Tag: Burne-Jones

The V&A Biscuit Tin Collection

Glory

It strikes me that it may be somewhat idiotic to be fascinated by the Victoria and Albert Museum’s biscuit tin collection, but I spent an embarrassing amount of time looking at them, and I’d like to consider why. This, of course, isn’t self psychoanalyzation, but a ponderance of why humans have decided to produce ornate biscuit tins. Any plain bag, box, or tin would work, so why make them so darn cute?

Well, we’ve been decorating vessels for centuries, our first containers for holding food and water created as far back as 9000 BCE. Fast forward as few thousand years, and in 1861, the Licensed Grocer’s Act allowed groceries to be separately packaged. From there, tins for sweets were created, and the advent of offset lithography allowed for designs to be printed on in color. Pretty cool. Why would we bother doing this?

From an advertising perspective, adding colorful designs to tins that are already full of sweets that children enjoy is common sense. That may be true, but I doubt children would enjoy a Wedgwood casket-inspired tin, nor the Edward Burne-Jones tin I was sureIMG_20190202_151802 to snap a picture of. Of course, some of these designs are novelty, and appeal to adults as well as children. There’s a tin for everyone it would seem, in a variety of shapes and designs, to fit every fancy.

All of this said, my first impression of these tins was not that they were small advertisements lined up in a display case, but that they were short glances into the daily life of the person that once owned these tins, and perhaps picked them for their own interests, or to satisfy a child’s sweet tooth. Perhaps an egyptomaniac once owned the odd tins in the shape of an egyptian vase, or a child played with the tin in the shape of a cottage long after the biscuits were all eaten.

These tins are an excellent example of material culture, and let us know what people took an interest in during the first half of the 20th century. Britain doesn’t really make biscuit tins like this any more, as their production ceased during the rations of the second world war and didn’t become popular again after it was over.

I can’t help but wonder what traces of our 21st century life will be put into display cases and pondered.

The Best Part of Edward Burne-Jones: William Morris

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The most excellent portion of the Tate’s Burne-Jones exhibition was without a doubt the stained glass, furniture, and tapestries in the final room of the exhibition, which presented Burne-Jones as a designer, which in many ways he was. Burne-Jones was one of very few at his time to value “low arts” such as textiles and stained glass as equivalent to fine art. (Art vs. Craft is still heavily debated today.) That said, Burne-Jones has William Morris to thank for these strokes of inspiration, as Morris was a designer through and through.

Morris and Burne-Jones began as schoolmates and shared homes and studio spaces as they matured. Morris’ life is well chronicled on his gallery’s website, which details the overlapping of the two artists’ lives, and in many ways elucidates their differences. Morris was even further a proponent of craft as art, himself being a master of weaving, drawing on medieval designs for his own textiles. Similarly Burne-Jones was often inspired by Renaissance art or biblical/mythical imagery. (Source.)

Both artists saw decoration as a valid and accessible way to bring art to the public, though Morris was far more of a socialist than Burne-Jones, in that regard. Morris felt guilt for the price of his work, something no common person could enjoy, and envisioned a world in which everyone supports one another and creates art by hand. Burne-Jones, on the other hand, was comfortable retreating into fantasy for the sake of avoiding politics. Art was one thing, but social change was another. While Morris’ social views were not impressed upon Burne-Jones, luckily his interest in 3D works was.

Looking more closely at the “Graham Piano” that was part of the exhibition, it almost takes on a sculpture-like presence. The hard edges and curves provide a structured feel while the soft flesh depicted on the inside of the piano lies in contrast. A womanly figure directs the cherubs in a scene that would be considered a formidable painting if it were located on canvas, but is further enhanced by its location on the interior of a piano. A piano, as an object, carries with it the hope of music, and the promise of sound, which abstract art might later try to convey. The functional use of the object, in this sense, elevates the imagery and creates an even more heavenly atmosphere.

It is a personal opinion, of course, that art which fills space is more interesting than flat pictures, but I hope that a look at Burne-Jones’ Prioress’s Tale Wardrobe or Ladies and Animals Sideboard will convey some of my enchantment with 3D art. My mind associates these works with illumination, the art of decorating a text with visuals, that it be better understood. The furniture becomes “illuminated” and takes on a greater meaning than its functional purpose as a wardrobe, piano, etc, just as a manuscript becomes something greater than simply a text to read.

There lies the bridge between art and craft, as while “art” is created for the sake of contemplation, “crafts” have a meaning beyond their functional purpose, transforming an object into a thing to be contemplated. This isn’t a perfect delineation of the difference between art and craft, but I hope it’s a new perspective to contemplate. Likewise I hope that more artists become inspired by Burne-Jones’ work, just as he was inspired by Morris’. The world always needs more textiles, stained glass, and wacky furniture.