so urgently required. It seems to us that, before we get rabid about “ribbon development, ” we must realise that the whole economic system of the countryside has been radically altered. Its basic industry was deliberately sacrificed, generations ago, to the exigencies of industrial development and growing town populations, since when, until recent years, it has been kept going mainly through the efforts and sacrifices of the great landowners. The herding of the major part of the population in ever-growing towns and cities brought with it a crop of new difficulties and evils with the Legislature has endeavoured to cure with panaceas, involving an ever-increasing drain upon the public purse; and the super-tax and the death duties have now practically brought about the extinction of the old order of landed proprietors. In their place we have the land speculator, anxious to see the return of his capital with interest; or the farmer compelled, in a time of great agricultural depression, to buy his holding, and only averting ruin, in many cases, by selling strips of his road frontage to all and sundry. The old race of landlords are no longer present to exercise control in the interests of seemly building and the amenities of their estates. Thus we find, spreading along the roadside, the ugly bungalows and shacks of the town dweller who, having acquired a motor, desires a healthy country home; of the out-ofwork handyman seeking fortune with a garage; of the victim of a depressed industry who thinks he can keep going by small-scale poultry farming or market gardening. One can only hope, in many cases, that the existence preserved in some of these dwellings is less drab and squalid than the surroundings appear to suggest.
It is this aspect of development that the C. P. R. E. has to confront; not the development of the land per se, but the ugly and squalid character of the development; and we fail to understand how, what is an æsthetic evil will be cured by force of economic pressure. For the same taxation that would, admittedly, prevent the squalid type of dwelling from coming into existence would operate equally to prevent the more enlightened builder from providing seemlier houses of which these refugees from the towns are in urgent need. Primarily, the main energies of the C. P. R. E. must be expended in education. Education of the rural inhabitants and the rural local authorities to a sense of their responsibilities; education of Parliament to the fact, partly appreciated already, that urban by-laws should not be adopted for rural, areas, that open spaces must be provided in all schemes of development, and that kerbed and paved roads are neither necessary nor desirable to give access to houses erected on backlands in rural localities. The new landowners might be helped by gratuitous advice, to the better development of their property; and local utility bodies brought to understand that their interests and those of the community would be better served, very often, by extending a main up an access drive than along a main road. Finally, there is the bringing home to the public generally, and especially the rising generation in the schools, the fact that they cannot destroy the beauty of the countryside and still have it; that every member of the public has a duty towards his neighbour as well as to himself; and that even the birds do not foul their nests. The process of such educative action would be slow; less satisfying, perhaps, to the ardent spirit than repressive legislation, but, in our opinion, it is the only course to be adopted which will eventually achieve the objects which the. Council have in view.
The annual prize distribution at the Royal Academy gave the P. R. A. another opportunity of laying a verbal cudgel about him for the chastisement of sinister tendencies in modern art; but as his remarks
were impersonal, the protagonists of all the modernist groups and coteries have taken his strictures as applying to “the other fellow,” and, anyway, the R. A. is
a back number. One can well understand the dismay of the older school at the appearance of these new schools and groups, some of which appear, to the average man, to regard an ability to draw and a perception of colour as entirely unnecessary qualifications for the pursuit of their profession. Sir Frank Dicksee is appalled at the abandonment of the old standards of beauty, and at the ugly and barbaric types which have usurped their place. We fear, however, that little is to be gained by denunciation, for the modernist school seems to thrive upon it, and not a few believe that it is deliberately sought as an effective means of advertisement. Certainly the attention of the British public seems to be more easily and effectively attracted by a shock to its feelings than by experiencing a sensation of pleasure or interest. The older type of artist essayed to establish some common ground of understanding between himself and his public; and, if successful in that endeavour, reckoned that he had fulfilled his purpose. The modernist is not interested in other people’s mental processes, but only in his own. To establish contact is not his business, but ours, and if we omit to try or fail in the attempt, what scorn and contumely fall to the lot of the hapless philistine. Life is becoming very difficult. Many of us do try to keep up with the times, to honestly understand the newer manifestations, to correctly interpret the message which we are assured lies behind them. It is so perplexing to find grass blue, trees red and houses all out of perspective. True, the perspective of the primitives was often a little weird, but we attributed it to their limitations. Perhaps, after all, there was some hidden meaning in it. Even the unflinching realism of the present day is a little mystifying. Some of us have seen in the flesh a mother and child, very comely specimens of their race, who sat as models for a bronze group now disclosed with much eclat to the newer world. One did not expect a portrait, but somehow the comeliness seems to have escaped the sculptor’s eye, the mother in his vision has become an aged and faded grandmother. We are led to wonder what “realism”
conveys to the modernist mind; whether to him there is no half-way house between the “pretty-pretty ” and the doubly ugly. Is it essential in order to get “guts” into his work that the artist must make us
spectators of his metaphorical disembowelment? Modern art is terribly difficult to understand. We have our little difficulties with modernist architecture; yet they are nothing compared to those presented by modern music. A distinguished musical critic has been reassuring listeners-in that neither they nor a modernist composer, some of whose work has recently been broadcast, are mad. The listening audience had not understood the music because the human ear is very conservative, and because the composer was expressing himself in a new idiom which they must learn in order to appreciate his work. He proceeds to explain what learning a new musical idiom entails. Having been mystified by the work of another modernist musician, he bought this composer’s published pianoforte works, arranged them in the order of composition, and engaged a talented pianist, acquainted with the works, to play them over to him. The playing was continued for several hours on two days of the week; playing the entire set of works extended over three weeks; while a second and third performance of the cycle prolonged the process over months, at the end of which time this critic, with a trained and understanding musical mind, thought he could appreciate what the composer was driving at. The prospect seems somewhat dismal for the unhappy man who has had no musical training. As we said before, life is becoming very difficult.
