l art.
There is so much already formulated and admitted, and the area in
which we may gather our materials is so large, that we need not seek
for more than we find under our hand, ready for use.
Besides the symbolism of dogma, we have all the heraldry of the
Saints; and can repeat and vary the emblems of those to whom the
church we are working for is dedicated. The keys of St. Peter, the
sword of St. Paul, the lilies of the Virgin, the cross of St. Andrew,
the eagle of St. John,--I need hardly enumerate all these legitimate
sources of decoration. Then there is the lay heraldry which belongs to
the history of each church, and which memorializes the reign of the
monarch when it was begun, finished, or restored, and the pious work
and care of the founder and benefactor, the architect, and sometimes
that of the sculptor.
Now as our forefathers accepted all this material for ecclesiastical
design, remodelling it to their own uses in different centuries, so we
cannot ourselves do better than imitate them, and profit by their
experience; never missing an opportunity of studying ancient
embroideries; and while we admire in them all that is admirable, and
appreciate their historical and archaeological value, we may yet
extract greater benefit for ourselves, by criticizing what is
imperfect, as well as what is possibly a descent and failure from a
higher type.
We must make a judicious selection of what to imitate and what to
avoid.
As a general rule, I should warn the young artist against the
imitation of "naivete" and so-called "quaintness;" especially in our
designs for Church embroidery as it is hardly a noble quality in art,
though we look on it with a tender pity, half-way between admiration
and contempt, when we find it inevitably in mediaeval work; struggling
to overcome the expression of something difficult, and expressing a
difficulty only partly overcome. We find ourselves putting our minds
into the attitude of the artist who conceived those figures with arms
conventionally growing out of the encasing garment; conventionally
holding a book, and giving a blessing with a conventional twist, not
entirely ungraceful, nor devoid of a certain dignity, rather felt than
perceived. Yet we contemplate them with a smile of conscious
superiority, appreciating our own refined sense of their merits and
infantine progress towards something good, that time--a long
time--would, and did evolve. But those efforts at last culmi
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