And another thing!

Piero della Francesca; The Flagellation of Christ

In my last post I had a go at art critics and historians for their constant desire to turn all cultural figures into anti establishment anti heroes and today I want to have another swipe at art historians in particular.
In fact the first thing to say is that historians and critics tend to get a bit confused over their separate functions, that is they don't seem to realise that they have separate functions. The job of the critic is to discuss the merits and demerits of a particular work whereas the role of the historian is to construct a narrative to make a coherent story out of the history of art.

Now put like that it may well occur to the intelligent reader that I have set the historian an impossible task, and indeed others before me, most notably Gombrich, have declared that there is no coherent story, there is properly speaking, no art history as such, only artists. This view has much to recommend it. It is true that there are certain epochs in history, the Renaissance being the obvious example when there seemed to be a cultural zeitgeist influencing the whole art world, when artists seemed to be working towards a common goal, in this case of greater descriptive truth and technical prowess, and yet on closer examination even this view has flaws, so much so that the old terms of High Renaissance ' and 'Mannerism' for example tend to be eschewed.

I shan't go into detail on this particular issue here suffice to say that perhaps inevitably in our age of fragmentation, the view that there is a coherent thread running through art history is beginning to seem less plausible.  The exception to this though is the history of modernism. Here there most definitely is an official narrative which quite firmly divides artists into sheep and goats, those who furthered, or at least accepted the rise of modernism and those who resisted. The former being praised to the skies, the latter cast into darkness. This is where the great confusion between the function of critic and historian lies and it leads to much mental turmoil for the honest historian and sometimes the adoption of an Orwellian mode of 'double think'.

The problem manifest itself in two complementary ways, both the result of confusing artistic merit with art historical significance. Now, if you construct a narrative which makes the rise of modernism the central cultural event of the last 150 years (and to be fair, you don't need to approve of it to recognise its importance) then that makes Cezanne an artist of great significance, the 'father of modernism' as he is often called, and he thus becomes at a stroke the most influential artistic figure of the modern world. Historians, confusing their function, thus have to market him as one of, if not the, greatest artists of the same period. The reverse side of the coin is that artists with no particular influence on modernism are relegated to 'also ran' status. The Pre-Raphaelites have long been the exemplar of this; they are dismissed as insignificant and as having been a cultural dead end and therefore of no merit.

The mistake made here is to take what is called (or at least was when I was a student) the 'Whig' view of history, which in short means reading it backwards. The great British historians of the 19th century regarded Britain as almost an ideal state, a peaceful prosperous democracy (in their terms) and asked themselves the question, 'how did we get from the barbarous past to the wonderful present?' and history became the story of that development. Art history, at least the last 150 years of it is now treated in the same way, 'how did we get from the ridiculous  Victorian academic to the glories of Damian Hirst?' thus a canon of relevant artists has been created. Courbet begat Manet, Manet begat Monet, Monet begat Cezanne, Cezanne begat Picasso and so on down the line. If an artist is not on that family tree he is rejected by most and desperately tried to force into it by his particular supporters.

For fifty years after their  deaths great Victorian artists such as Leighton, Millais and Burne-Jones were either ridiculed or ignored by art historians, their merits as painters deliberately traduced because they did not fit into the story of modernism and even now, when their skill and talent is more widely appreciated by the public, academic historians feel the need to justify their attention by trying to bring them into the canon. Thus Burne-Jones is praised because the young Picasso admired his work and Millais gains kudos because Van Gogh liked his landscapes as if who liked or disliked their work could have any retrospective effect on the quality of their work!

 Possibly the most ridiculous example I have come across was in a book about Piero della Francesca which invited the reader to admire that master's work because his interest in geometric forms 'anticipated' Cezanne. As if the only thought in Piero's mind in his workshop in Borgo San Sepulchro as he worked on his marvellous 'Flagellation of Christ' ( see the image at the top of the post, you see it was there for a reason!) was "this is bound to interest some semi skilled painter five centuries from now" and as if Cezanne could have produced anything with an iota of its thoughtfulness and strange beauty in five lifetimes of trying! Having said that takes the prize, I did see a close contender in a review of the recent exhibition of the Glasgow Boys in London. The writer (who I would name and shame if only I could remember who it was) noticing that these painters lived and worked in the last decades of the nineteenth century criticised them for not being followers of Monet but only of another painter he had obviously never heard of,  to whit Bastien Lepage.  Knowing only the official canon of modern art it seemed positively wilful to this critic that anybody could ignore the giant Monet and take as an exemplar an artist no longer thus enshrined,  rather as if a scientist of the eighteenth century had ignored Newton and tried to construct a model of the universe without gravity.


