probably the most fortunate art in this respect is that of literature
(in the widest sense of the word), and the most unfortunate the drama.
The percentage of worthy books which remain unpublished is very low
compared with that of plays or music, and even this percentage does
not indicate the real difference, since through lack of opportunity,
the number of artists who devote their energies to composition or
play-writing is much smaller than it should be. The reason is obvious.
A small circulation will pay the cost of publishing the average book--a
much smaller circulation (were it not for advertising expenses) than
many imagine; on the other hand, commercial conditions being what they
are, considerable public support is necessary if the producer of a
play, a film, or an orchestral concert is to secure any financial gain.
The publisher, moreover, does not put all his eggs into one basket;
the producer of plays, unless he is in an unusually strong financial
position, must. The former can afford to take occasional risks; the
latter cannot.

Even in the case of books, however, the reader who seeks the same
kind of reading as many millions of others is in a more favourable
position than the man with individual, minority inclinations. The
greater the volume of reproduction, the lower the cost per copy. Even
were the business-man willing, he could not give the latter the full
benefit of mechanical inventions. It would not be worth his while to
do so. The complete utilization of mechanical methods involves the
use of expensive plant, which is justified only when the output is
large. It is, of course, a matter of degree, and many processes (e.g.
machine-casing of books) can be applied as readily to the few as to the
many. Other processes, on the contrary, never benefit the minority. In
graphic art, for example, there are several colour-processes by which
very cheap reproductions of pictures can be produced, but their use
is, for necessary commercial reasons, confined to popular works. The
pictures required by the few are never reproduced by these methods.




V


We may now summarize the problem, before passing to a discussion of
ways and means to counteract the dangerous tendencies of to-day.

Firstly--though creative artists and educationists must regard this as
a hard saying--the most powerful force in the art-life of to-day is the
purely mechanical factor.

Secondly, this factor is to a great extent determining the nature and
amount of art-production and reproduction.

Thirdly, it is causing a decrease in the average quality of the total
artistic life of the community.

Fourthly, this degeneration must naturally continue unless it is
counteracted by other influences.

This statement is not an exaggerated one, and it does not ignore
the good effects of the new order. Even though a certain amount of
repetition is involved, it will be well to discuss in detail the causes
of degeneration in popular tastes.

(1) Mechanical improvements were applied first to those grades of art
which offered most scope to the commercial element (and are now still
so applied to a greater extent).

(2) Even if, in the beginning, lower tastes were not in a majority, any
widening of the circle of those interested would inevitably bring in a
large percentage of the artistically uneducated.

(3) Each widening of the circle would involve a lowering of taste, and
also increase the commercial inducement to cater for the lower grade.

(4) This being so, those with better tastes become an even smaller
minority, and (though they probably would be _actually_ better off)
they become _relatively_ at a disadvantage economically. Though they
might now have to pay less than they had to before for something,
they nevertheless still have to pay more than those who belong to the
majority.

(5) Furthermore, the low grade is more accessible, easier to
experience, more frequently offered than the better thing.

(6) Therefore, since (especially the large numbers whose tastes are
on the border line) we unconsciously tend to follow the easy way,
unless we deliberately seek to improve or maintain our taste, it will
degenerate. It is necessary to remember that art is usually regarded
as a recreation and, in spite of the saying that we take our pleasures
sadly, we do often take a short view, and are satisfied to find that
artistic recreation for the day which is first to hand, without thought
of the morrow.

(7) In art-matters we are mostly conservative. Neither do we readily
set ourselves apart from our fellows. The history of any “best seller”
will prove this. Up to a point it is read by those who have discovered
that they might like it; after that it is read chiefly “because
everybody else is reading it”. It is wrong to attribute this tendency
to a mere desire to be “in the swim”; much more often it is because
readers, unconsciously classing themselves as average, argue that the
book which interests the average man will interest them. To a large
extent this applies to all popular art. Few people care to “waste their
time” experimenting when it is so much easier to fall in line with the
crowd. The only wonder is how the popularity of the “best seller” and
its kind begins: once that has happened the rest is a normal process.

(8) The average man, being thus willing to follow the dictates of
the majority, is seldom likely to look elsewhere for his artistic
experiences. And so the tastes of the majority are more firmly
established--and the tastes of to-day form the tastes of to-morrow.

I would not describe this as a vicious circle. Rather is it a vicious
spiral, the circumference of which ever increases. How can this state
of affairs be altered?

Let us not be misunderstood. We are not asserting that this world with
its many who appreciate the less valuable is worse than the world of
the pre-mechanical era. Far from it. In every way it is better. The
actual quantity of good artistic endeavour is much greater, and every
increase in the numbers of those who appreciate the least worth-while
is a distinct gain to the community and to the individual. Our anxiety
is not so much for to-day as for to-morrow. There is no reason to doubt
that before long practically the whole population will be interested in
some form and grade of art. It is then that the trouble will begin to
assume serious proportions. Let us take a biological parallel. It is
agreed that if good stocks do not increase at the same rate as inferior
stocks they will gradually die out. If, in a world full of artistic
endeavour the good artistic stocks are not as sturdy as the remainder,
they too will in time die out. So long as the commercial and mechanical
factors are allowed full play, the good artistic stocks will be at a
disadvantage, and so the future of the finest elements of art depends
upon the success of efforts to counteract these factors. We must find
means (1) to make the most desirable art more accessible than it is
now, and (2) to increase the numbers of those who desire it. The latter
will serve two purposes: (_a_) it will help us in the first aim; and
(_b_) it will increase the aggregate quality and value of the artistic
life.




VI


We will deal with the second aim first, and it may be termed roughly
“Education”--the process of increasing a man’s ability to enjoy
better art. The last phrase embodies our idea of the function of
art-education. If education does that--improves the range and quality
of his pleasure in the beautiful--it has performed its prime duty.
Needless to say, we are not speaking now of that branch of education
which concerns itself with the training of practitioners--creative
or executive artists. That is quite a different matter, and one of
our first quarrels with the present system is that these two types of
education are not as clearly distinguished as they need to be.

