There's nothing new under the sun....

[mdallensr]

We had a great thread on the beginner board about carving as art vs. craft vs. talent, etc. We read a lot of opinions and had a lot of our members really do some soul searching about how and why they carve. I've been doing on-line library searches to find old books about carving and found one from 1868 "Manual of Woodcarving" by Wm. Bemrose, that addresses our thread as though he were here with us now. This is a long, tedious read but that's part of the interest...

By a wise provision of Providence, people are gifted differently. No two minds are alike, and although the pursuits may be the same, the mind—the imagination —is different, and is under no control. The conception of an idea is one thing, but the practical carrying out and embodying of that idea is quite another. The idea comes unbidden, the power to give it solidity is only acquired by study and by hard practice. Painting and sculpture are as much the result of the mind as writing or speaking, and the one is equally as much a means of conveying a conception from one to another. In the vivid imagination of the writer, scenes arise which he describes in glowing language—the artist reads, he catches, as it were, the soul of the writer, and embodies his idea, not in fresh words, but in form and colour, and thus re-conveys to others the original thought, and brings visibly before them the very scene which had before no reality. On the other hand, the painter or sculptor conceives an idea and at once embodies it with a master-hand, and this conveys to the writer a train of thought, which he follows up, and gives back as fresh food for other minds to feed and thrive upon.
Art and imagination are thus said to go hand in hand; but surely this is an error. Imagination is always in the van, and art follows in her footsteps, endeavouring (but not always succeeding), to embody her impressions and to give solidity and form to each of her thoughts.
Imagination takes her rise from art, as art takes her's from imagination. There never was a work of art produced, but the imagination of each individual who looks upon it, or hears of it, is instantly set at work, and thus other ideas are engendered, and a link of a chain, which shall have no end, is formed. The man who produces anything new—we care not what it is—instantly sets the minds of others at work, and thus his idea becomes the centre, the nucleus, of a cluster of other ideas, which branch off in every direction, and again and again give out fresh branches, until the whole at last is formed into an elaborate and almost bewildering network, in which the lines cross and recross each other in such an intricate manner, that the original is almost lost.
People who are familiar with old-fashioned country gardens, will, no doubt, remember a peculiar kind of daisy, known by the quaint name of "Hen and Chickens," in which the parent daisy, like a first idea, bursts from the bud a simple flower and rests among its quiet leaves in perfect modesty and beauty. Soon, however, in proof that it is but the germ of other beauties, fresh little flowers spring out one by one from among its petals—like new ideas springing out from the parent thought— until at length it is completely surrounded by an orle of beauty—a large star in the centre of a radius of smaller ones—and becomes but a part of the whole, intermingled with it, and becoming gradually lost and merged into the general mass, as fresh circles are again formed around it. Every flower which grows, every tree which the world produces, every rock, every stream of water, nay, every object, however small (not insignificant, for there is nothing insignificant in nature), is food for the mind, and the imagination is sure to seize upon it and work it into something useful; and every object is, as well, but an emblem back again of that mind in one or other of its many phases. The flower we have spoken of is but one emblem out of thousands which Nature produces, but it is an homely one, and one which has often occurred to us, as we have watched bud after bud opening around it.
Many a conception of the mind it is impossible to convey to others in words, the pencil then comes in requisition, and is followed in carrying out the grand design, by the brush or the knife—the idea is one thing, but the carrying it out quite another, and often the most brilliant ideas are lost, because the man who conceives them has not the power or ability to carry them out, and give them permanence. It becomes a duty, a bounden duty, on the part of those, then, who possess a good knowledge of any particular branch of art, to make that knowledge known to others, and so to save to the world the many brilliant and useful ideas which are floating in the imaginations of their fellows—like perturbed spirits which have no place whereon to rest. To this end Manuals of various kinds have been produced, from time to time, by masters in their several branches, and have done good service to the community, by enabling thousands of people to embody their ideas, and thus to add to the world's store of the useful and beautiful in art. Among all these, however, one art has as yet been unrepresented, and thus, doubtless, hundreds, nay, thousands upon thousands, of what would have been useful and beautiful designs, and possibly highly valuable works, have been lost as soon as conceived. It has remained for us to try to supply for wood carving such a simple Manual as has already been supplied for other branches, and to endeavour by it so to instruct the amateur in the use of his tools, and his materials, as to enable him to embody his ideas, and to produce not only monuments of his own skill, but works of art which shall be useful examples for others to study, to improve, and to work upon.
There is scarcely an art to which our English homes are so much indebted for their beauty, their comfort, and their attractiveness, as that of Wood Carving; and there is none which is capable of more development, or of being practised with more pleasurable results than it is. People are gifted differently, and tastes vary as gifts do. One person may choose to fill up his or her time in drawing, and may with pride—and a most laudable pride it is—point to the elegant pictures which adorn his wall, as his own unaided work. He may excel in producing faithful portraits of his nearest and dearest friends (and there is nothing, surely, more pleasing than to have portraits of those we care for hanging around us); another may be more skilful in landscape, and reproduce on canvas or paper, places or scenes which possess a charm for him from early association, or otherwise. Another may be a mere copyist and be content by studying, and by care, to decorate his rooms with reproductions of the works of celebrated masters; and another may yet be far more advanced, and, by boldly stepping out into original composition, surprise his friends, and even himself, by producing in water colours, or oil, historic or other scenes, embodying passages which he has read, or incidents in every-day life which his mind, tuned to acute observation, has enabled him to grasp. The taste of another may lie in illumination, and his drawing-room table may bear exquisite evidences in its splendid volumes, of his taste and skill in the use of colours, and in the arrangement of ornament. Another may delight in collecting around him articles of vertu—another may store his shelves with the choicest books—not the least choice his own literary productions—and another may garner up from Nature's storehouse of beauty, the rarest and most beautiful ferns and flowering plants. The lady may take pride in decorating her rooms with embroidery and needlework, with netting or crochet, with beadwork, appliqué, or any other of the many enchanting arts which she follows, but in whatever these varied tastes consist, there is always abundant room, and ample scope, for the exercise of the carver's skill to set them off to advantage, and to add to their beauties. The artist, by carved frames, may add immeasurably to the elegance of his productions ; the illuminator may carve rests and stands for his gorgeous tomes; the collector requires ornamented cabinets for the arrangement of his curiosities; the literary man may enrich his rooms by carved bookcases and presses ; the botanist may decorate his fernery or his flower stands ; and to the lady for the proper display of her handiwork, carved ottomans, sideboards, stools, high-backed chairs, work-tables, hand and fire-screens are perfectly essential. To all, chiffoniers, cabinets, what-nots, Canterbury’s, and side-tables, offer abundant material for the exercise of the carver's art, and for the display of his taste and ingenuity. Surely we have said enough, then, to show that the Art of Carving in Wood is one which is eminently worthy of cultivation, and for which in every household there is ample scope.

[AlArchie]

Good discourse, there, MD......maybe times don't change after all.....only us!

Al

[Teri Embrey]

Wow, Mike, thanks for digging that up. You're so right that his discourse goes right along with where we always get to when we discuss these issues.

Teri

[mdallensr]

Hi Teri:

It's good to see you posting again. After finding some of these bibliographies on-line, I made the trek down to the Cleveland Public Library, Fine Arts Department, and spent part of a day going through old books, patterns, and manuscripts. Amazing stuff! I'm starting to think wood carvers are the Rodney Dangerfield's of the art world. Seems we didn't get much respect when carving was a common form of architectural decoration. I'm happy with my carving hobby, and it seems to be growing in popularity. Take care of yourself, keep carving, a keep us posted. Mike