Jules Bastien-Lepage: Pauvre Fauvette

Well, art isn't science, there is no 'artistic progress' to parallel that of science. Let us therefore endeavour to look at each work of art as a separate creation; the product of an individual mind working in a specific time and place and approach it with the same criteria for excellence. It is strange how rare it is for anybody to ignore their knowledge of art history, however limited, when looking at art but it is an effort well worth making for only then can we arrive at a true appreciation of the work in question.

A Cause without a Rebel?



Ophelia, by Arthur Hughes

The other day I read in The Guardian newspaper of a forthcoming exhibition of Pre-Raphaelite art at the Tate Gallery, London to be held later this year.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/2012/apr/16/pre-raphaelites-exhibition-tate-britain

Now the Pre-Raphaelites hold a special place in my heart as they were my first artistic love, the first paintings I saw in fact which made me want to paint, and being a loyal soul I love them still, and so I look forward to the show with real eagerness and  will no doubt visit several times. However I wanted to make a comment on the general tone of this article because I think it gives an interesting side light on an important aspect of modern culture.

It is obvious that the curator of the show should take the opportunity to 'sell' it and encourage people to come. Museums these days it seems are as obsessed with ratings as TV companies, sadly they feel the need to justify their existence as part of the (horrible phrase) 'creative industries'. What interests me though is the stategy used to attract the public. The artists we are told were 'revolutionary', they shocked the establishment, brought in new ideas and were the YBA's (Young British Artists - a term invented in the 1980's for the likes of Hirst and Enim) of their day. The advertising for the recent TV series in England 'The Desperate Romantics' went even further down the same road calling them the punks of their day! There is of course some truth in this; their early work did provoke a vitriolic response in the press and they did upset many older artists by their apparant lack of respect for the Academic tradition based on the ideas embodied by the work of the High Renaissance masters and in especial Raphael. Calling themselves the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood seemed particularly designed to offend those who regarded Raphael as the fountain of all artistic good practice and indeed the real criticism didn't appear until after the truth of the mysterious intials PRB on their works became publicly known.

However it must also be said that their works, although criticised in the press, were always accepted by the Academy and usually well hung. In an age when paintings were crammed into shows with frame touching frame and many established artists finding their work 'skied' almost out of sight, this was no small thing. Furthermore several academic artists were immediately sympathetic, Dyce and Egg to name but two. Within a couple of years they had won the support of easily the most famous and best regarded critic in the country, ie Ruskin, and only 4 years after exhibitng his first Pre-Raphaelite work ('Isabella' in 1849) Millais was elected as an associate member of the Academy itself.

Christ washing Peter's feet, by Ford Madox Brown

Given this, why it is considered necessary to encourage interest in these artist by over stressing their 'revolutionary' and anti-establishment nature? It seems to be a common trend in modern culture that we need our heros to have this element in their story. We struggle to accept the merit of any artist, writer or even scientist unless he spent several years being scorned and mocked by the older generation, battling against the odds and appalling predjudice to present his wonderfully visionary new view of the world. Of course the wonders of hindsight enable us to see that  Millais and Rossetti were great talents, of course Keats was a genius and only a frock coated buffoon would have questioned the theories of Darwin or Einstein. It gives us I suppose a little frisson of self congratulatory pleasure to think that we would have spotted the unique genius of Constable or Manet or Van Gogh when the dull world of bourgeois respectability - which we would so like not to be a part of - failed to do so.

Today we have the gross spectacle of such entrenched establishment  figures as Damian Hirst still being referred to as the 'enfant terrible' of the Britsh art scene when in fact the real radicals are those artists quietly painting away in their studios relearning the lost skills of painting; composition; draughtmanship, colour handling and design. Those artists who are painting in what would have been considered a century ago a traditional fashion are now the ones who really do threaten to overturn the establishment although we hear precious little of them in the media, nothing in fact.

Meanwhile I shall go to the exhibtion for one simple reason; the Pre-Raphaelites painted some of the most beautiful pictures of the century, and at their best, of any century. So let us go and enjoy that and not worry about how radical they were, or weren't, it makes no difference to the quality of the art and should have no impact on our appreciation of it.