There are two classes of people who will benefit by education--those
who wish to enjoy and those who wish to practise. The needs of the two
classes are quite distinct, yet he who would enjoy is often given the
instruction provided (or which should be provided) for the others. The
disadvantages of this are: (_a_) the enjoyer approaches the subject
from quite a different angle, and practical instruction will sometimes
depreciate his appreciative faculties. The outsider sees most of the
game, and, moreover, one with knowledge of technical matters will tend
to allow technical questions to come before purely aesthetic ones;
(_b_) He will spend a great deal of time to no purpose, and will waste
opportunities and leisure which could be more advantageously applied;
(_c_) As he might be, and generally is, entirely devoid of sufficient
creative or executive ability to practise to his own satisfaction a
certain disappointment and disillusionment will colour his regard
for the artistic; (_d_) It is useless and wasteful to give technical
instruction to those who cannot and do not desire to apply it. Neither
does the practitioner gain. There is a tendency to compromise, and so
he does not always obtain the special purposive instruction he needs,
and the personnel and institutions fitted to instruct the practitioner
cannot devote all their energies to this essential work. Any increased
love of art, be it remembered, will cause a much greater demand for
professional creative and executive artists. And (_e_) he probably has
neither the time nor the inclination for practical studies, and so,
if there are no schemes specially for his benefit, he will receive no
education at all.

Therefore there is a great need for systematic education in the
appreciation of art. Many more attempts are being made to-day than
there were a few years ago; yet the subject--a very difficult one--is
still in its infancy. The methods and aims of such education have not
yet been adequately formulated and must exercise educationists in
the near future. Failing a well-defined plan, they have taken refuge
in aspects of art-instruction which are not those best calculated to
stimulate genuine enjoyment. This explains to some extent the confusion
of practical and appreciative ends. It explains also our addiction to
historical and theoretical studies. He who would study the graphic arts
must try to draw and to paint; the music-lover must acquire some sort
of executive ability, and so devotes enough time to the routine of
“practice” to kill all his enthusiasm; and the student of literature
must become versed in its history. The art-lover is probably not
getting much harm; the music-lover is now often relieved by mechanical
instruments from the necessity for technique; than the historical
studies of the last-named, however, nothing more dreary and futile
could be invented.

Improvement in the methods of education in appreciation must involve
the total abolition of the Examination system. Examinations may be
able to show whether a man can draw “correctly”, play the notes of
a composition, or is versed in the dates of a number of writers and
able to list their important works. But it cannot possibly give any
indication whether the education in appreciation is achieving its real
aim--the increase of the student’s ability to enjoy more and better
things, to find greater happiness and richer artistic experiences.
Those who would develop the appreciative faculties of others must take
the results of their labours for granted.

As before said, our ideas of how to instil a love of beauty, how
to awaken interest in and arouse perception of artistic values,
are still vague. It is a matter which cannot be taught by rule of
thumb. It is not concerned with ascertained facts, nor discoverable
by ordered experiment. It is an individual matter. Largely, in
practice, such instruction will be exemplary rather than explanatory.
Much of the time spent will be devoted to introducing to students
actual examples of the art, and thereby the obstacles of ignorance
and prejudice will be removed. In addition to this, however, some
systematic instruction in the principles of aesthetics, of the general
criteria of works of art--completeness, congruity, balance, and
proportion, the subordination of details, the relation of means to
ends--will be evolved. I would suggest as a starting-point the study
of _form_, of the anatomy or architecture of art. Apart from the moral
value of cultivating a sense of proportion, of perspective, of the
inter-relation of parts--a sense which is as essential to a sane life
as to the appreciation of a picture or a musical composition--nothing
could lead more readily to an understanding of the artist’s aims and
plan of campaign. In music, for instance, a brief account of the
sequence of the main themes, which could be memorized, would render
intelligible and _whole_ a composition which otherwise would seem
meaningless, shapeless, and dreary.




VII


The fact remains, however, that the percentage of the population which
is affected by systematic education is, and is likely to remain,
very, very small. The artistic regeneration of the world would be a
very slow process if it depended entirely upon the existence of a
definite desire for education. Before any one will come into contact
with educational institutions he must have attained to a relatively
high standard of appreciation and he must be endowed already with
considerable enthusiasm for art. The greater problems are clearly:
(_a_) how to increase the interest of those who are almost if not
entirely indifferent to the point when they _will_ desire systematic
instruction; and (_b_) how to benefit those who will never (maybe
_can_ never) reach even that stage, or who will prefer to “educate
themselves”.

As a preliminary to this it will be well to examine some of the causes
of low taste. Why is it that millions enjoy _When it’s Night-time in
Italy_, but are bored to tears by the Schumann _A minor Concerto_? Why
should _The Bat_ have power to thrill them when _Macbeth_ leaves them
cold? Why, in short, do they prefer the least good to the best? I will
not say “worst,” because nothing is bad which artistically can give
pleasure and morally is not evil.

The obvious reason, which most of us would give glibly, is that these
people are intellectually and spiritually incapable of appreciating
good art. How far this is true, and how far the other reasons I shall
give are responsible, I would not care to suggest. Very probably it is
true in the large majority of cases. In a world the majority of whose
inhabitants are quite incapable of thinking intelligently or logically
about the most important influences in their lives, where politics
and religion and the fundamental human relationships are governed by
ignorant prejudices and irrational habits, where a large proportion of
men are mentally and physically below par, can we expect every man and
woman to possess the latent ability to embrace the beautiful? However
that may be, this obstacle to artistic education can be removed only
by the sociologist, the educationist, the moralist, and the biologist.
We who are concerned with the artistic factor can duly presuppose the
existence, now or to-morrow, of a germ of artistic impulse, since we
can only influence those who are capable.

Secondly, as we noticed before, the greater familiarity and
accessibility of the low grade is a potent hindrance to development.

