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The Art of the Exposition

E >> Eugen Neuhaus >> The Art of the Exposition




With Bernard Maybeck's Palace of Fine Arts, one has the feeling that
this great temple is a realized dream; that it was imagined irrespective
of time, cost, or demand. Like all of Maybeck's buildings, it is
thoroughly original. Of course the setting contributes much to the
picturesque effect, but aside from that, the colonnades and the
octagonal dome in the center of the semicircular embracing form of the
main building present many interesting features There is a very fine
development of vistas, which are so provided as to present different
parts of the building in many ever-changing aspects. On entering the
outer colonnade one forgets the proximity of everyday things; one is
immediately in an atmosphere of religious devotion, which finds its
noblest expression in that delicate shrine of worship, by Ralph
Stackpole, beneath the dome. This spiritual quality puts the visitor
into the proper frame of mind for the enjoyment of the other offerings
of art within the building. Mr. Maybeck has demonstrated once again that
his talent is equal to any task in the field of architectural art. I
wish we had more of his rare kind and more people to do justice to his
genius.

Not far from the Palace of Fine Arts, on the shores of the bay, the
monumental tower of the California building fits well into the scheme of
things. Seen from a distance, from numerous points across the lagoon, it
offers a great many effective compositions in connection with some very
decorative groups of old acacia trees, the legacy of an old amusement
park of the bygone days of San Francisco - the old Harbor View Gardens.
In the shade of these old trees a fine old formal garden of exquisite
charm, screened from the eyes of the intruder by an old clipped Monterey
cypress hedge, really constitutes the unique note of this typically
Mission building. The architect, Mr. Burditt, deserves great credit for
an unusually respectful treatment of a very fine architectural asset.
This very enchanting old flower garden, with its sundial and cozy nooks,
has an intimate feeling throughout, and it furnishes the delightful
suggestive note of old age, of historical interest, without which it
would never have been convincing.

Aside from the outdoor features, the building, exclusive of the county
annex, discloses a very fine talent in a very happy combination of
classic tradition and modern tendencies. The building is altogether very
successful, in a style which is so much made use of but which is really
devoid of any distinct artistic merit. Most of the examples of the
so-called "Mission style" in California are very uninteresting in their
decorative motives, however big their ground plans may be in their
liberal use of space.

The Oregon building is just across the way from the California building,
and as an object of artistic analysis it is a most interesting single
unit. Personally, I am not enthusiastic over it. It was most decidedly a
very illogical idea to select a building to represent Oregon from a
country which has nothing whatever in common with this northern state.
One could hardly discover a more arid country, devoid of vegetation,
particularly of trees, than Greece; and to compare it with the
apparently inexhaustible wealth of virgin forests of Oregon makes the
contrast almost grotesque. Besides, a building like the Parthenon,
designed to grace and terminate the top of a hill, is surely not adapted
for a flat piece of ground like the Exposition field. And in the choice
of material used in its construction it shows a lack of appreciation for
the fitness of things generally. The Parthenon was designed to be made
in stone, as much for the construction as for the light color effect of
the marble. Only the light color play of its exterior would do against a
placid blue sky to relieve the otherwise exceedingly simple rigidity of
its massive forms of construction. To make an imitation of this great
building in uncouth, somber, almost black pine logs of dubious
proportions is hardly an artistically inspired accomplishment.

There must always be a certain regard for the use of the right material
in the right place. A wooden bridge will disclose its material even to
the uninitiated at a very great distance, because everybody knows that
certain things can be done only in wood. A stone, concrete, iron, or
cable bridge, for example, will each always look its part, out of sheer
material and structural necessity. A log house would have been far
better and more successful than this pseudo Parthenon. It is in the same
class with the statues of Liberty made from walnuts that are the great
attractions in our autumnal agricultural shows. The State of Oregon,
however, is well represented by a fine immense flagpole, which could
hardly have been cut anywhere else than on the Pacific Coast.

Of other state buildings in this neighborhood, a number are impressive
by their cost, like the New York building; others, again, by historical
suggestions of great charm. There are several which reflect in a very
interesting way the Colonial days of early American history; and
buildings like those of New Jersey and Virginia, in spite of their
unpretentiousness, are very successful. Nobody would take them for
anything else but what they represent.

