THE LITTLE BOWL – THE IMPORTANCE, SIGNIFICANCE & VALUE OF ORNAMENT

Owen Jones

Franz Meyer

The old, classic handbooks on architectural ornament are now considered merely 'interesting' publications, decorative in themselves: e.g. Owen Jones, The Grammar of Ornament, 1856; and Franz Sales Meyer, Handbook of Ornament, 1892. These are impressive volumes that, if they are considered at all, are recognised as display items - bound, bold tomes on old library shelves, perhaps two of those thousands of ancient volumes filling the many-layered, dusty shelves of picturesque Trinity College Library in Dublin: or maybe esoteric, coffee-table books left lying around for good impressions, at best, casual perusal. Trinity is a classic, formal academic space that creates and perpetuates the romantic view of books in their storage, access, and presentation, a little like coffee tables do too. Here one thinks of Beatrix Potter's interiors, the quaint, heart-pulling, dreamy, picturesque rooms loved and desired by all, but only as a yearning never to be considered a real-life reality, in much the same way as ornament is seen today – interesting, but as expressed by Kenneth Clark, a mere 'waste of money.'# It was a position that became a significant part of modernism that is rarely spoken about today. Adolf Loos famously declared decoration to be ‘a crime,’ announcing that The evolution of culture marches with the elimination of ornament from useful objects. These definitive Loos words closed minds to any possibility of ornament, not only on anything useful, but also on everything else; brogue shoes were as mocked as carved bone handles and brocades.

Adolf Loos

The new efficiency driving the machine age and its ambitions meant that all 'unnecessary' items were discarded as an irrelevance, having no purpose in the ‘time-and-motion’ studies and understandings of the ‘efficient’ International style. Decoration was seen as ‘superfluous embellishment.’ Over one hundred years later, our thinking has not changed: ornament is something to be frowned upon as a useless excess, a lavish extravagance, so much so that we now have very little idea on how to decorate, with what or where. We have forgotten; we have lost all of the references, (e.g. the symbolism or ‘language of flowers’), and the confidence to visually enrich anything beyond ourselves, given the recent revival of the tattoo. Even here, the limitations and uncertainty in the decorative subject matter and its placement are obvious. We are left feeling guilty about any latent desire to decorate our buildings, worried about the perceived prodigality of effort, the indulgence as well as the content.

Note the similarity in the design to the book's cover and the centre of the little bowl.

. . . . .

We had been encouraged by friends to visit them in Portugal: there was only one request - "You must include a weekend in your stay with us." We accepted and complied: the bookings were made to detour south from Dublin mid-week, and to return seven days later. It was not until that scheduled weekend arrived that we discovered the reason for this demand: we were to visit a flea market. It turned out not to be an intimate, ad hoc, local affair, or a farmer’s market, but a large event some forty kilometres east of Faro. It was a destination, one that had been planned in the initial itinerary envisaged with the original request in the invitation – the weekend.

It was a large market, busy and crowded, set up in the open car parking areas around the offices of the local authority on the edge of town - open fields one side; new commercial development on the other, and a police station too. It felt like every other flea market we had been to, but it was large, and in something of a no-mans-land. The rules of approaching this shambles were easy to follow - one started anywhere in the maze and plotted a route that would pass all of the stores, if a folding table or carpet on the ground covered with a display of random, sundry wares could be called a 'store.' "We'll go this way."

We began browsing. How does one look at such clutter? Is it all really just junk? Will this excursion be a waste of time? We had limits on the baggage that we could carry. The TV 'antique' shows encourage one to expect a bargain in these situations, the discovery of an item that is really a rare and very valuable piece. Is this what one really looks for? Here, one old camera set complete with plates and chemicals comes to mind. The participant in the antiques show, a dealer himself, sensed something special about his sixty-pound purchase without knowing what. He was right: the camera went for twenty thousand pounds at auction, (with all profits happily going to a charity). Is this everyone's dream; their latent, flea market expectation? One pressed on wishing for nothing other than something ‘of interest,’ whatever this might be; yes, something cheap and special in a somehow different way: maybe something personally enriching. This is the excitement of a good flea market: the expectation of finding something vaguely valuable in an emotional sense rather than in any specific financial way, although the latter circumstance is never really dismissed: the item may be useful too.

The eyes were allowed to wander willy-nilly without intent or ambition, following the body in its lazy stroll through the crowds; or did the body follow the eyes? Their gaze grazed loosely and lightly, trying at times to see items that are too easily managed visually as a batch, individually, as separate pieces. A clutter is easily perceived as an interesting accumulation, an aggregation rather than as a set of singularly, unique pieces themselves, with each item failing to be appreciated for what it might be alone, seen only for its role in the creation of the context of this interesting mess.