Thirdly, we must remember that the average man seeks recreation when
he embraces art. He may have degraded his idea of the recreational and
come to think that unless an experience “livens him up” or “takes him
out of himself” it is not suitable recreation. The fact remains that as
a rule he is unwilling to give the matter any sustained thought (even
though exercising his mind might be a great change from the routine
of manual labour), and he is satisfied if the day’s leisure is passed
pleasantly. The idea of sustained, cumulative recreation, such as is
gained by the real lover of any art, when the pleasure of to-day adds
to the recreative value of that of to-morrow, when each experience
makes the following keener and more lasting, never occurs to him.

Again, he is conservative and play for safety. Any improvement in taste
would involve stepping on to fresh ground, and he is not prepared to do
that. Somehow--generally by observing the likes and dislikes of people
of similar mentality--he has discovered “what he likes”, and he sees
no reason why he should take any risks. That is largely why he goes to
see farces, reads detective yarns or tales of the wild and woolly West,
and patronizes ballad-concerts and music-halls, but would never dream
of venturing into a repertory theatre or a classical concert, or of
reading a different type of book. His time, he thinks, and his money,
are too precious for excursions into the unknown.

That alone would be sufficient deterrent, but, in addition, it sets up
prejudices. He does not want to explore, yet he has (subconsciously,
of course) to justify his conservatism. This he does by raising an
imaginary barrier between the things he knows he likes and the things
he doesn’t know anything at all about and _might_ not like. When he
is brought face to face with the unknown, rather than confess his
ignorance and lack of enterprise, even to himself, rather than admit
that his tastes are low, he jumps to the conclusion that he is wise to
be wary and that there must be some good reason for his attitude. Thus
he sets his mind at rest by retarding its development.

Unfortunately there are outside influences which strengthen these
prejudices. For instance, too many of those who appreciate, or pretend
to appreciate, the best are apt to set themselves apart and to insist
that there is an unbridgeable gulf between their art and that of the
common herd. The average man hates this highbrow snobbery and hates,
too, everything they are supposed to care for, since it is tarred with
the same brush.

Then, again, attempts to “improve” his taste for him generally arouse
his ire and invoke further prejudices--mainly because the would-be
improvers do not go the right way to work. It is not at all difficult
to realize that, since we all regard art as matter for the exercise
of taste, which is an individual prerogative--there is no absolute
scale of artistic values, though there is a general consensus of
educated opinion--the man who will readily accept the judgement of his
intellectual superiors will not so readily accept the opinions of the
artistically better informed.

Then, it is by no means easy to persuade the artistically uneducated
that there is any need for education. He thinks that the enjoyable
aspects of art are fairly obvious and that there is no point in looking
beyond the obvious unless he is seeking for some extra-artistic
element--some intellectual or spiritual value. As he is only seeking
enjoyment, why should he waste time looking for anything else? It
must, therefore, be made quite clear to him that the chief aim of the
educationist is to increase his pleasure in art and that there is no
ulterior motive. Unfortunately the methods of many teachers (and here
I include all publicists and would-be popularizers) are not such as to
give this impression.

Much teaching has been misguided. For example, for some obscure reason
critics and teachers frequently fail to discriminate between the
“absolute” and the “historical” value of the classics. They delight in
praising work which has little claim to our interest other than its
antiquity. They confront the bewildered seeker for enjoyable beauty
with volumes of extracts from “The Great Writers”, collections of the
Hundred Best Books, etc., than which nothing more ungodly, more dreary,
uninspired, unworthy, and unbeautiful could possibly be found. They
should know better, these people! Why will they do it? Almost as bad
are those who go to the opposite extreme and hail with acclamation the
newest, most unintelligible phantasies born of a craving for novelty.

I am not exaggerating, though certainly the position is improving
wonderfully. But, of the books written twenty years ago and earlier
with the presumable intention of stimulating interest in literature
and art, certainly half would have antagonized the ordinary man--had
he bothered about them at all, which he didn’t. The critic may say
that he is not concerned with improving the taste of the man in
the street. Undoubtedly he has other tasks besides those of the
popularizer; much of his work can appeal only to the artistically
educated and it would be dangerous for him to devote an undue share
of his energies to this work. Nevertheless, he should more often cast
aside the highbrow attitude and any idea that the needs of the ordinary
man are unworthy of his consideration. The example, in the realms of
science, of such men as J. A. Thomson, Lankester, and others equally
unlikely to devote their energies to any but a good cause, should help
to dispel this illusion. We badly need writers who, without being
namby-pamby, superior, or academic, can help the man with the germ of
interest, writers who can point to the ascending steps in the ladder
of taste. Theirs is not an easy task. In the first place, they must be
_themselves_ interesting, for only a minority are willing to read books
with an ulterior motive. The actual popularizing books must provide
recreation and enjoyment as well as stimulation.

In this connection it might be remarked that we are too ready to throw
stones at the writer who tries to bring his literary abilities within
the range of a wide public. He is accused of playing to the gallery,
of prostituting his art, of thinking of his royalties, and so on. Might
not a writer capable of attaining heights on which only a minority
could join him be rendering a better service to humanity at large by
sometimes choosing to give the majority the best they can appreciate?
And the competent conscientious workmen who, though they may not hope
or desire to rank with the greatest, give the public something which
it desires and understands, and which is nevertheless much better than
anything else of the same kind that it would read, render a finer
service than we are willing to admit.

Secondly, the popularizer must not rob his public of its self-respect
or unduly destroy its faith in its own judgment in artistic matters. To
do so is to open up another source of prejudice and to raise a fresh
obstacle to enjoyment, for he who loses faith in his own opinions, who
is told that he should put no trust in his own judgment, endeavours to
embrace the artistic standards of others. This he cannot do, but he
begins to read books, and so on, from a sense of duty--because he has
been told that everybody ought to read so and so--and then to become a
liar and a hypocrite, to pretend to others that he enjoys books when he
doesn’t, to imagine to himself that he does when he doesn’t, so wasting
his opportunities and stunting his latent capabilities. With the right
kind of education his tastes and opinions would improve gradually
and without his noticing the difference. Although his taste would be
improving, all the time he would be following his own judgment, and so
he would always enjoy his contact with art.

