Traditional Bentcorner box. Photo courtesy SAM
I have been spending time again immersed in the books and articles on old bentwood boxes and chests. Box and chest designs are my first love. I am attracted by their symmetry, by the elegant play of tension, balance and movement. Vitality. My breath catches on the arc of a line drawn to that point at which, if you pull it any tighter, it will break. But, if you let your hand free, your hand will know the point at which you release the tension and let the curve fall. It reminds me very much of the tension of falling water. I am always struck with a sense of exultation when I see a design that seems to flow down the box front just as water flows down over stones.
My eye follows the primary line, out from the central face to the secondary features. That primary line is so definitive. When left on it’s own on a piece of paper, on a piece of wood or leather, it’s boldness, it’s vitality are enough to entertain the mind and the eye all by itself.
But then I start seeking the secondary elements. All those details that give the design its individuality; those lovely salmon/trout eyes in the joints; the little mouse form that seems such an integral component of these designs. I look to see what is used to relieve the viewers eye…those little trigons and crescents throughout the formline, at junctures which help break up the density of the primary line without interfering with the design. In fact, good “relief elements” as we call them, should blend seamlessly into the design and add to it. Are those relief elements used well? Intentionally? With consideration? Are the secondary elements well thought and well placed? Are they balanced within the primary formline?
The most elegantly designed chests and boxes are sheer joy to study; I can feel that artist is “ON” that day, he’s hit his Zen place and the work just flows from his hands like ancient magic. But even the most crudely drawn and painted box or chest is a wonder to me. It teaches me much about craftsmanship but also about the artist behind it. I imagine him in a hurry, several boxes standing, waiting for paint. There’s a potlatch in just a few days and his paint is not flowing because it’s too hot or cold out. Or because the only salmon eggs he could get were too lean, too old, didn’t dry nicely or were oily for a good binder. There’s too much to get done and the materials just aren’t playing nicely. I understand his frustration and hurry. I suggest he lay his brushes down, go have a nice lunch and a walk along the beach, then come back refreshed and try again.
I have had a long dry creative-less spell. But I've metaphorically had a nice lunch, walked along the beach and after spending time with my first loves again, I'm refreshed and ready to get back to work.
I have been spending time again immersed in the books and articles on old bentwood boxes and chests. Box and chest designs are my first love. I am attracted by their symmetry, by the elegant play of tension, balance and movement. Vitality. My breath catches on the arc of a line drawn to that point at which, if you pull it any tighter, it will break. But, if you let your hand free, your hand will know the point at which you release the tension and let the curve fall. It reminds me very much of the tension of falling water. I am always struck with a sense of exultation when I see a design that seems to flow down the box front just as water flows down over stones.
My eye follows the primary line, out from the central face to the secondary features. That primary line is so definitive. When left on it’s own on a piece of paper, on a piece of wood or leather, it’s boldness, it’s vitality are enough to entertain the mind and the eye all by itself.
But then I start seeking the secondary elements. All those details that give the design its individuality; those lovely salmon/trout eyes in the joints; the little mouse form that seems such an integral component of these designs. I look to see what is used to relieve the viewers eye…those little trigons and crescents throughout the formline, at junctures which help break up the density of the primary line without interfering with the design. In fact, good “relief elements” as we call them, should blend seamlessly into the design and add to it. Are those relief elements used well? Intentionally? With consideration? Are the secondary elements well thought and well placed? Are they balanced within the primary formline?
The most elegantly designed chests and boxes are sheer joy to study; I can feel that artist is “ON” that day, he’s hit his Zen place and the work just flows from his hands like ancient magic. But even the most crudely drawn and painted box or chest is a wonder to me. It teaches me much about craftsmanship but also about the artist behind it. I imagine him in a hurry, several boxes standing, waiting for paint. There’s a potlatch in just a few days and his paint is not flowing because it’s too hot or cold out. Or because the only salmon eggs he could get were too lean, too old, didn’t dry nicely or were oily for a good binder. There’s too much to get done and the materials just aren’t playing nicely. I understand his frustration and hurry. I suggest he lay his brushes down, go have a nice lunch and a walk along the beach, then come back refreshed and try again.
I have had a long dry creative-less spell. But I've metaphorically had a nice lunch, walked along the beach and after spending time with my first loves again, I'm refreshed and ready to get back to work.