The Pennsylvania building shows a very fine combination of the classic
and of the modern. It was originally designed to hold the Liberty Bell.
In order to avoid the necessity of building a fireproof building, the
open hail was adopted, with its inviting spaciousness, and two lower
enclosing wings at the side. The arrangement of the Pennsylvania
building is formal, owing to its symmetry, but not at all heavy. Its
decorative detail is full of interest, and to discover Hornbostel of New
York, the designer of the Oakland City Hall, as the author of this
building, is a pleasant surprise.

Of most of the other state buildings, really nothing original could be
claimed. They are, on the whole, dignified in their classic motives, and
in most cases, in better taste than the many foreign buildings.

Among these, the buildings representing Sweden, Denmark, Norway, Italy,
and Bolivia, must claim particular attention. It must seem strange that
the three northern countries named first should excel in originality of
architecture, as well as in the allied arts.

The Swedish building, designed by Ferdinand Boberg, presents admirably
his great talent. The name "Boberg" means nothing to most people out
here, but anybody at all familiar with the development of modern
architecture abroad will always think of Boberg as the greatest living
master of Swedish architecture. His very talented wife, Anna Boberg, is
equally well represented in another department, that of the Fine Arts.

The plan of the Swedish building is unsymmetrical, but well balanced,
nevertheless. The typical northern wood tower, at one side, has a very
fine outline, and like the roof, has a very fine decorative shingle
covering, interesting in pattern as well as in color. I am very much
tempted to speak of the treasures found inside of this building, but we
must go on to Denmark's building.

This building, situated near the southern end of the Fine Arts
Colonnade, has a far more advantageous location than the Swedish
building. Situated on a narrow tongue of triangular shape, the architect
has taken the fullest advantage of this original piece of ground. The
building gives a very good idea of some of the very best tendencies in
the modern art of Europe, without being bizarre, like some recent
American attempts, in the most wrongly labeled of all art expressions -
the "Art Nouveau."

The Norwegian building, somewhat remotely situated, back of the French
building and near the Presidio entrance, has very much in common with
the Swedish building, and offers the same attractive features of wood
and stone construction as the building representing its sister state.
Historical traditions and everything else are so much alike in these two
countries that it must not surprise one to find the two buildings have
so many points of interest in common.

The north of Europe has given to the world many very excellent and
genuine expressions of architecture, which, owing to their fine
constructive qualities, have been absorbed wherever wood is the
principal building material. The art contributions of Sweden, Norway,
and Denmark will long remain in the memory of all Exposition visitors.

Holland makes considerable pretensions as to originality of style in a
curiously incongruous creation at the north of the Fine Arts Palace.
During the last twenty years a peculiarly inadaptable type of building
has been developed in Holland by a group of younger architects. Many of
these buildings are suggestive of stone rather than of brick
construction, and they do not fit in very well into the architectural
traditions of the Dutch - builders traditionally of the finest brick
structures in the world.

The Holland building at the Exposition is not typical of that great and
independent people. It looks cheap and has all the faults of the Art
Nouveau, which has, unfortunately, been much discredited, by just such
things in our own country, where classical traditions are so firmly and
so persistently entrenched.

While structurally this building is of a peculiar, affected,
ultra-modern note, the general scheme of decoration inside as well as
outside compels much praise. The general feeling of refinement, of
serenity, that so strongly characterizes the interior is due to the able
work of Hermann Rosse, a capable decorator-painter, who designed and
supervised the entire color scheme.

The color scheme inside the Holland building, while daring, is most
original in using an unusual combination of steel-blue and warm grey
silver tones. These two relatively cold notes are enhanced in a
complementary color sense by touches of orange and yellow. A
constructive stencil pattern based on the two national plants of
Holland, the orange tree and the tulip, add richness to the general
effect. Mr. Rosse's very decorative wall painting opposite the main
entrance represents the Industries of Peace. While somewhat severe, it
adds dignity in motive as well as in treatment.