The popularizer who would approach the subject in the most
fruitful way will realize that the lower forms of art are purely
recreational--excepting of course that some activities have physical
values also. The ethical, spiritual, and intellectual aspects are not
developed until we reach a higher level. Therefore, if he is going to
lead to better things any one to whom art has been synonymous with
pure recreation, he must do so by utilizing the recreative element in
the better. For example, the educated reader seeks in Shakespeare the
statement of philosophical and moral ideas, beauty of language and
aptness of phraseology, the delineation of character, and the like.
But what is the good of pointing out these qualities to a man as a
reason why he should go to a Shakespearian performance rather than to a
farce or a melodrama, to one who is, as yet, only seeking recreation?
Tell him instead that _Twelfth Night_ is a good farce and _Macbeth_ a
good melodrama--as they undoubtedly are; rid his head of the idea that
Shakespeare is primarily something else, something much more “brainy”
and stodgy; try to instil in him the motive that filled the old Globe
with an audience which is the exact counterpart of our own uneducated
pleasure-seeking theatre-goers, and Shakespeare would become more
popular. Contact with his work would undoubtedly improve taste and the
appreciation of Shakespeare’s other qualities. Shakespeare was popular
in his own time because he enjoyed the reputation of being a good
entertainer. He isn’t popular to-day because the average man has been
taught by misguided people to regard him as a great writer. Of course
there are other reasons, but that is a most important one.

Yet another cause of low taste is the prevalent lack of the ability
to concentrate. Enjoyment of the better types of art involves
concentration, not only because it must be cumulative, but also because
great art is generally built round an ampler theme than that which is
of only temporary appeal. If the artist deals with a big subject, he
must have room. If he avoids substance, he economizes, condenses, and
concentrates his production. Whichever course he adopts, the reader
or spectator must give him greater--either more extended or more
intense--attention maybe both.

Education will improve powers of concentration; but, on the other hand,
it depends upon this ability. Therefore the psychological factor must
be considered by all educationists. They must prepare ladders leading
by easy stages from the purely enjoyable and insignificant to the
serious and significant, but it is not enough that the steps should
involve only gradual intellectual and aesthetic progress. They must
require also only a gradual increase in concentration.

The chief aim of education and popularization must be, however, to
increase the realization of the function of art--which is (though art
may fulfil other purposes) to provide enjoyment, enjoyment in its
highest, most spiritual form maybe, yet nevertheless enjoyment. For
the pursuit of art is the pursuit of the beautiful, especially the
beautiful which is of man’s creation. If this pursuit cannot give
pleasure, the fault must be ours, since the “beautiful” which cannot
give pleasure to any is not beautiful. The converse, that anything
which gives pleasure is beautiful, is certainly _not_ true, but,
whatever our philosophical or moral criteria of beauty may be, they
must include the pleasure giving property.

We need, nevertheless, to question ourselves whether this factor is
not only ignored but sometimes even suppressed by some educationists.
There are so many things in this world of imperfectly developed men and
women that give pleasure and are most unbeautiful, that we hesitate
to class our precious goods in the same category lest they be tarred
with the same brush. Yet we must do so. There is much that goes by the
name of Love which is but lust, greed, pride of possession, avarice,
habit, perversion, and waste, but we are not tempted to pretend that
genuine human affection is not love because it is something better than
the rest. So we must not be tempted to deny that art is essentially a
source of pleasure simply because it is the source of the finest, most
lasting, pleasure. To do so is to alienate those who are most in need
of its influence.




VIII


The second need--after education--is to make good art more accessible.
We have seen that, so long as the supply of art is a commercial
proposition, little, if any, improvement in its average quality can
be expected. Until, in some way, the good can be given the same
chance as the bad, the majority will continue to clamour for the bad,
since it will be the only thing they know. It seems, therefore, that
the only effective way to break the vicious circle is to try to put
art-provision as far as possible upon a non-commercial basis. We must
not be over-optimistic. Not a great deal can be done at present, and,
in any case, progress will be slow.

The only way in which this can be done is “co-operation”--firstly the
co-operation of individuals associated only for this purpose, and
secondly that co-operation which is implied in all State or community
action. Let us deal with the first and most fruitful, to begin with.

Let us not, may it be repeated, forge that the extent of co-operative
activity is limited by present desire and in exactly the same way as
the commercial activity. Even co-operative undertakings must pay their
way. The difference is three-fold, however. Firstly, the business
entertainment provider devotes his energies to those activities which
make the greatest _quantitive_ appeal. He does not ask: “Shall I
attract enough people to make this pay its way?”--but instead, as a
rule, he asks which production will attract _most_ people and produce
most profit. It is nevertheless obvious that because a play, for
example, is not likely to be a popular success, or an artiste a star,
or a programme superlatively attractive, it is not right to assume that
these would not merit and receive sufficient support to cover expenses.
From ten plays (or ten musical programmes), one of which should succeed
in a business sense of the word and nine of which would only pay their
way, the commercial man naturally chooses the former. The other nine
are _never chosen_, unless unintentionally. Yet some of them might be
works of greater artistic merit. It is the business of co-operative
activities to select and to produce works of worth which belong to the
latter category. The art-life of the community would gain from this
in two ways: (_a_) since the tastes of the majority are low, the nine
unproduced works will almost certainly include some of higher artistic
value; and (_b_) there will be greater variety.

Secondly, the selection of the works to be produced is made by the
business-man and not by the consumer. The business-man will object
to this statement, saying that his selection is dictated by public
demands; but it isn’t. In the first place, the public, whether popular
or other works are concerned, has no power to select at all; it can
only take or leave what is offered, which is a very different thing,
leading at the best to incomplete satisfaction and at the worst to
considerable waste. In the second place, the business-man selects not
according to popular demands but according to _his ideas_ of popular
demand--again a different matter. If it were not, he would not suffer
so many financial failures, for which the public has to pay in several
ways, such as higher prices, lower quality, conservatism, etc.

