The greatest stumbling-block, perhaps, which simplification has laid in our way is the temptation to think of it as an end in itself. This it never is and never can be. The flowers, with their bewildering complexity of structure; the birds, with their brilliant plumage; the cathedrals of the Old World, with their elaborate ornamentation, laugh at the very suggestion. I may take down curtains, because by so doing I can sit in the house and watch the clouds float by, or lie in bed and look at the stars, or get time to make excursions to see the sun set over the lake or the moon rise; but that does not necessarily mean that life would not be richer with both the curtains and the natural beauties. I may, feeling that I am not educated in form and in the principles of ornamentation, buy a table with straight and absolutely plain legs, because I know that such a table fulfills the first law of beauty for articles of utility, that of fitness to purpose, and because I prefer not to trust my judgment further; but that does not mean that a table of some other form and more ornate might not serve its purpose as well and be more pleasing to the eye. I may select one kind of pottery in preference to another infinitely more beautiful in form and finish and decoration, because I know that by buying the first I give some one a chance to express himself and to gain happiness and development through work, while by buying the second I am simply putting money into the pocket of some one who is exploiting for gain the talents of others. In each one of these cases the simplification was not an end in itself, but the result of recognizing and accepting a limitation, arising in one case from lack of time and energy, in another from lack of knowledge, in another from unjust social conditions.
Since real, true, purposeful simplification involves self-sacrifice, no person may force it upon another. Each person must decide for himself, in the light of the conditions of his own life, how much of the beauty which appeals to the eye he ought to sacrifice for the greater beauties of harmony and social justice. One may, however, remind another that simplification may bring with it beauties of form, of color, and of design, as well as those of lives in harmony with their social environment.
Simplification in manner of life, in dress, and in house furnishings may bring the greatest of all material beauties—that of the human form. One of the most melancholy sights in the world is that of a sallow, wizened lady, befrizzled and befurbelowed. When that same woman is set down amid the bric-a-brac which has helped to wear her out, the sight becomes pathetic as well as melancholy. One cannot help wondering what the effect would be if such a woman should wear plain gowns and dispose of the bric-a-brac, and spend the time saved in lying out in the fresh air, and the saved money on eggnogs and cream and cocoa and other easily digested, fattening foods. It is probable that if the modern tuberculosis cure in all of its details respecting rest and fresh air and sunlight and food should be taken for six months by all the women who could take it without sacrificing more than the purchase of a spring suit or a pair of curtains, the world’s supply of beauty in the form of bright eyes and pink cheeks and rounded figures would be increased ten and possibly a hundredfold.
The increase of enjoyment of the beauties of nature which comes with reduction of care has been spoken of so often that in spite of its importance it need not be again mentioned here. The reduction of care is not the only way in which simplification brings natural beauty, however. Plain, uncarved woodwork and furniture reveal the natural beauties of the wood. Unpolished surfaces make it possible to have plants here, there, everywhere, on window sills or tables, wherever they can be most often seen and most easily cared for.
Next, simplification may lead to increase in the beauty of house furnishings themselves. If we go through the house and challenge every article to prove that it is worthy of its care—worthy to be taken down and dusted three hundred and sixty-five times every year or fifty-two times, as the case may be—and dispose of all those which do not pass muster, thus getting down to rock bottom in our possessions, there are likely to be two results. The first will be the revelation of the uglinesses of the rock bottom; the second will be time to learn how to beautify it. And beauty in the rock bottom—in floors and walls and in necessary furniture—is very little trouble to care for, and frequently destroys the craving for superficial decorations. By the use of all sorts of ornaments we have blinded ourselves to the possible structural beauty of a room, a beauty due to proportion, and to the proper placing of openings, and of the necessary fixtures. Most of us need time to study good architectural forms, and some of us can get that time only by relieving ourselves of the care of knickknacks.
Sometimes the removal of one article of questionable beauty will bring to light others that may be the source of esthetic enjoyment. A table crowded in among other pieces of furniture and covered with a cloth may be ugly without any one’s being the wiser. If we uncover it and make it stand out in bold relief its ugliness will come to light. Under these circumstances, however, we may discover that its outlines are really beautiful, but are spoiled by machine-turned trimmings. A little judicious use of a saw or a plane, a little attention to the finish, and we may have a thing of real beauty.
Finally, simplification gives us time to study the conditions under which the articles in use in our home are made, sold, cared for, and cleaned; and the willingness to have few things may make it possible to know that those we have were made under conditions that favored the health and happiness of the maker, and that those who care for them are neither overworked nor under-paid. In the light of this knowledge the barest and plainest of houses appears beautiful, because it becomes the expression of harmony between the life within and the life without.
Simplification, then, though not an end to be sought for itself alone, may be the means of elaborating life by increasing the beauty of the human body, by bringing in the beauties of nature, by inspiring us to, and giving us time for, the study of the principles of true art, and by bringing our lives into sympathetic relations with other lives.
MORE PLEASURE FOR THE PRODUCER OF HOUSEHOLD STUFF
MORE pleasure for the producer of household stuff! And who is he or she? He used to be the village cabinet maker at work in a little shop, with a few friends, making furniture for his neighbor’s use. She used to be the housewife working at home, with her daughters, at spindle or at loom, making tablecloths and napkins, bed furnishings, and carpets for use in her own family. Now the cabinet maker, having deserted his little shop, has moved up to town and become an employee in a great manufacturing establishment; and the housewife, having ceased entirely from producing, is trying to content herself with buying and with using. The producer of household stuff today is neither housewife nor village cabinet maker, but a factory “hand.”