In amongst this chaos of randomly associated clutter with items placed and spaced only for the impromptu table display, a tiny bowl appeared - it caught the eye: it attracted me. It was lifted from its mutually messy mates to be seen alone, evaluated for what it might be rather than assessed in the picturesque parity of the ad hoc assembly that reminded one of a portion of a cluttered Victorian interior. The surprise was that the tiny bowl had weight for its size: but why had it grabbed the eye? Why had it ever been made? What was it? What was it made for? What was it made of? Is this the classic 'decorative item' referred to on TV shows - a bit of useless stuff that exists only to interest the eye with some dainty display? The conman sales person - flea markets seem to attract these types - said that it was made from 'gypsy gold.' The joke was probably as honest a statement as he had made this day: many a true word is said in jest. The tiny bowl was grubby. Might it polish up nicely? The worry was that its character might disappear to become mere bright, bland kitsch trash if the grime was removed. The thumb was rubbed across one edge to test the theory; to explore likely futures. Nothing changed; it seemed promising. The piece was purchased: this involved no large sums of cash. The thought was that it would be better described as 'gypsy pewter.' The experts would more politely say that it was 'white metal' - a mysterious amalgam that was of no value, being neither gold or silver, nor pewter or platinum - nothing with any cultural or social standing, significance or style.

Once back at the apartment, the 'show-and-tell' took place. All agreed that the other's purchases were 'good,' a broad categorisation that covered degrees of interest, difference, quirkiness, and value for money. Everyone was happy, contented. The items were put aside; they were indeed an odd set: the little bowl; a small, bronze-like plate decorated with racing hares, (described by the saleswoman as "Very old," like everything at flea markets that carries a high price); an old bell, (used for cows, or sheep, or goats; also “very old” and very large - size increases price too); and one pretty, (“very old” and pricey), floor tile made in Portugal. One had hoped to get something from the region other than cliche tourist trash, best seen in the many local potteries. This ad hoc collection of purchases will remind us of place and circumstance forever. Indeed, it will be more than flimsy, cliché souvenirs; the little clustered collection will remind us of our wonderful time with friends in Portugal - its substance and meaning: see - https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2013/02/on-souvenirs-place-memories.html and https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2013/02/my-souvenir.html

Even after being placed out of the way, the little bowl dazzled the eye as it sat off to one side on the cupboard in its new context of clutter. Is this what flea markets are about - the rearrangement of collections; the scattering of the detritus of life into new groupings? The bowl kept asking to be seen, perused, considered, as it conjured its identity effortlessly, with a certain naivety. One picked it up and perused it again and again without knowing why, but with a complete, refreshed satisfaction each time. Was there something pleasing in its cold mass; its quaint complexity? It was indeed very pretty. What made it like this? It looked like a piece of jewellery.

The relevant expert on the Antiques Roadshow might, for example, pedantically describe the bowl in his precisely phrased and punctuated speech, as: “a shallow, rectangular bowl with rounded corners, with a frame of radial, curved petaled forms and a fine rope edge. The reverse surfaces, the curved edges and flat base - smooth, reflective white metal. The inside of the bowl, fringed by the petaled frame - decorated with an inscribed ellipse surrounded by circular floral emblems of different sizes to fit the form, completed with scribbled 'clouds' in the corner voids arranged in a leaf-like forms to fill the rectangular profile. The pattern - a twin symmetry encased in a boundary line with a textured outer edge. The decorations - they have a Gothic/Celtic feel to them; the corner 'clouds' that look like random scribbles, remind one of Chinese art. In all, a delightfully considered piece, mass produced, of no value: possibly Indian in origin, made for the Western 'hippie' market: thank you for bringing it along."

In spite of such raw, rational analysis, one could anticipate more from this tiny piece - the face of an iconic Byzantine Christ in the centre ellipse, such is the evocative quality of this miniature item. The idea of the apparition was heightened by one's face seen mirrored in the roughness of the bowl's outer base. In spite of its insignificance, its ordinary identity, the tiny bowl engaged the eye: it entranced. Was it the glitter that caught the imagination? Who might have bothered to make this tiny thing? Why? The more one looked at and handled this item, the richer and more precious it became.