In the third place, the commercial provider is in competition with
all his fellows. Each seeks to attract the biggest crowd, and to do
so indulges in the “star system”, in spectacular but not necessarily
artistic production, in expensive advertising, and so on. All of these
increase the price of the production without in any way improving its
artistic or recreative value.

Co-operation in this matter involves the organization of Societies.
These may be quite small, e.g. Chamber-music groups, each of whose
members performs, dramatic reading-circles only large enough to provide
the casts--or on a large scale, e.g. the important Folk or Community
Theatres, the larger Music Clubs. The size of the Society would
determine the kind of work to be done, and would depend largely upon
local conditions. However big or small it may be, it would nevertheless
find suitable and desirable activities within its compass. Neither
need--nor in fact very often should--these Societies be “performing”
Societies, but, instead, “enjoying” Societies. By a performing Society
I mean one where the play or the music is performed by members of the
group, with the result that the practical or personal side is apt to
become more important than any other. The Music Clubs (of which there
are several, and should be more) on the other hand employ professional
players--the only real differences so far as the audience (of members)
is concerned between their own and ordinary commercial concerts are
that they receive better value for their money, can hear works which
would not otherwise be performed, and have some voice in the selection
of programmes. If the best results are to be attained, co-operative
art must make full use of the professional. Amateur art has its
limitations, and in any case demands the expenditure on practical
matters of energy which could be better spent in other directions.
Furthermore, the resources of any amateur group are limited. Thus, an
Orchestral Society which gave a monthly concert would be an exception,
and one orchestral concert per month is not sufficient to satisfy a
genuine music-loving community. The co-operative organizations would,
with probable advantage, eliminate much that was not absolutely
essential, e.g. their staging of plays would be as simple as possible:
otherwise there is no reason why their standard of production should
be below that of the commercial enterprise. In fact, it would probably
show more all-round excellence and better balance and ensemble.

Probably the genuine artist-professionals would sooner work for such
Societies than for ordinary managers. They would, with a sufficiency of
Societies, earn as good a living and be more secure. They would have
more scope for developing their finer talents, a wider range of art to
interpret, and more intelligent, more enthusiastic, audiences.

The possibilities of the other form of co-operation noticed before,
though great, will probably not be so fruitful. The State and Local
Government groups are very largely co-operative undertakings, their
function being to provide services which could not be given either at
all or so cheaply or efficiently without official organization. Some
of these services could, theoretically if not practically, be rendered
as well by private combinations. The extent of the activities of the
State is decided by the wishes of the majority, and, if the majority
desired that the State should engage in the dissemination of art, there
is no reason why it should not do so. In fact, it does by maintaining
art-galleries, museums, and libraries (in England) and by subsidizing
theatres, opera-houses, and conservatoires (in other countries). There
are some who would see the artistic activities of the State extended.

There is much to be said both for and against this idea. On the one
side, it is arguable that State activities would be largely educational
and that it is just as desirable that people should be helped to enjoy
life as to succeed in other directions. This is perfectly true, and,
so long as the educational ideal is kept in sight, State assistance
is thoroughly justified. On the other hand, though the majority of
taxpayers agree that education is desirable, they do not all agree
that the finest art should be promoted at their expense. In other
words, non-essentially educational activities would not be justifiable
unless they were provided for, and at the request of, the majority;
and, well, we have seen that the majority do _not_ seek the best.
Therefore I feel that those who urge the subsidizing of theatres and
the like would be better advised to turn their attention to the other
type of co-operative enterprise. They might otherwise antagonize the
average man and do harm to the educational possibilities of the State
organizations.

The museum is, of course, largely educational and not entirely or
even largely artistic in its aims. It and the art-gallery are also
in a very different position from such activities as the subsidized
theatre because they are devoted to the unique object--the specimen or
the picture--which _must_ be in the hands of the State if it is to be
available to all. There is no alternative to the public ownership of
museums and art-galleries. The public library, though it does not deal
with the unique, is in another way in a different category, since it,
alone of all State provisions, can give something to all men. Those
who do not desire good literature can obtain some other service--books
on business, science, sport, etc., recreative reading, and so on _ad
infinitum_--in return for their contribution towards its upkeep. The
public library, by appealing to all men, brings together a multitude of
interests and provides unlimited opportunities for the awakening of
new ideas. At the library alone is the good made as easily accessible
as the indifferent, and the very fact that they are to be found in the
same place is an educational factor of great significance. The man who
does not want good pictures or good plays has no need to come into
contact with them, and remains outside their influence. On the shelves
of a library books of all degrees of excellence and worthlessness
(within limits) are side by side so that even mere luck or too hasty
selection may lead to better tastes or fresh interests being acquired.
Therefore the library is an institution to be encouraged.

Frankly I believe the remedy to lie in the hands of those who want
good art. None of these now can get as much of it as they desire;
most enjoy only a small portion. If people set to work to provide for
themselves so that, instead, a large part of their artistic desires was
satisfied, they would so do a great deal to improve the average tastes
of the community, since the membership of a healthy organization always
increases. Of course they must avoid the insidious desire, which has
wrecked many repertory enterprises, to attract outsiders, and must
never forget that the function of the Societies is the quite selfish
one of supplying their own needs. They, too, must be prepared to cut
their cloth accordingly. It is the desire to do more than the means of
the actual membership permits that leads to attempts to curry popular
favour “to help to balance things”. By so doing they put themselves on
the same footing as the commercial man, must take the same risks, and
suffer the same failures--and these are liable to be more disastrous
since Societies lack what little knowledge of popular tastes the
commercial man possesses.

