PATTERNS

Evening Star, Issue 21624, 20 January 1934, Page 2

PATTERNS

[Written by Mahy Scott, for tho ‘ Evening Star.’]

“ Teach us delight in simple things ” —it Is one of the most beautiful of the requests that Kipling has voiced in ‘ The Children’s Hymn.’ It is also one of the most needed at the moment, for in a sophisticated era we are apt to lose sight of the deep beauty that lies in simple things, in literature, in art, and in life. And yet, while we profess to admire the subtle and the intricate, it remains triumphantly true that all the best and noblest natures have in them some touch of the childlike, a certain divine simplicity. Sophistication may glitter and attract, but it is simplicity that aspires and attains. Yet how are we to teach our children delight in simple things when there are so few simple things to delight them P We live in a pattern-ridden world. A few weeks ago I was in one of our newest and most grandiose railway stations, and 1 noticed that every one of its thousands—or millions—of titles was stamped with the magic letters “N.Z.R.” Now, why? Arc they afraid that some curio-mad tourist will carry one away? And, if so, surely the very insignia will 'make the relic all the more valuable? It is so meaningless, so inartistic, so banal to insist that everything we use must be stamped with some silly little pattern or engraved with some pointless scroll or chased with some ugly design. Unfortunately my encounter with the railway' station tiles turned my thoughts in that direction. For weeks now I have been looking for patterns and devices and, stamps—and seldom have I looked in vain. So little that we use is plain and simple; our wallpapers, our door handles, our furniture, our toilet articles, our very cooking utensils, down to the humblest egg beater, bear some entirely meaningless and unnecessary pattern.' Why ? What purpose do they achieve of dignity, beauty, or utility? Every argument is against them. They are elaborate, they are ugly, they ai;e useless; they make everything more complicated, more expensive,. more difficult to keep clean. The same senseless elaboration has crept into so much of life. Even our cooking is in danger of losing some of its old British simplicity. Lately we read that “ the King likes only the most simple food, but it must be perfectly cooked.’’ The item may have been no more reliable than most of the information we glean about the Royal Family, but it bears a certain stamp of truth. Royalty and simplicity are ever close allied, and our King and Queen have always stood for the best imd soundest things in our national life. Foremost amongst these is simplicity. Incidentally, a preference for simple food shows a very sound sense, for the more elaborate food is the more impure it is in danger of.becoming. Elaborate cooking means much handling, and even a Royal cook may occasionally lapse and lick his fingers.

In New Zealand we would do well to emulate Royalty in this. We are too given to an elaboration of the simple, necessary, but essentially unbeautiful art of eating. More particularly we are apt to make a difference between the simple family meal and social occasions. The fine and pleasant old customs of “ keeping open house ” and “ taking pot luck ” have almost died out. Entertainment is in danger of becoming elaborate, and therefore a bore to hostess and guest. Afternoon teas are a welter of whipped cream at which an exhausted hostess gazes wanly; small suppers are served with as many savouries as there are guests. And so with clothes. A model frock is like simple food. It is beautiful and satisfying in itself, and requires no elaboration. The second-rate article that fits poorly and is made of shoddy material tries to atone by “ fussiness ” —a ribbon here, a bow there, some pointless embroidery in that corner—and trust to luck for the rest. But your model frock is beautifully cut and perfectly designed. It needs no more. We cannot all afford model frocks, but we can at least, imitate their severity and simplicity. We cannot all afford a royal menu, but can all eat wholesome, plain food,' well and cleanly cooked. The Chinese idea of art is a sound one To contemplate one single object of perfect artistic merit is ideal. Unfortunately, “ A single daffodil upon a background of nothing at all ” is apt to prove a little baffling to Western eyes. The idea, however, has been adopted, and a few years ago was very popular. Empty rooms were the vogue and the rapt contemplation of one perfect article of vertu the correct pose—at least in Chelsea. The trouble was, at this end of the earth, to find the perfect vase.

It would be rather foolish to carry this. Eastern cult to an extreme in this new country, where priceless and perfect articles are necessarily rare. But most of us might with advantage empty our rooms of much superfluous furniture. Happily the day has passed when every chair wore its antimacassar and every mantle its “ drape ” ; we have learnt the hideousness as well as the folly of such adornments. But we have not gone far enough. In a country where the majority of women do. their own work or keep only one. maid, life must be made less complicated. Like simple food, simple rooms are more wholesome and more clean. They are also more restful. It was lately my fate to live for some terrible weeks with an entirely new and vividly patterned wallpaper. Green leaves and red berries glittered upon an indigestible chocolate background; the typical parrot had happily been forgotten, but the decorator had atoned by splashing across the whole a liberal top-dressing of gold. Tired nerves reacted unhappily to that false stimulus until the solution presented itself—a few arduous days and several coats of cream “ wash.” The result was joy and rest and harmony. Water-colours that had been drained of their lovely colours sprang to perfect life; flowers that had wilted and looked pale beside those gilded blossoms shone luminously grateful. “Oh, how plain!” people cried. But I have hugged that plainness to my heart and been rested by it.

Let us sweep our walls and our mantles more bare. We.are not rich connoisseurs;' we cannot worship at the shrine of one perfect treasure. But wo can discard all but the really good; wc need say no more “ I don’t really care for it, but it fills a blank space.” Why fill that space? Nothing is more restful than unfilled space, and only a few things more beautiful. And then how it simplifies life—less of that unpleasant dusting, fewer lurking-spaces for those insidious little spiders that spring from nowhere in a night to shame your housekeeping before the eyes of the unexpected and critical visitor.

Let us strive for simplicity and eschew patterns. We do not need them ; they do not- add to the intrinsic beauty of the egg-beater, they do not abate by one jot the labour of beating the egg. They have no value and no beauty and no sense. They only make work more complicated and household

necessities more expensive. No eggbeater yet was sold for the beauty of that scroll upon the flange—and how the egg loves to lurk there! No picture was ever more appreciated for the expensiveness of the frame, no lovely face more beautiful because it was framed in a “ permanent wavq/’ Shakespeare spoke truth. “ Good wine needs no bush ” —and, even if we cannot afford the best of wine, why bother with the ugly and useless “ bush ” ?