It is this aspect of development that the C. P. R. E. has to confront; not the development of the land per se, but the ugly and squalid character of the development; and we fail to understand how, what is an æsthetic evil will be cured by force of economic pressure. For the same taxation that would, admittedly, prevent the squalid type of dwelling from coming into existence would operate equally to prevent the more enlightened builder from providing seemlier houses of which these refugees from the towns are in urgent need. Primarily, the main energies of the C. P. R. E. must be expended in education. Education of the rural inhabitants and the rural local authorities to a sense of their responsibilities; education of Parliament to the fact, partly appreciated already, that urban by-laws should not be adopted for rural, areas, that open spaces must be provided in all schemes of development, and that kerbed and paved roads are neither necessary nor desirable to give access to houses erected on backlands in rural localities. The new landowners might be helped by gratuitous advice, to the better development of their property; and local utility bodies brought to understand that their interests and those of the community would be better served, very often, by extending a main up an access drive than along a main road. Finally, there is the bringing home to the public generally, and especially the rising generation in the schools, the fact that they cannot destroy the beauty of the countryside and still have it; that every member of the public has a duty towards his neighbour as well as to himself; and that even the birds do not foul their nests. The process of such educative action would be slow; less satisfying, perhaps, to the ardent spirit than repressive legislation, but, in our opinion, it is the only course to be adopted which will eventually achieve the objects which the. Council have in view.
The annual prize distribution at the Royal Academy gave the P. R. A. another opportunity of laying a verbal cudgel about him for the chastisement of sinister tendencies in modern art; but as his remarks
were impersonal, the protagonists of all the modernist groups and coteries have taken his strictures as applying to “the other fellow,” and, anyway, the R. A. is
a back number. One can well understand the dismay of the older school at the appearance of these new schools and groups, some of which appear, to the average man, to regard an ability to draw and a perception of colour as entirely unnecessary qualifications for the pursuit of their profession. Sir Frank Dicksee is appalled at the abandonment of the old standards of beauty, and at the ugly and barbaric types which have usurped their place. We fear, however, that little is to be gained by denunciation, for the modernist school seems to thrive upon it, and not a few believe that it is deliberately sought as an effective means of advertisement. Certainly the attention of the British public seems to be more easily and effectively attracted by a shock to its feelings than by experiencing a sensation of pleasure or interest. The older type of artist essayed to establish some common ground of understanding between himself and his public; and, if successful in that endeavour, reckoned that he had fulfilled his purpose. The modernist is not interested in other people’s mental processes, but only in his own. To establish contact is not his business, but ours, and if we omit to try or fail in the attempt, what scorn and contumely fall to the lot of the hapless philistine. Life is becoming very difficult. Many of us do try to keep up with the times, to honestly understand the newer manifestations, to correctly interpret the message which we are assured lies behind them. It is so perplexing to find grass blue, trees red and houses all out of perspective. True, the perspective of the primitives was often a little weird, but we attributed it to their limitations. Perhaps, after all, there was some hidden meaning in it. Even the unflinching realism of the present day is a little mystifying. Some of us have seen in the flesh a mother and child, very comely specimens of their race, who sat as models for a bronze group now disclosed with much eclat to the newer world. One did not expect a portrait, but somehow the comeliness seems to have escaped the sculptor’s eye, the mother in his vision has become an aged and faded grandmother. We are led to wonder what “realism”
conveys to the modernist mind; whether to him there is no half-way house between the “pretty-pretty ” and the doubly ugly. Is it essential in order to get “guts” into his work that the artist must make us
spectators of his metaphorical disembowelment? Modern art is terribly difficult to understand. We have our little difficulties with modernist architecture; yet they are nothing compared to those presented by modern music. A distinguished musical critic has been reassuring listeners-in that neither they nor a modernist composer, some of whose work has recently been broadcast, are mad. The listening audience had not understood the music because the human ear is very conservative, and because the composer was expressing himself in a new idiom which they must learn in order to appreciate his work. He proceeds to explain what learning a new musical idiom entails. Having been mystified by the work of another modernist musician, he bought this composer’s published pianoforte works, arranged them in the order of composition, and engaged a talented pianist, acquainted with the works, to play them over to him. The playing was continued for several hours on two days of the week; playing the entire set of works extended over three weeks; while a second and third performance of the cycle prolonged the process over months, at the end of which time this critic, with a trained and understanding musical mind, thought he could appreciate what the composer was driving at. The prospect seems somewhat dismal for the unhappy man who has had no musical training. As we said before, life is becoming very difficult.