On the outside some fine decorative tile panels reflect one of the chief
industries of the Dutch and also tell of the influence that Dutch art
has long received from Holland's East Indian possessions. These tile
panels are very decorative. To us, out here, they suggest artistic
ceramic possibilities for architectural purposes of which we have taken
little advantage. Considering the fact that we have quantities of good
clay and that so much original good decorative design is lying idle,
this inactivity in architectural ceramics in California is distressing.
So far as I know, Batchelder, in Pasadena, still has the monopoly on
architectural tiles for the entire Pacific coast.

Other European countries besides Holland are interestingly represented.
The Italian building is a dignified building of pure Florentine
Renaissance lines, with here and there a modern note.

This should rather be called a group of buildings, since it is a
combination of some of the finest bits of Italian Renaissance
architecture. The architects of this building succeeded admirably in
giving a feeling of antiquity to the general treatment of the whole
arrangement, which, under the blue sky of California, brings one
straight back into the land of sunshine and artistic tradition. The
whole arrangement of this Italian group seems somewhat bewildering at
first, but on closer inspection resolves itself into a very interesting
scheme which takes full advantage of the irregularly shaped site.

There is a most impressive noble dignity in the hall of the main
building, where mural decorations of figural character add much to the
sumptuousness of the general effect. It is remarkable how in this age of
low ceilings a return to great height for rooms, as in these, Italian
chambers, produces a marked note of originality. The light effect
created in this way, in all of these replicas of the mansions of the
wealthy of the Renaissance period, is most helpful in the display of a
multitude of lovely objects - furniture, jewelry, ceramics, tapestries,
and yet more. The sculptural imitations of so many old pieces of
statuary are not in very good taste. They bear too much the traces of
the pneumatic drill, and most of them are cold and devoid of the spirit
of the original. Some of the very modern marbles in the various rooms
are almost pathetic in their disregard for the standards established by
the forefathers of their creators.

France, unfortunately, does not rise above the commonplace, in an
extensive building hastily constructed. And Portugal is shining in all
the glory of wedding-cake ornamentation that the plaster of Paris artist
could produce.

South America appears in a very typical building representing Bolivia.
It is evident that it was not a costly building, but its dignified
Spanish façade and the court effect inside are far more agreeable than
the pretentious palace erected by the Argentine Republic.

The Orient, with the oldest art traditions in the world, can justly be
expected to outdo the rest of the world. We find Japan again, as on
previous occasions, excelling in its typical arrangement of a number of
small pavilions in an irregular garden. The entire Japanese display,
architectural and all, is so perfect a unit that one cannot speak of the
buildings alone without thinking of the gardens. The Japanese sense of
detail and love of the picturesque are disclosed at every turn. We still
have with us in San Francisco, as a memento of the Midwinter Fair of
1894, the Japanese Garden in Golden Gate Park, and while this new
creation at the Exposition is not so extensive, it is none the less
charming.

In contrast to the Japanese wonderland near the Inside Inn, the new
Republic of China seems to be very unhappily represented, not very far
away. The whole Chinese ensemble seems a riot of terrible colors, devoid
of all the mellow qualities of Oriental art. If China's art was retired
with the Manchu dynasty, then I hope the new Republic will soon die a
natural death.



The Sculpture



The sculptural decorations of the Exposition are so much a part of the
architectural scheme that their consideration must no longer be delayed.
The employment of sculpture has been most judicious and has never lost
sight of certain architectural requirements, so frequently overlooked.
While there are a great many examples of sculptural decorations at the
Exposition, there does not seem to be that over-abundance of
ornamentation so often confused by the public with artistic effect.

The best compliment that can be paid to the Exposition sculpture is that
it is not evident at first and that one becomes aware of it only in the
course of studying the architecture. I do not think that, with the
exception of the Column of Progress and the groups of the Nations of the
East and of the West, the Exposition has produced, through its very
unusual and novel opportunities, any great work, or presented any new
talent heretofore not recognized; but it will most certainly stand a
critical examination and comparison with other Exposition sculpture and
not suffer thereby. As a matter of fact, a number of the sculptors of
our Exposition were commissioned to do similar work at St. Louis.