With sufficient organization and the co-operation of co-operative units
there is no reason why in time they should not be able to undertake any
feasible artistic enterprise. The music-lovers in at least six towns
in England could to-day with proper co-operation maintain a permanent
orchestra and the theatre-goers an intelligent adequate playhouse, and
all towns by grouping could do the same--so far as the orchestra is
concerned, at least.

These things have been tried and failed, I will be told. To this, if it
be true, there are only two answers--the world has progressed only by
successive trials and failures; if the first failure had effectually
damped the ardour of our ancestors we should still be savages--and,
if these enterprises fail really from lack of desire for them and not
because of indifference, which can in time be removed, the artistic
level of the day must be much lower than even a semi-pessimist like the
writer dares to imagine.




IX


We cannot close even a brief essay without some reference to the
effect of some other mechanical devices, such as the gramophone, the
piano-player, and wireless, and a note on that all important subject,
commercial art.

The appreciation of no art shows such great possibilities of expansion
in the near future as music. During the last few years it has been
released from its most irksome bonds and is now just beginning to
stretch its limbs. For technique has been the curse of music, and now
it is becoming possible to gain enjoyment without exercising one’s
executive and interpretive powers.

Musicians are of two classes--executive and appreciative--those who
perform and those who listen. True enjoyment of music belongs to
the latter, just as true enjoyment of books, of pictures, of plays
is the reward of the reader and the spectator--not of the writer,
the painter, the actor, or the composer. _Their_ joy is of another
order--it is the joy of creation.

Without the assistance of modern mechanical aids the music-lover had
either to listen to the music-making of his friends or of players at a
concert, or he had to attempt to interpret for himself. The first was
inconvenient and unsatisfactory. The selection of music was not his
own but that of others; the time and place were not of his choosing.
The alternative was even worse, since his appreciation was limited
by his interpretive powers and marred by his deficiencies. The owner
of a modern player-piano has the whole world of piano-music and a
wealth of arrangements at his command. Even the lover of orchestral,
instrumental, or vocal music has access, through the gramophone and the
wireless, to a passable substitute for the real thing.

What effect will this have upon pianoforte music? In the first place,
we shall gradually rid ourselves of misplaced pride in the amateur’s
very limited technical powers. We shall no longer praise So and So
for being able to play Chopin’s _Studies_ after a fashion, but shall
consider him either a fool for wasting his time trying when he could
much more easily enjoy Cortot’s performance of them, or sympathize with
the poverty that prevents his purchasing this mechanical aid. Secondly,
we shall not waste time and kill natural love of music by the dreary
routine of “teaching the piano.” Instead, we shall teach appreciation.
If all the energy spent in acquiring a very inadequate technique were
diverted to the real business of appreciation, we should be a more
musical nation. Thirdly, we shall cease to tolerate the incompetent
player now so often foisted upon us or even sought for want of any
better, and the ostentatious “virtuoso” executant.

Before very long the piano-player will cost no more than an ordinary
piano; in fact the ordinary instrument will no longer be manufactured.
In our schools “piano-playing” will be erased from the curriculum and
classes in appreciation substituted.

But what about non-pianoforte music? There is a big difference. While
the piano-player produces exactly the same kind of musical tone as
the hand-played instrument, the gramophone, or the wireless, does
not reproduce at all exactly the timbre, quality or volume of the
instruments recorded. It provides not the real thing but a substitute,
which, though excellent, can never be entirely satisfactory. We do
not care to assert dogmatically what science will or will not make
possible in the future; at least, however, it is extremely doubtful
that a mechanical violin as adequate as the mechanical piano will ever
be invented. Wind instruments depend less upon human manipulation--the
organ, for instance, is nothing but an imperfect essay in this
direction. This is but idle speculation, however. As a practical
proposition we may say that the perfect mechanical reproduction of
music will be confined to the pianoforte.

So we are left with these problems. Shall we be tempted to seek the
shadow and lose the substance--listen in often, but never attend
an orchestral or chamber concert or a violin or vocal recital? The
chances are that we shall, unless opportunities to enjoy the latter
are greater than at present. Considerable loss would result. The ears
of the next generation would become attuned to a diminished variety
of tonal experiences, for one thing. For another, the psychological,
even physical effects of large gradations in the volume of tone, such
as can be experienced only in the concert-room, should not willingly
be relinquished. And, again, it is not by any means the same thing to
listen to music in the company of others, in the atmosphere of the
concert-room, as it is to enjoy music in solitude. We may sometimes
prefer the latter, but that fact does not remove the difference.

The second problem is that, though there is little physical or moral
good to be found in solo instrumental playing, such good _does_ result
from singing and partaking in concerted music. There is no good reason
why we should play the piano--rather than listen to it; but there
are many reasons why we should sing or play in chamber or orchestral
music. By all means let us listen to more music of all kinds; increased
facilities for listening should not, however, decrease our desire to
perform when performance can benefit us.

Taking all these considerations together we may assume:

(1) that pianoforte _playing_ will decline though much more pianoforte
music will be enjoyed.

(2) that much of the practical energy now devoted to the pianoforte
will be directed to the study of other instruments.

(3) that, unless our musical life is to increase in volume but diminish
in quality, more and not less concert-going and concerted instrumental
playing and choral singing must be provided.

Books, music, pictures, sculpture, however, minister to only a
small part of the artistic needs of the community. By far the most
widespread, though not necessarily the most valuable, art-products are
those which we may describe as commercial, or industrial, or, better,
“applied” art. Only a minority, even in this age, concern themselves
with the first-named, but we all wear clothes, use furniture, live,
work, play, and worship in buildings, eat and drink out of vessels, and
so on, through every one of our daily occupations. Into each of these
art can, does, and must enter. We may wear clothes to keep us warm,
but they must be either ugly or otherwise--their existence implies
artistic properties, negative or positive. If they are ugly, we cannot
avoid their ugliness, though it may dull our appreciative faculties.
Of course this is true of all things. Every object, every occurrence
almost, has its artistic aspect. With every manufactured article, every
human production, however, this artistic quality is within our control.
When we make a cup, a hat, or a church, we can make it as beautiful or
as ugly as we like, subject to certain limitations, some of them real,
some imaginary. But we must be sufficiently interested in its artistic
value. It will seldom exist spontaneously, without conscious effort.

