Moravian Pottery and
Tile Works (photo by Concord, CC BY-SA 4.0
<https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons)
The following is the second of
two posts devoted to a lengthy passage from Bill Kleinsasser’s
1981 edition of his self-published textbook, SYNTHESIS. (Read
Part 1 here).
His fascination with the work and interests of Henry
Chapman Mercer is perhaps no more evident than in this
reading. Like Mercer, Bill disdained the downsides of modernization and
industrialization upon design and construction, particularly the primacy of
standardization and the loss of rich diversity associated with many historical
buildings. Like other followers of the Arts
and Crafts Movement, Mercer sought to extol the virtues of
vernacular architecture, patterns inspired by nature, and the work of the
craftsman-designer; however, what sets Mercer apart is the extent to which
legend, literature, Americana, and archaeology influenced his approach to
architecture.
Henry Mercer’s three major
building designs—Fonthill Castle, the Mercer Museum, and the Moravian Pottery
and Tile Works—are peculiar and idiosyncratic, but they are also distinctive,
evocative, and highly personal. In this regard, it’s not surprising Bill would
be fascinated by their appearance, the lessons to be learned from them, and
their eccentric author.
Part 2: Layering, Light, and Caves
Layering
The second kind of imagery
appearing in Mercer’s stories concerns the layering of places and objects in
space, the effect of this visual complexity, and how that effect is heightened
under certain circumstances.
He wrote in Castle Valley:
“The boughs frame the picture.
Look under them. They give distance to the meadow, the bridge, and the hill yonder.
The scene has a curious effect on me. I hardly know how to describe it.
“When I awoke I found myself
lying upon a pile of straw on the floor of a barn, through the open door of
which I saw a red glow, with clouds of smoke, and moving figures of men.”
In The Blackbirds:
“He was standing by an open
window, looking out across the city roofs and river at the magnificent up-rolled
clouds that deepened the distant blue and cast their majestic shadows over the far-off
suburb of Fairfield.
“There, on mounting to the top
of a flat rock, the trees opened upon an enchanting view of distant meadow,
cliffs, and a village, seen across an expanse of water. The eastern sky had
changed to rose color. The water’s shimmer was broken by the breeze into
deep-blue paths of ripples. Clouds, more gorgeous than ever, robed in white, gold,
and lavender, floated overhead.”
Descriptions similar to these
appear many times in the seven stories and all of Mercer’s buildings show his
response to this interest: in the deliberate creation of vistas and spatial
layering inside the buildings, by preserving and emphasizing the same phenomena
outside, and by uniting inside and outside through the device of in-between
elements and spaces.
Mercer Museum (photo
by Bestbudbrian, CC BY-SA 3.0
<https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons)
Light
The third kind of imagery brought
to mind by Mercer’s short stories is about light and the effects of light, particularly
on things and spatial organizations whose meaning the mystery are magnified by
it, such as forms and spaces within other spaces, forms juxtaposed against
other forms (layering again), ruins, junk, metal, textures, colors, water,
landscape, and distance.
In North Ferry Bridge:
“The place I got into showed a
vast roof space, with overhanging floors and galleries, extending back into the
darkness, and looked as if it might be one of the wings of a deserted foundry.
“By the light of a hanging
lamp I saw piles of lumber, rusty machinery, and casters’ flasks. Another lamp,
with a half-barrel and some bottles and dishes, stood on a workbench behind me.
Across the floor, near a pile of boxes stuffed with straw and close to a
cupboard, I saw a long wire cage, built against a wall.
“A platform leading backwards
brought us to a rotting staircase choked with rubbish, and thence upward into a
long, narrow yard between high walls. Passing piles of waste iron and then a labyrinth
of ruinous sheds faintly lit by the moon, we reached a gate at the end of a
paved alley and pulled back its rusty bolt.”
In The Blackbirds:
“As they hurried down Merchant
Street to the ferry, a lurid glare had suddenly caught the eastern house
fronts. Against the deep shadows in the cross streets, it gave the city a threatening,
unfamiliar look, as if the lights were out of order.
“Near a rusty derrick and some
blocks of stone they stopped before a black, rotting shed, with a partly collapsed
roof, built close against the rock. The dismal ruin had lost its lower wall of
boards, a pile of which lay along its open front in the high grass. Its dark
interior, half concealed by weeds and poison ivy, revealed faint outlines of
rusting machinery and contending with the glare of an opening in the rear, the
flicker of a fire.”
In The Wolf Book:
“Moments passed as he looked
outward upon the evening lights that streamed across the tree tops and inward beyond
the borderland of dreams. The place seemed confused with things astonishing,
contradictory, casual, human feet floating in the air, a cave lit by glowworm,
an ash tree, the Castle of Golubacz.
“The professor pointed at the
darkening sky. ‘I believe in that, no beginning, no end. What are miracles to
that?”
Descriptions similar to these
appear sixteen times in seven stories. Views of Mercer’s buildings, showing
elements defined by light, organization in response to light, and the
consequent sensorial complexity of the buildings show his embodiment of this
imagery.
Caves
As pervasive and intriguing as
the imagery of light, layering, and castles in Mercer’s work, and perhaps combining
all of these, is the imager of caves. This imagery is obvious in the
labyrinthian arrangement of Fonthill and reappears in all three buildings.