The Blind Girl, by Sir John Millais

Roger Fry, or, where it all went wrong.

I should start by laying my cards on the table and stating that as far as 'modernism' goes as an artistic movement (not very far one might add) I am an unabashed opponent, nay an enemy of it and everything it stands for.  But I have been struck on reading 'Beauty and Art' by Elizabeth Prettlejohn on how flimsy a basis the whole idea rests, in fact as I shall argue today of the modernist movement first advocated by Roger Fry and his Bloomsbury coterie that the whole thing is really based on a misunderstanding.

The deep cultural collapse in the west which first began to make itself manifest in the closing years of the nineteenth century had no doubt many and varied causes. Today I shall be talking about Fry and his role in the collapse but it is important to remember that born in 1866 as he was, he was of the first generation to come to maturity in a cultural world already beginning to fall apart.  It was in that atmosphere of decadence and revolt that he formed his theories of art which sadly have proved so influential, but although he is portrayed as in some ways revolutionary, in fact like all second rate thinkers he was absolutely in accord with his times.

When Fry first began lecturing about art in the early 1900's he was happy to talk about beauty in art and to acknowledge that part of the beauty was intrinsically linked to the subject matter of the painting in question. He was prepared to admit in other words that the artist's treatment of the subject literally 'informed' his approach, that is influenced his formal treatment of the abstract elements of colour, line, mass and so on. In Fry's own terminology he admitted the intertwining of  'pure form' and 'associated ideas' both in the mind of the artist and the spectator.

Later he had a bit of a re-think. In doing so he rejected the use of the word 'beauty' as a desirable quality in art on the not unreasonable grounds that the word is so over used as a response to so many and diverse things that it had become meaningless and didn't really describe the particular response one has before a work of art. The term he came up with to describe a favourable aesthetic response was, well, 'favourable aesthetic response', nothing if not literal our Roger! However that's not to say he was wrong to seek clarity, in his own words our response to a beautiful work of art was 'different from our praise of a woman, a horse or a sunset as beautiful' and thus a different term was required. What Fry was doing was separating our response to the formal quality of a painting from our response to 'associated ideas' but in so doing he rejected all of the later as worthless and indeed damaging to the former.

Now in my post on the two Botticellis in the Louvre I made it quite clear that I think our premier response to a work of art is to formal qualities, in that respect I can go along with Fry's argument. However it seems to me that the great misunderstanding came from his next step. Having decided that 'pure from' (the phrase was coined by Clive Bell but soon picked up by other critics) was the sine qua non of painting he was then obliged to find painting which seem to emphasis form at the expense of associated ideas. He found, as the world knows, Cezanne, and the rest is a very sorry history. The qualities Fry praised in Cezanne though was an emphasis on the forms of painting and a disregard for associated ideas. Cezanne painted banal still-lives, a few apples on a table, a jug and cloth that sort of thing but he did so clumsily, the process was evident the fact that the 'apples' were really just smudges of red or yellow paint made it apparent to Fry that if he had a 'favourable aesthetic response' to Cezanne it had to be to the paint - to the formal qualities of the work, because to put it frankly, there wasn't much else.


The problem of course, immediately apparent to anybody who is capable of looking sensitively at great art, is that the presence of associated ideas need not obscure the formal qualities of a work. It is precisely for this reason that I preferred the one Botticelli to the other and I believe that it is the reason why most of us prefer the pictures we do.  Now, I do believe that associated ideas can be too forcibly expressed and if the artists makes too much of his subject it can detract from the artistry of the piece and I shall be talking more about this delicate balancing act in a later post. For now I just want to stress that it was a weakness in Fry's aesthetic sensitivity which made him unable to see the formal qualities of a picture unless they were unduly emphasised by clumsy handling. Incidentally Simon Schama revealed the same weakness in his lamentable series on art for the BBC a few years back. Happy to talk about complementary colours and the like in front of a Rothko, after all what else is there and a critic must say something! However in front of a Velasquez the beautiful tone poetry becomes invisible and he starts talking about the looks on people's faces, the story. Poor Velasquez, he took too literally the motto that the art was to conceal the art, and Schama could no longer see it!