That is, of course, the first and most powerful limitation. _Often
we don’t care._ And so long as we don’t care we shall receive
only according to our deserts. For the second limitation is that
manufactured goods are intended primarily for utility, and the
incentive for their production is profit. So long as we are content to
take the ugly but useful, so long as our artistic discrimination does
not give added commercial value to the beautiful, we can have no right
to expect the manufacturer to bother. He is not an apostle of art, but
a business-man. If we show him, as a business-man, that we desire a
well-proportioned jug and will refuse to buy a clumsy one, he will,
acting on business principles, supply the saleable article. So far
the remedy is in our own hands. Thirdly, many manufacturers have an
unjustifiably low opinion of public taste, and honestly believe that
the majority like tawdry things when, in truth, they accept them for
want of anything better or because they are cheaper.

Fourthly, however, _when_ there is sufficient desire for the beautiful
it need not cost any more, but _until_ there is, it _will_, since, it
will be produced in response to a minority demand. This is a much more
serious limitation than it should be, for several reasons.

(1) Popular taste has, since the initiation of the industrial era,
steadily improved, but the artistic standard of manufacturers is at
least a stage behind. There are at least two causes for this: (_a_) the
manufacturer can judge popular taste only by experiment, and this is,
on the average, bound to involve expense, and (_b_) when the machinery
and processes of manufacture are well established and smoothly running,
changes must entail extra costs and reorganization, ranging from the
installation of fresh plant to the employment of new designs. For this
reason alone the more artistic article must cost more, excepting in
those industries (such as the manufacture of dress-material) where
change and fashion are normal conditions. In other industries where
the product is less subject to variation (e.g. pottery--a firm could
produce and sell exactly the same cups and saucers for an unlimited
period), the extra cost is necessarily more to be expected.

(2) The manufacturer may, and alas too often does, appreciate the
commercial value of beauty and _trades_ upon it. That is to say, he
manufactures ugly wall-paper and pleasant wall-paper, at practically
the same cost. He _could_ be content to make the normal profit from
both, but he realizes that many people don’t want to disfigure their
walls and will pay more for a pleasing design. He makes them do so,
since this behaviour is profitable to him. In this he cannot be
censured--rather should we praise him for not doing it more often.
Nevertheless, such action will be a drag upon artistic progress, and if
it can be prevented at all even the manufacturer in the long run will
benefit. Let all who can afford the more beautiful production purchase
it, but let them pay the extra price under protest. The manufacturer
must be made to realize that it is anti-social to make a profit out of
beauty, when by so doing he condemns the less fortunate man to suffer
the ugly. As the business-man is at heart as much interested as any
other person in the welfare of his fellow-men, this might have some
influence. And an independent inquiry (conducted by, say, a group of
art-students or a University) might achieve a little. They would try
to show us--if they could--why a fabric which is disfigured by a vile
design can be cheaper than a plain unprinted cloth, why there is truth
in the saying we all hear frequently, “Oh, yes, you all admire the
plain, simple costume or frock, but it’s so much more expensive, you
know,” and the like.

Fifthly, industrial designers have not received due recognition and are
not well organized in relation to the industries. The designer is not
always as well acquainted with the special qualities and limitations
of the material to which his designs are to be applied as he might be;
the manufacturer does not often enough realize the importance of the
designer; and the young artist is apt to despise design--naturally,
because personal public recognition is never awarded to the
designer--and the best men prefer more pretentious if more precarious
fields. These shortcomings would, however, be removed as a matter of
course were the other limitations to be removed.

Great improvements in industrial art cannot, however, be expected
until the general education and artistic appreciation of the public
has developed. Applied art will always move more slowly than fine art,
since the utility-factor will ever bring about a conflict of expediency
versus ideals.

Architecture presents special difficulties, because it is at once
aggressive and unavoidable, and because it depends upon environment.
In other words, though we may, if we can afford, eschew the ugly pot,
tawdry furniture, and (so far at least as our indoor life is concerned)
garish clothing, we cannot avoid buildings. They form a large part of
our environment and influence our mental and bodily health. Those who
live in dirty, flat-fronted, unbroken streets have to resist actively
their environment if they would avoid dirty, drab, monotonous lives.
Those who daily traverse roads consisting of disorderly jumbles of
architectural misfits lose the sense of serenity, order, and fitness
they might gain in happier surroundings. The second of the points
mentioned before is that no building can be judged apart from its
surroundings. An essential of every work of art is that its parts shall
form a well-balanced whole, each detail being subordinated to the
general effect, which must convey a sense of completeness. Now, until
recently we have (with occasional exceptions) failed to realize that
the unit of architecture, so far as outward appearance is concerned, is
not the individual building but the whole street, everything, in fact,
which is in view from any one point. No one would suggest that the
wall of a picture-gallery was artistic because the individual pictures
were good, and yet, although much more care and artistry is devoted
to hanging pictures than is spent in arranging the contiguity of
buildings, we seem to be quite satisfied with haphazard town-planning.
Yet all who sorrow at the wilful waste and destruction of the
beautiful must lament when they see, as they must often do, noble and
beautiful edifices or the simple but refined works of architects, who
as a rule devote more love and receive less incentive than any other
art workers, ruined by their surroundings.

But how, one may ask, can this be avoided? Adjoining plots of land
may belong to different owners, contiguous buildings are built for
different purposes, by those with much or little to spend, designed
by different architects--how can one expect them to conform to one
artistic scheme? Perhaps that is too much to expect. Can we even
ask that they should not be violently opposed to one another, not
mutually destructive? Yes. But this can be secured in only one way.
Local authorities must be given, or must take upon themselves, the
duty of controlling building operations in all public places. They
would not, and could not, be arbitrary: they would need to consider
many difficulties, and they could not rightly impose any restrictions
which would make the construction of suitable premises impossible
within the reasonable means of those for whom they were being built.
All they could undertake would be to co-ordinate proposed work, to
advise, and to prohibit flagrant affronts to public good taste. Let a
local committee composed of the best architects and the hardest-headed
business-men in the town, with a disinterested man of taste--a parson,
a farmer, a writer--as chairman, be formed. Much good could be done in
this way.