Mercer visited many caves during his archaeological days, and he was alert to
literary descriptions of them. His construction notebooks contain references to
the “cave temples” of Ellora and Elphanta in India, and there are photographs
of caves and cave-like places from his journey along the three rivers in
France.
Ellora Caves, India (photo
© Vyacheslav Argenberg / http://www.vascoplanet.com/, CC BY 4.0
<https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons)
But the cave image of greatest
importance to Mercer was of a gigantic chamber in Yucatan, near the Mayan ruins
of Uxmal and Chichen Itza. He saw it while on an archaeological search in 1885.
The Mayans call it “Loltun,” which means “rock of flowers.” Because sunlight and
water come in through ground-surface openings in its roof, the cave is alive
with luxuriant plants, oversized butterflies, bats and bees, and schools of
birds flying fish-like in the moist, hazy air. The main room is pierced with
dozens of water-seeking tree roots which drop, column-like, through the entire
hundred and eighty feet of the space. Mercer was astounded by this cave. He
made drawings of it. He took many photographs of it. Over 14 years he wrote
several descriptions of it, each richer than the last. There is no proof, but
these descriptions suggest that he found the memory of this cave to be a
perfect framework for the spatial arrangements of his Museum, whose many
separate exhibit spaces presented a difficult organizational problem. Here is
his final description of Loltun, written in 1914 just as the museum was under
construction:
“. . . the third garden of my
story remains in my memory rather than as a work of enchantment than a fact, a
thing as far beyond the reach of our efforts at imitation as a coral grows in
the depths of ocean. I saw it as an unexpected wonder in the underground world
of Yucatan, when we were searching in a maze of tropical caverns for geological
proof of the presence and antiquity of the ancient people who had built the
ruins of Uxmal and Chichen Itza.
“No one had told us of the sight,
which we saw after a dark walk underground. It came upon us a surprise, for
here at first the unfathomed cave with its white stalactites revealed by candlelight,
was not more remarkable than the Wyandotte or Mammoth Caves, or Luray, or any
other of the underground labyrinths of North America. But suddenly as we
proceeded through the eternal gloom of a long gallery, the resemblances ceased.
A brilliant expanding spot of light appeared in the distance, which for some moments
seemed like a round glass aquarium full of goldfish, hanging in a dark room,
upon which a ray of bright sunlight had been focused. As we came nearer, the fish
turned to trees and flowers, birds and plants. We saw before us, as if looking
through blue water, a vast domed room, lit only from above by a window in its
ceiling, down which came the light and air of the upper world.
“Here, incomprehensible sight!
Underground, out of place, was a garden, where from the subterranean soil,
externally moist in a parched land, sprang a floral paradise, watered by the
dripping of stalactites which unlike those other caverns, because exposed light
and air, had lost their pallor and taken on rainbow hues. But stranger still,
the trees of the upper forest, whose roots clasped the edge of the skylight,
swung loose in mid-air like cables, or shooting down many feet, took root gain
in the floor of the cave. Sounds had lost their reality by the dark doorways of
this underworld. We heard the murmur of approaching voices, as of spied who had
dogged our footsteps. But no one came. It was the rustling of the palm trees
that reverberated in unnatural echoes, when cooled gusts of the tropical air below
down from above. More real was the sight of birds that flew in and out and of
butterflies that fluttered from plant to plant, while behind the light and
color was a blue blackness of cave walls in fantastic shadow, as of indistinct
monstrous forms of animals and reptiles sculptured in the rock. Undecipherable
hieroglyphics and the massive stone bowls which stood in damp spots full of
dripping water, showed that the ancient people of Yucatan had been there, perhaps
as worshipers. But their hands had not made the garden. That was hewn from
living rock and planted by the vast forces which make the sea and sky and roll
the Earth in space.
“For many days we worked in
sight of it, while it wrought its spell upon us, until at last our task was
done. Then looking upon it for the last time, a feeling like regret or longing
seized us, as if we might have preferred to sit down in the unearthly light forever
gazing. As we hesitated, the smoke of one of the perfumed woods, which the
Indians burn in the evening floated down the skylight, while it seemed that the
realities of the future were slipping from our grasp. Had we, like the fabled
Lotus Eaters, tasted some enchanted fruit, which lured us to forget the way
home? Had the refreshing water in the stone bowls enervated us, as still waiting,
knowing not why we strove as it were against an occult force, to yield at last
only to the necessity, which dragged us unwillingly away.”
Loltun Cave, Yucatan
(lostpylon, CC BY-SA 2.0
<https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons)
Found attached to page four of
Mercer’s construction notebook for Fonthill was this poem written in longhand by
Mercer’s friend and fellow archaeologist, Dr. Charles C. Abbott, dated August
14, 1910:
“Reincarnation of the storied
past,
Skyward in majesty thy walls
arise;
In strength assuring us that
they shall last,
Not crumble as the common
structure dies.
They tower mantled with the morning
light
Proudly acclaims the past
still alive,
Where Prose, grim visaged (O,
the sorry sight)
Would have the world in soulless
fashion thrive.
All honor then to him who raised
the pile
Where daydreams wander through
each classic room,
Where honest speech is never
brought to trial
Nor trustful candor hears its
certain doom.
Defying critics, faithfully
thou wrought,
Thou Master Builder of a fruitful
thought.”
Proudly acclaims the past still
alive, indeed. Mercer’s historical connections were many and clear. Written
with the poem was the notation, “. . . for HCM . . .in recollections of a
pleasant day.”
(WK/1981)
