Christopher Dresser, The V&A Museum, London
In part because of the favourable mention given to him by Nikolaus Pevsner in Pioneers of Modern Design, several generations have been at least marginally aware of the work of the Victorian designer Christopher Dresser. In truth only one or two carefully vetted and especially minimalist pieces by Dresser were in Pevsner's 1936 book.
The vast output and many-faceted career of Dresser (1834-1904) is the subject of an exhibition at the Victoria & Albert Museum (V&A) that runs until 5 December. And yes, those forward-looking silver pieces of tableware are in the show.
At a time when there was no such thing as a designer, Dresser, whose background was a combination of fine-art training and the study of botany, came to realise that the quotidian world of teapots and toast-racks could be made to look better. A new class of consumer was emerging; a nouveau-riche bourgeoisie wanting practical education in taste.
Dresser had a PhD, a most unusual distinction at the time, conferred by the University of Jena in recognition of his botanical work, which was based on close observation and drawing of plants. His design drawings, which reflect this observation, are included throughout the show. They cover the full spectrum of his output and illuminate the process of Dresser's continual self-education in the principles of design.
The Victorian adoption and synthesis of all kinds of design sources is well-known; the enormous success of Owen Jones's Grammar of Ornament was followed by other similar primers. A crucial point in Dresser's career was a visit to Japan, which he made in 1876 at the age of 42. He took from that country a collection of Japanese art of all kinds, in exchange for which he presented a selection of British 'art manufactures'.
The present exhibition originated on New York's Fifth Avenue, at the Cooper-Hewitt Museum, where Paul Warwick Thompson (who used to be plain Paul Thompson when he was at London's Design Museum) now presides. The mansion inhabited by the Cooper-Hewitt was built for the Scots-born steel millionaire Andrew Carnegie in 1899.
As a venue for displaying modern design the museum is often at odds with the exhibits: Charles Eames's furniture looked ill-at-ease in rooms heavily panelled with dark wood; for the Alexander Girard show the ornate interiors were simply hidden behind plasterboard and fabric drapes.
But for the Dresser items it would be difficult to imagine a more appropriate setting. During its time in New York the curators at the Cooper-Hewitt uncovered more of their building than ever before, because the original Carnegie interior harmonised so well with Dresser's ceramics and silverware.
As a result, the objects themselves became more comprehensible; Dresser's pieces were meant for late-Victorian interiors exactly like this one. This rare harmony between the space and the exhibits served a dual purpose, each simultaneously complementing the other.
Too often in museums, and not just in design museums, objects are fetishised. Shown in icy isolation, beautifully lit but devoid of any context. There is a danger of this even in general museums, where the curators tend to focus on and glorify the one perfect sewing machine or spinning-wheel from among the eight in their collection.
But at the Dresser show, the danger is of overkill. Rather than one perfect teapot, we are presented with 17 different designs all shown together; a different kind of absurdity.
The past few exhibitions in the V&A's main temporary display space have tended to be somewhat at odds with the building: Art Nouveau (2000) and Art Deco (2003) demanded a more sympathetic interior to appear at their best advantage; the clothing designs of Versace (2002) and Vivienne Westwood (2004) required and got a neutral background against which to shine.
For this installation the designers have emphasised the Japanese connection in Dresser's work. They have created a series of openwork wooden screens, painted black in imitation of Japanese lacquerwork, to break up the spaces and divide the sections. The effect is harmonious with many, though not all, of the exhibits.
Certain of the textile designs remind us that the Victorian palette was filled with the strongest colours, often newly invented by industrious chemists. And some of the ceramics reveal that the dark and disturbing imagery of Christina Rossetti's slightly earlier poem Goblin Market was shared by Dresser.
One of the strongest contenders in this category is an acid-yellow vase made by Ault Pottery. The base is ringed with gargoyle-style faces; their obscenely long tongues loop back and up to form handles for the vase.
Dresser, a contemporary of William Morris, was a little younger than the V&A's founding fathers, Henry Cole and Albert, the Prince Consort. He certainly shared some of their aims. 'In the hands of one man, clay may become a flowerpot worth perhaps eighteen pence. In the hands of another it may become a tazza, or a vase, worth perhaps five or 50 pounds. The difference is in the art.'
So this exhibition brings him home. A [live] prophet may always be without honour in his own country, but, just one hundred years after his death, this show does Dresser full honour.