Fry too makes a great play for example of the way Cezanne loses and finds his edges in a still life but Cezanne does it in a way that you can spot from the other side of a gallery by drawing a harsh outline and then in places striking through it with clashing diagonal strokes which make up the fruit. But was Fry really unaware that this play of edges has been a delight and a challenge to painters for centuries, and had he really never noticed the infinitely more subtle and pleasurable way great artists such as Titian or Vermeer had handled edges? Whistler famously remarked in court that trying to make a lawyer understand his painting would be like 'pouring notes into the ear of a deaf man', it seems , to extend the analogy that Fry could only hear a song if it was bellowed in his face.

Below we can see the still life by Cezanne of which Fry wrote so rapturously and by contrast a Vermeer, 'The Milkmaid.' I am not saying by any means that the Cezanne has no merit only that in the specific matter of handling edges it says loudly and clumsily what the Vermeer says with infinitely greater judgement and delicacy.

The tragedy is that because Fry was unable to see the formal qualities of a painting unless they were so unduly stressed, to the exclusion of all other qualities, he built a whole philosophy of art which encouraged and validated clumsiness and banality, the results of which are are still living with today. The great mistake is to think think that artists of the past even though they were concerned with subject were not concerned with the formal qualities of picture making, if they weren't then they wouldn't have been painters. Of course Fry being a 'modern' and anxious to make his way in the world realised he it would be difficult to attract attention to himself by pointing out the skill of a painter like Vermeer, others had done that already, so he cast about to find something contemporary and without a champion (in Britain at least) and thus led the campaign for the post impressionists and primitive art from Africa and elsewhere. It would though, for someone with more sensitivity, or perhaps, less ambition, have been quite easy to do a 'formalist' critique of this Vermeer picture in the style of Fry, dwelling on, apart from the play of edges, such things as the rhythms, the handling of tonal values, the opposition of complementary colours the juxtapostion of vertical and diagonal lines, all of these things were at the front of Vermeer's mind over the months, perhaps years, he spent creating this picture. All of these things work in a complementary way together with the subject to create a unified aesthetic experience, an experience modernism would deny us.

The value of values

Well having approached the subject of value in the last post lets us now consider the - to my mind - crucial role that it plays in constructing a painting.
First though a little word about terminology. One of the things that bedevils talk about art is the lack of precision in the terms employed. Here I shall describe the three properties of colour by the terms employed under the Munsell system ie hue, value and chroma. In this post I am concentrating on the second of these, value which  (sometimes, but not here, is called tone) by which is  meant the lightness or darkness of a colour on the greyscale. A picture printed in black and white is actually various levels of value and  zero chroma ie grey. Now every touch of paint on a canvas has to have all three elements to it, it has a hue, a value and a chroma and to enjoy looking at a painting it is not really necessary to think of them in seperate terms,  but to design a painting it is absolutely crucial.

From a distance of a few yards the most obvious thing about the construction of a picture is its value pattern, that is to say, the distribution of lights and darks. Obviously there needs to be a certain amount of variety otherwise the picture would be literally monotonous but it is crucial that one value, or small range of values, makes its presence felt as the dominant value against which the other values are felt as relief. The most obvious instance perhaps is the traditional portrait, a light face against a dark background, the 'background' usually accounting for perhaps 3/4 of the surface area against which the light head is all the more dramatic. Even outside portraits though artists have tended to use the entire range of values within a picture. The paintings of artists such as Rembrandt and Caravaggio for example depend almost entirely for their visual impact on strongly contrasting values but even more modern artists working in natural light employ the same device.


Look at this painting by John Singer Sargent of the Luxembourg Gardens in Paris. The majority of the picture is a high value - the Munsell scale runs from 0 black to 10 white although both extremes are only theoretical and can't actually be reached by paint- so we can say about 75% of this picture is about value 7 or 8. Notice how carefully he controls his lights to make them read as a single shape.

On a line pleasing placed about 2/3 up the picture the foliage, intersected by the male figure gives a dark shape at about value 2 and again notice how all the different elements are tied together to make one dark shape, even the red flowers whilst not quite so low in value are close enough to read as part of the darks. This is even clearer to see if we remove all the colour and look at a simple greyscale image as below:

Thus we can see how Sargent has grouped his lights and darks to make a coherent but lively whole. The majority of the drama and interest of this picture depends on the value structure, it doesn't lose a lot by being converted into a black and white image, the colour enhances it but its like adding salt to a cooking, salt will enhance the flavour of a good dish but no amount of the stuff will make tripe taste like steak.