In one respect our Exposition must immediately claim originality - that
is, in the elimination of the glaring white, with its many ugly and
distracting reflected lights, insisted upon for years, in practically
all the great expositions of the past. This absence of white is surely a
very novel and very helpful feature, from an artistic point of view. The
Travertine staff material used, the highly successful work of Mr. Paul
Denneville, with its innumerable fine accidental effects, so reminiscent
of the tone and the weather-beaten qualities of really old surfaces, is
an asset that the sculptors among all the collaborating artists
gratefully acknowledge.

The artistic value of the Travertine lies in its beautiful expression of
architecture as well as of sculpture. A plain wall becomes a matter of
interest and comfort. An ornamental feature or sculpture obtains a
wonderful charm and delicacy in this material which is particularly
unique in sculpture. The natural Travertine is a sedimentary deposit
dating back, it is claimed, to the glacial ages. That imitated here
forms the bed of the River Tiber near Rome and was extensively used for
ages in the early Roman and Greek era as a building stone for their
temples and works of art. While a poor material in cold climates,
because of its striation, it was always sought in Italy for its
wonderful texture and tone. It was used in the Coliseum and in many
other buildings erected during the Roman period.

It is evident that there has been a very happy and close co-operation
between the architect and the sculptor - a desirable condition that,
unfortunately, does not always exist. Architects will sometimes not
allow the sculptor to give full expression to his ideas, will put
unwarranted restrictions upon him, and the result is very one-sided.

I had the pleasure of seeing much of the sculpture grow from the sketch
to the finished full-scale work, and the kindliness and the vigorous
personality of Mr. Stirling Calder added much charm and interest to this
experience. Mr. Calder has been the director of the department of
sculpture and the inspiration of his own work penetrates that of all his
fellow-artists. Among them are many specialists, such as Frederick Roth,
for instance, as a modeler of animals, who shows in the very fine figure
of "The Alaskan" in the Nations of the West that he is not afraid nor
unable to model human figures. Practically all of the animals in the
grounds show the hand of Roth.

Like Roth, Leo Lentelli did a good share of the task. His work is
characterized by much animation and spirit, but well balanced wherever
necessary, by a feeling of wise restraint. I remember with much horror
some of the sculptural atrocities of former expositions that seemed to
jump off pedestals they were intended to inhabit for a much longer
period than they were apparently willing. Repose and restraint, as a
rule, are lacking in much of our older American sculpture, as some of
our Market-street statuary testifies. It seems that our unsettled
conditions find an echo in our art. It is much to be hoped that a
certain craving for temporary excitement will be replaced by a wholesome
appreciation of those more enduring qualities of repose and balance.

Calder's work, no matter how animated, no matter how full of action, is
always reposeful. His "Fountain of Energy" gives a good idea of what I
mean. It is the first piece of detached sculpture that greets the
Exposition visitor. Its position at the main gate, in the South Gardens,
in front of the Tower of Jewels, is the most prominent place the
Exposition offers. It is worthy of its maker's talent. Its main quality
is a very fine, stimulating expression of joyousness that puts the
visitor at once in a festive mood. The Fountain of Energy is a symbol of
the vigor and daring of our mighty nation, which carried to a successful
ending a gigantic task abandoned by another great republic. The whole
composition is enjoyable for its many fine pieces of detail. Beginning
at the base, one observes the huge bulks of fanciful sea-beasts,
carrying on their backs figures representing the four principal oceans
of the world: the North and South Arctic, the Atlantic, and the Pacific.
Some are carrying shells and their attitudes express in unique fashion a
spirit of life and energy which makes the whole fountain look dynamic,
in contrast with the static Tower of Jewels. Everything else in this
fountain has the dynamic quality, from its other inhabitants of the
lower bowls, those very jolly sea-nymphs, mermaids, or whatever one may
want to call them. They are even more fantastically, shaped than the
larger figures. In their bizarre motives some of the marine mounts look
like a cross between a submarine and a rockcod.