David Brady teaches at the New York University in London
In part because of the favourable mention given to him by Nikolaus Pevsner in Pioneers of Modern Design, several generations have been at least marginally aware of the work of the Victorian designer Christopher Dresser. In truth only one or two carefully vetted and especially minimalist pieces by Dresser were in Pevsner's 1936 book.
The vast output and many-faceted career of Dresser (1834-1904) is the subject of an exhibition at the Victoria & Albert Museum (V&A) that runs until 5 December. And yes, those forward-looking silver pieces of tableware are in the show.
At a time when there was no such thing as a designer, Dresser, whose background was a combination of fine-art training and the study of botany, came to realise that the quotidian world of teapots and toast-racks could be made to look better. A new class of consumer was emerging; a nouveau-riche bourgeoisie wanting practical education in taste.
Dresser had a PhD, a most unusual distinction at the time, conferred by the University of Jena in recognition of his botanical work, which was based on close observation and drawing of plants. His design drawings, which reflect this observation, are included throughout the show. They cover the full spectrum of his output and illuminate the process of Dresser's continual self-education in the principles of design.
The Victorian adoption and synthesis of all kinds of design sources is well-known; the enormous success of Owen Jones's Grammar of Ornament was followed by other similar primers. A crucial point in Dresser's career was a visit to Japan, which he made in 1876 at the age of 42. He took from that country a collection of Japanese art of all kinds, in exchange for which he presented a selection of British 'art manufactures'.
The present exhibition originated on New York's Fifth Avenue, at the Cooper-Hewitt Museum, where Paul Warwick Thompson (who used to be plain Paul Thompson when he was at London's Design Museum) now presides. The mansion inhabited by the Cooper-Hewitt was built for the Scots-born steel millionaire Andrew Carnegie in 1899.
As a venue for displaying modern design the museum is often at odds with the exhibits: Charles Eames's furniture looked ill-at-ease in rooms heavily panelled with dark wood; for the Alexander Girard show the ornate interiors were simply hidden behind plasterboard and fabric drapes.
But for the Dresser items it would be difficult to imagine a more appropriate setting. During its time in New York the curators at the Cooper-Hewitt uncovered more of their building than ever before, because the original Carnegie interior harmonised so well with Dresser's ceramics and silverware.
As a result, the objects themselves became more comprehensible; Dresser's pieces were meant for late-Victorian interiors exactly like this one. This rare harmony between the space and the exhibits served a dual purpose, each simultaneously complementing the other.
Too often in museums, and not just in design museums, objects are fetishised. Shown in icy isolation, beautifully lit but devoid of any context. There is a danger of this even in general museums, where the curators tend to focus on and glorify the one perfect sewing machine or spinning-wheel from among the eight in their collection.
But at the Dresser show, the danger is of overkill. Rather than one perfect teapot, we are presented with 17 different designs all shown together; a different kind of absurdity.
The past few exhibitions in the V&A's main temporary display space have tended to be somewhat at odds with the building: Art Nouveau (2000) and Art Deco (2003) demanded a more sympathetic interior to appear at their best advantage; the clothing designs of Versace (2002) and Vivienne Westwood (2004) required and got a neutral background against which to shine.
For this installation the designers have emphasised the Japanese connection in Dresser's work. They have created a series of openwork wooden screens, painted black in imitation of Japanese lacquerwork, to break up the spaces and divide the sections. The effect is harmonious with many, though not all, of the exhibits.
Certain of the textile designs remind us that the Victorian palette was filled with the strongest colours, often newly invented by industrious chemists. And some of the ceramics reveal that the dark and disturbing imagery of Christina Rossetti's slightly earlier poem Goblin Market was shared by Dresser.
One of the strongest contenders in this category is an acid-yellow vase made by Ault Pottery. The base is ringed with gargoyle-style faces; their obscenely long tongues loop back and up to form handles for the vase.
Dresser, a contemporary of William Morris, was a little younger than the V&A's founding fathers, Henry Cole and Albert, the Prince Consort. He certainly shared some of their aims. 'In the hands of one man, clay may become a flowerpot worth perhaps eighteen pence. In the hands of another it may become a tazza, or a vase, worth perhaps five or 50 pounds. The difference is in the art.'
So this exhibition brings him home. A [live] prophet may always be without honour in his own country, but, just one hundred years after his death, this show does Dresser full honour.
David Brady teaches at the New York University in London