The importance of a good value structure is affirmed by the fact that most classically trained artists did, and still do, make value studies before turning to the problem of colour, the foundations have to be solid before you start worrying about the decoration of the walls. And then just to make doubly sure the usual method of proceeding was to paint the whole picture in monochrome before then going on to add the colour.

Above is a photograph of Lord Leighton's picture 'Captive Andromache' at the monochrome stage to illustrate.

Of course the tonal structure of a painting does not need to be so dramatic as the examples above that I have talked about where pretty much the full range of values have been used to create a powerfully contrasting image. But the important thing to remember is that the value pattern sets the key for the picture. In other words if you want drama and excitement you have to establish it with value and then you can follow with strongly contrasting hues and chromas if desired but no amount of high chroma colour will give the same sense of drama without the basis of strong value contrasts to rest upon.

Before this post gets too long we will close by looking at a very different use of value to create the very opposite of drama. This is a painting called 'Topaz' by Albert Moore who was concerned very much with actually eliminating all drama from his painting to produce work of which the form and content were combined expressively to produce a mood of contemplation

Above we see the picture reduced to the greyscale and how different it is from the Sargent. At first sight perhaps it looks a little on the monotonous side but if you squint (which tends to reduce the image to the main value ares by eliminating small variations) you begin to see a very subtle pattern of high values anchored by lower values at almost musically spaced intervals around the heads, arms and feet of the figures tied together by the darker values of the shadows in the drapery. I hope you will agree that despite the lack of clashing contrasts we saw earlier it still makes a very pleasing whole, but one with a quiet reflective contemplative mood which echoes the ostensible subject of the painting. With the addition of some appropriately subtle and delicate colour notes the picture appears in all its glory, and as Swinburne said of another work by Moore, 'its meaning is beauty and its reason for being is to be'

Why do I like that picture?

Botticelli: Madonna and Child

As a practicing painter whenever I go through a gallery I can't help but analyse my reaction to pictures. Particularly if I like a picture I stop and ask myself, why?, what is it about this work that appeals to me? It is not always an easy question to answer, in fact it is very rarely an easy question, and having produced a fair number of paintings which, frankly, haven't pleased me, it gains a certain urgency. If I can pin down exactly why pictures appeal it should be fairly easy to incorporate those elements into my own work, right?

Well, no, of course it isn't as easy as that, if it were then painting like Titian would only be a slightly more complicated exercise at the back of a painting by numbers book. Nevertheless, despite what your school art teacher told you, you can't produce a pleasing work of art by chance, it is therefore entirely necessary to study the great works of the past to try and gain an understanding of what they have in common which have earned them that reputation.

Now obviously whole books have been written on this subject and I shall be returning to it several times, I imagine, over the coming posts. For now I want to limit myself to one observation which struck me forcibly during a recent trip around the Louvre. Approaching the great Italian gallery in the preceeding room there are two pictures hanging side by side by Botticelli. (one of which is at the top of this post) Now both were of the same subject, a Madonna and Child, both were a similar size and fomat, and coming from roughly the same period of the artist's career the physical features of the personages in both were very similar. The interesting thing though was that despite these very obvious similarities one picture strongly appealed to me and the other didn't. So what is going on?

Well clearly the first point to make is that the subject of the picture isn't enough in itself to make one like a picture because the subject in these two pictures was exactly the same. Now I do feel that the subject of a picture is of some importance and I will discuss this more later, but my Botticelli experience demonstrates that one can't like a picture just because of the subject matter. This might seem obvious but its common to hear people say 'I like seascapes' or 'flowers' or whatever it may be. In fact it seems clear that people (and I'm talking primarily about non painters here) are seduced by the subject matter and have difficulty to see beyond it.

Beyond to what? is the obvious question and the answer must be to the formal qualities of a painting. A painting, as Maurice Denis once said is firstly, before it is a 'horse' or  a 'nude woman' or anything else, merely areas of colour placed on a flat surface. Therefore one can deduce that the painter's first task is to arrange his coloured areas in pleasing combinations, of value, hue, chroma, size, shape and all the other formal elements of a picture likewise to create a pleasing whole. If he doesn't do this he cannot create a pleasing picture, if he does he will create, at the least, a pleasing picture, and has given himself the chance of creating a thoroughly good one.