In domestic architecture we cannot expect much attention to be
given to artistic matters in these days when it is difficult to
obtain a sufficiency of houses of any kind. Nevertheless, there
is one suggestion with great practical possibilities. It is that
of the novelist Mr. J. J. Connington, who proposes that instead
of standardization of design small parts capable of being erected
in a large number of ways should be standardized. The readers who
are interested are referred to _Nordenholt’s Million_ for further
particulars of this most interesting idea.




X


The most significant tendency of art and the greatest danger,
which operates in all fields, is, therefore, that commercialism,
mass-production, standardization, and the heeding of large volumes
of demand will lead to an increase in the quantity of art-production
but a decrease in the average of its quality, unless the evils of the
system are counteracted by certain developments, the chief of which are
education, co-operation, and the birth of a new attitude with regard to
art-ideals.

Our attitude towards the arts must lead us to relate them more closely
to our other interests and, as a corollary, the different kinds and
different values of artistic enjoyment must be synthesized. We desire
neither to set art upon a pedestal of superiority nor to despise it as
a recreative frivolity. We need to realize on the one hand that all
human activities possess of a necessity positive or negative artistic
significance which we cannot avoid; even though we consciously ignore
art, we are subconsciously and indirectly influenced. Further, we
cannot disregard the close economic relationship between the artistic
and the merely utilitarian.

We have seen something, but only one aspect, of this when discussing
applied art; the relation is wider than this, since, for example, the
amount of time, energy, money, and material available for artistic
purposes is closely connected with material economic conditions. And,
still further, there is the psychological or spiritual element, art
satisfying human needs which are unsatisfied by other activities,
supplementing, filling the gaps in our personal development. We cannot
put art into a watertight compartment. The extent to which art appeals
to an individual, and the particular way in which and the special
medium through which artistic impulses find expression, will depend
very largely upon biological and social factors, upon the materially
ordered associations of the individual, his work, his health,
everything that impinges upon his life. Further research will expose
the fundamental reasons for this, but even now we realize that a love
of dancing, of the theatre, of poetry, of sculpture is not a mere gift
or genius or taste or predilection but also something which is fostered
and directed by material environment. Confronted with this realization,
we must regard art as an inseparable organic element in life, not as a
superimposed culture which may or may not exist in any individual or
take any form.

And the corollary of this, as said before, is that, since artistic
potentialities exist in all men according to their being and
environment, the realm of art will present as large a variety of
values, types, and manifestations as does our life itself. Yet all
these manifestations are part of one. Good, bad, or indifferent, they
represent the best, most suitable art that different men at any time
are capable of appreciating or desirous of cultivating. This is the
excuse for our plea for broadmindedness.




  _Each, pott 8vo, 2/6 net_         _Occasionally illustrated_

  TO-DAY AND
  TO-MORROW


This series of books, by some of the most distinguished English
thinkers, scientists, philosophers, doctors, critics, and artists, was
recognized on publication as a noteworthy event. Written from various
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they provide the reader with a stimulating survey of the most modern
thought in many departments of life. Several volumes are devoted to
the future trend of Civilization, conceived as a whole; while others
deal with particular provinces, and cover the future of Woman, War,
Population, Clothes, Wireless, Morals, Drama, Poetry, Art, Sex, Law,
etc.

It is interesting to see in these neat little volumes, issued at a low
price, the revival of a form of literature, the Pamphlet, which has
been in disuse for 200 years.

  _Published by_
  KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., LTD.
  Broadway House: 68-74 Carter Lane, London, E.C.4




_VOLUMES READY_


  =Daedalus=, or Science and the Future. By J. B. S. HALDANE, Reader in
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  =Icarus=, or the Future of Science. By BERTRAND RUSSELL, F.R.S.
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    D.Sc., author of “Selenium, the Moon Element,” etc.

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    LUDOVICI, author of “A Defence of Aristocracy”, etc.

    “A stimulating book. Volumes would be needed to deal, in the
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  =Hypatia=, or Woman and Knowledge. By MRS. BERTRAND RUSSELL. With a
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    An answer to _Lysistrata_. “A passionate vindication of the rights
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    revised._

    “A brilliant piece of speculative induction.”--_Saturday Review._
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    Introduction by F. G. CROOKSHANK, M.D.

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    and lucidly presented. One merit of Mr. Wright’s plan is that he
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    Morals. By C. J. PATTEN, Professor of Anatomy, Sheffield University.
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    “Of high authority.”--_Saturday Review._ “Very suggestive.”--_J.
    C. Squire_, in _Observer_. “A very charming piece of work. I agree
    with all, or at any rate, almost all its conclusions.”--_J. St. Loe
    Strachey_, in _Spectator_.


  =Proteus=, or the Future of Intelligence. By VERNON LEE, author of
    “Satan the Waster,” etc.

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    contribution to a problem of concern to every citizen in this
    country.”--_Daily Chronicle._ “There is some lively thinking about
    the future of war in _Paris_, just added to the set of live-wire
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    religious revival is foreseen.


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    “Restoration Drama,” etc.

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    mechanical lines, but upon those which playwrights, actors, and
    psychologists might achieve, were their idiosyncracies given scope.
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_READY SHORTLY_


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    Indicates how the machine may be used to extend the glory of
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    author of “The Real Ireland,” etc.

    A companion volume to _Atlantis_, written from a different
    viewpoint.


  =Nuncius=, the Future of Advertising. By GILBERT RUSSELL.


  =The Future of the English Language.= By BASIL DE SELINCOURT.





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