The sheer effort to make something so apparently irrelevant, almost useless, astonished. Yet it was effective. What on earth was one going to do with this piece of decor? Why might one choose to want it? It was too specific a piece to be a paperweight - too light. It was too tiny to hold down much at all; indeed, it wanted to hold something itself, such was its spreading gestural form. We finally decided to use it to hold the few pills taken each morning. It turned out to be perfect for this. Pills remind one of one's weaknesses, so the delight of the tiny bowl and its offering reinvigorates one's stance taken towards the world, and oneself, each day - each day that begins with the sweet ping of the ding-ring of the bowl as the tablets strike it.

The mystery of its wonder lingers, as does the question of its looming, grim darknesses - the apparent grime. It really appears to have been made, or to have become this way, producing a unique chiaroscuro, as it were, where, out of the dark recesses grows a ring of sparkling light. It has not been made for polishing, (all efforts have failed); just, it seems, for its characteristic delight in its dim recesses. It is a grand success. It has fulfilled everything originally glimpsed in its 'message' from the temporary table, and more: that subtle amazement that made our friend wonder why he had not seen it. "Was it in a jewellery display box?" was the question, suggesting that he had not looked at jewellery, but wished he had. "No, it was lying on a table." Such is perception at flea markets. One never knows what one is seeing, or not seeing; or what one is looking for, or should look for, in the same way that one never knows what one is looking at beyond a general hodgepodge, sometimes seen as a certain despairing hopelessness of knick-knacks sprawling everywhere. The experience of discovery is described somewhat romantically, but realistically too, as "being spoken to; called; beckoned." The situation is referred to in the same way as the visitation of the muse is.

Our friends were pleased; the flea market plan had been a great success: but, as we were soon to discover, there was more to this weekend request than the visit to the market. For years, as part of the outing to the fair, our friends had always travelled on to lunch at a nearby restaurant: there was history here. The very first visit to this place was with a mutual friend. He was telephoned to share in our experience and to reminisce - twenty years ago. It was a beautiful rustic eatery in the country, with wonderful food and wine; an occasion that was a real pleasure, a privilege, to be a part of.

It was a good day, with a good flea market, good food, good wine, good friends, good memories, and good, sunny Portuguese weather: in all, it was a good weekend. The little bowl will mark this place, this experience, in time as well as being a thing of continual delight to be used every day – truly appreciated. What more could be asked from a decorative piece of white metal of no monetary value? - very little; but much more of the same could be asked from our architecture that seems to have lost all understanding of value and decoration as it concentrates on its bespoke visions, self-aggrandisement, and special budgets.

In response to Adolf Loos's cheeky, cliche caption, 'Ornament is a crime,' one has to note that this clarion call might have had a role in exposing the invigorated ambitions for a new, cleansing, revitalised architecture, focused on fresh air, sunlight, open space and health - purity and cleanliness that set the rules for forms as well as ways of living when Victorian grime and overcrowding was everywhere in the everyday. Now the time has come for one to declare a new clarification, with a new clarion call, a different definition: a vision for an architecture that recognises the necessity, role, and value of ornament.

The building's identity resided in the ornament. Louis Sullivan

Louis Sullivan

It was the master of decoration, Louis Sullivan, who predicted both the demise and the revitalisation of decoration - in one hundred year's time. The time for a new delight in design is right; is right now. We have much to learn: the hopes and possibilities of cleanliness seem to have been exhausted, managed, accommodated; perhaps they have lost their way, disintegrated into a misguided, clean personal chaos? We need new theories, different perceptions, to guide us into a world enriched by an understanding of the importance, significance and value of decoration. The little bowl might be our guide in this endeavour, our mascot for this journey to keep reminding us of the possibilities we now ignore, that we continue to mock as a superfluous, ‘criminal’ irrelevance. The history of architecture tells us otherwise, just look at Banister Fletcher's A History of Architecture on the Comparative Method, (B. T. Batsford, London, 1896), and consider: see - https://www.slideshare.net/cladeluna/sir-banister-fletchers-a-history-of-architecture The great success of modernism is that it has successfully ingrained thoughtful function into new forms. Now we need the delights and meanings of decoration to further enrich this clarity.

Can one see Gehry’s games with fantasy forms as an attempt at decoration? Maybe, but these efforts are misguided, random and vague. We need better direction and understanding of what might be possible. It is too easy to make a muddle of anything, as the flea market makes obvious to all.

The Adolf Loos side?

# Kenneth Clark, in Civilization, spoke of Wren's Greenwich Hospital as being seen as the type of building that was just a waste of money – the terminus of the ‘classical’ world and its thinking; the rupturing challenge at the beginning of a questioning ‘modernism’ that began a new quest.

JONES, MEYER & FLETCHER