The word 'whole' in the previous paragraph is key because the artist's principal difficulty in composing a picture is to maintain a balance between two competing forces; variety and unity. Too much unity and the picture is dull and monotonous, too much variety and it doesn't hang together as a coherent whole; This is what artists mean by 'breadth' the sense that unity of surface has been maintained across the whole canvas, and it is why finishing a picture, adding and refining detail can so often be the time that it begins to evapourate. This in turn perhaps explains why many schools of art from the impressionists onwards have opted for loose handling and have not risked losing their breadth by working towards a tight finish.

In Botticelli's case, my analysis did reveal that the picture that I didn't especially like did have its large tonal masses,  on which a sense of calm grandeur are so dependant, broken up a little by detail  thereby creating a slighly spotty effect. It was subtle and took a lot of looking on my part to pin down exactly why one picture didn't 'sing' quite like the other but given that the subject and treatment were essentially identical we have nothing left to fall back on but the formal qualities and of these, in my opinion value, or tone as it is often called, is the most important. And having made that claim it seems only reasnable that I dedicate my next post to trying to back it up.

WELCOME!

Edward Burne-Jones : The Sleeping Beauty

Welcome to my blog. Just what the world needed I hear you cry, another blog!

 Well, let me start by explaining the purpose of this one. I am a practising painter, I paint in a traditional realist manner, that is to say I take the natural world as the  source of all my images and put them together in such a way as to create a whole which does not fragrantly defy any natural laws of appearance. That I think is a fairly decent defintion of realist painting and would apply to pretty much every painter you've ever heard of who worked  in the western world between about 1400 and 1900. Perhaps one could argue about whether Hieronymus Bosch fits in there, but even in his most fantastical paintings the imagery is drawn for the most part from the natural world and the parts are represented realistically albeit in bizarre combinations. Before 1400 I think it fair to say that since the time of Giotto artists had been striving towards a greater understanding of how to represent the natural world so one could I think justifiably claim that realists painters today are working in a tradition stretching back seven centuries or more
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That the tradition broke down around 1900 I think is unarguable, how and why will be topics for later posts but the fact remains that we currently live in an age where representative art is considered by the art establishments of the world as by defintion of no real value, hence the 'cold climate' of my title. There is currently a swing back towards the proper training of artists especially in the United States, where the thread of realism was never quite cut completely, which has been led simply by the ever increasing demand amongst art students for an education which attempts at least to give them the skills necessary to make worthwhile paintings and sculptures. Rather bizarrely the philosophy of the last century has been to raise the status of art objects to near mystical levels and yet at the same time suppose that they can, indeed should, be made by people without any formal training in the technical basis of their chosen fields.

In brief then I would like with this blog to explore the theoretical and philosophical issues behind creating art, especially realist art (using that word in the broad sense that I indicated above). No doubt I shall refer from time to time to my own practice, I don't want this blog to be dry and academic and the theoretical issues can only be made relevant by putting them into the context of actually making art, but this blog wont be a 'here's what I did today' type of record, there are plenty of those and many by painters of great skill and understanding. I shall look at the realist art world today, perhaps throwing it into focus by comparisons with what we may call the 'official' art world and I shall talk too about the wider cultural and artisitc world, artists like everybody else can't live in a vacuum and we are influenced by the times we live in, as much as we try to influence them. Although I think it true that we are living in a time of deep cultural malaise, in many ways a uniquely bad time, yet I am by nature optimistic and can't quite give myself over to complete despair, if I did I would have to stop painting, and that I could never do! The very fact that I can write this blog too, and that I can make contact with other like minded people, some of whom also have their own excellent blogs is itself a hopeful development; cultural fragmentation can create possibilities for good as well as harm.

 Readers may well have noticed the reference in my title to the great work of art crticism (and so much more) in 5 volumes by that great Victorian John Ruskin. My love and admiration for Ruskin and so many of his contemporaries will no doubt become very apparent with the development of this blog but I will finish this introductory post with a little hopeful quote from possibly the greatest Victorian of them all, William Morris : ' Meanwhile, if these hours be dark, as indeed in many ways they are, at least do not let us sit deedless, like fools and fine gentlemen, thinking the common toil not good enough for us and beaten by the muddle, but rather let us work like good fellows trying by some dim candle-light to set our workshop ready against tomorrows' daylight - that tomorrow when the civilised world... shall have a new art, a glorious art... as a happiness to the maker and the user.'