The City of Domes : a walk with an architect about the courts and palaces of the Panama-Pacific International Exposition, with a discussion of its architecture, its sculpture, its mural decorations, its coloring and its lighting, preceded by a history of its growth

by John D. Barry

"Remember, they're not paintings," the painter insisted. "They're formal decorations."

In the panel representing the elementary use of Fire we were all struck by Brangwyn's daring and fine treatment of the ugly. Nearly every face was almost grotesque. And yet every face was appealing for the simple reason that it expressed attractive human qualities. Two, a man and a woman, had noses ridiculously large. The group of men in the center of the background, at the base, around the fire, had apparently started the fire by rubbing sticks together. One was intently leaning forward, as if in the act of blowing. Among the figures behind the group stood a man with an infant in his arms, vividly characterized by the unseeing eyes.

That infant was instantly singled out by the painter.

"Brangwyn is very wonderful in his observation of children. He has a quality that is almost maternal. Observe the difference between the expression in the face of that baby and the expression in the face of that little boy to the left of the fire-makers. How intently he is looking on as he leans against the brown jar. He shows all the interest of a boy just learning how to do things."

The kiln charmed us, too, though we regretted that it did not explain itself quite so spontaneously as most of the other panels. "But symbolism ought not to be too obvious, you know," the painter argued. "There's a certain charm in vagueness. It makes you feel your way toward a work- of art. The more you think about this panel the more you find there. To me it suggests the relation between fire and the abundance of the earth. See how cleverly, in each case of these two panels, Brangwyn has used smoke, first as a thin line, breaking into two lines as it goes up and interweaving, and then as a great flowing wreath, dividing the panel in two parts without weakening the unity."

For composition we decided that the two Earth panels were among the most remarkable of all. With satisfaction I heard Brangwyn compared by the painter to a great stage manager. "When I look at these groupings, I am reminded of Forbes-Robertson's productions of plays." Now we could see how brilliantly the decorator had planned in securing his effects of height by starting his group of figures close to the top of the canvas. And with what skill he had used trees and vines and vegetables and fruits, both for design and for coloring. "He has always been mad about apples and squashes," said that feminine voice. "In nearly every picture here you will find not one squash only, but several squashes. He loves them for their color and their shape. And how wonderful he makes the color of the grape. He suggests the miracle of its deep purple."

We admired the painter's pictorial use of shadow on those powerful and scantily draped figures and the animation he put into the bodies of the wine-pressers. And down there in a corner he had perfectly reproduced the attitude and facial expression of the worker at rest, holding out his cup for a drink. "There's another of those queer and interesting children. But oh, most wonderful of all is the opposite panel that ought to be called Abundance. See that mother, holding her lusty baby. The face is commonplace enough, but it has all motherhood in it. And the woman behind, she looks as if she might be a mother bereft or one of those women cheated out of motherhood."

The architect, though he still had his reservations on the subject of the Brangwyns, conceded that they were distinctly architectural. They blended into the spirit of the court.

The painter at once supported the opinion. "In these colonnades Guerin has done some of his finest coloring. The blue and the red are in absolute harmony with Brangwyn's rich tones. They must have been applied to fit the canvases. But the marvel is that the murals should show up so magnificently. Brangwyn painted them in London and he must have had second sight to divine just the right scheme. Do you realize," she went on enthusiastically, fairly losing herself in her enjoyment, "the immense difficulties he had to contend with? In the first place, see how huge those canvases are. Their size created all kinds of problems. To view them right, to get a line on the detail, so to speak, would have meant, for the average painter, walking long distances. But, in his studio, Brangwyn could not have taken anything like accurate measurements."

"Perhaps he painted them out of doors," the architect suggested.