Rising from the very center of the fountain basin, a huge sphere,
supported by a writhing mass of aquatic beasts, continues the scheme
upwards, culminating in the youth on horseback as the dominating figure
of the whole scheme. The sphere is charmingly decorated with reclining
figures of the two hemispheres and with a great number of minor
interesting motives of marine origin. The youth on horseback is not
exactly in harmony with the fountain; one feels that the aquatic feeling
running through the rest of the fountain is not equally continued in
this exceedingly well-modeled horse and youth and those two
smaller-scaled figures on his shoulders - I feel that the very clever
hand of a most talented artist has not been well supported by a logical
idea. Their decorative effect is very marked, taken mainly as a
silhouette from a distance. They are no doubt effective in carrying
upwards a vertical movement which is to some extent interfered with by
the outstretched arms of the youth. Mr. Calder has given us so very many
excellent things, alone and in collaboration with others throughout the
Exposition, that we must allow him this little bizarre note as an
eccentricity of an otherwise well-balanced genius.

As long as we are in the South Gardens, we might take the time to
investigate the two fountains on either side of the center, towards the
Horticultural Palace on the left and Festival Hall on the right. There
we find a very lithe mermaid, used alike on either side, from a model by
Arthur Putnam. Many of us who for years looked forward to the great
opportunity of the Exposition, which would give Arthur Putnam a worthy
field for his great genius, will be disappointed to know that the
mermaid is his only contribution, and scarcely representative of his
original way in dealing with animal forms. The untimely breakdown, some
two years ago, of his robust nature prevented his giving himself more
typically, for his real spirit is merely suggested in this graceful
mermaid.

Sherry Fry's figural compositions on the west of Festival Hall might
well be worthy of a little more attention than their somewhat remote
location brings them. The two reclining figures on the smaller domes are
reposeful and ornate. A stroll through the flower carpets of the South
Gardens, amidst the many balustrade lighting Hermae, discloses a wealth
of good architectural sculpture, which in its travertine execution is
doubly appealing.

There are four equestrian statues in different places on the north side
of the Avenue of Palms. Two are in front of the Tower of Jewels, the
"Cortez" by Charles Niehaus, and "Pizarro," by Charles Cary Rumsey. The
third is in front of the Court of Flowers, and the last at the entrance
to the Court of Palms. The two latter, Solon Borglum's "Pioneer," and
James Earl Fraser's "The End of the Trail," belong as much together as
the two relatively conventional Spanish conquerors guarding the entrance
to the Court of the Universe.

The symbolism of the "Pioneer" and "The End of the Trail" is, first of
all, a very fine expression of the destinies of two great races so
important in our historical development. The erect, energetic, powerful
man, head high, with a challenge in his face, looking out into early
morning, is very typical of the white man and the victorious march of
his civilization. His horse steps lightly, prancingly, and there is
admirable expression of physical vigor and hopeful expectation. The gun
and axe on his arm are suggestive of his preparedness for any task the
day and the future may bring.

Contrast this picture of life with the overwhelming expression of
physical fatigue, almost exhaustion, that Fraser gives to his Indian in
"The End of the Trail." It is embodied in rider and horse. Man and
beast seem both to have reached the end of their resources and both are
ready to give up the task they are not equal to meet.

The psychology of this great group is particularly fine. It is in things
like these that our American sculpture will yet find its highest
expression, rather than in the flamboyant type of technically skillful
work so abundantly represented everywhere. "The End of the Trail" could
have been placed more effectively in the midst of, or against, groups of
shrubbery in a more natural surrounding, where so close a physical
inspection as one is invited to in the present location would not be
possible.

The Tower of Jewels, however, with its lofty arch and suggestion of
hidden things behind it encourages the spirit of investigation. On
entering this great arch, one is suddenly attracted by the pleasing
sound of two fountains, sheltered in the secluded abutting walls of the
great tower. Minor arches, piercing the base of the tower west and east,
open up a view toward these sheltered niches, harboring on the right the
Fountain of Youth, by Mrs. Edith Woodman Burroughs, and the Fountain of
Eldorado at the left, by Mrs. Harry Payne Whitney. These two fountains
are totally different in character, and they could well afford to be so,
since they are not visible as a whole at the same time, although
physically not far apart.

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