specify

The following are specifications developed by the architects for the Case Study House Triad and represent a selection of products on the basis of quality and general usefulness that have been chosen as being best suited to the purposes of the project and are, within the meaning of the Case Study House Program, "Merit Specified."

Of course the means in themselves are not hypnotic; and, unfortunately, the rhythmic lengths and parts do not impose themselves hypnotically on this listener. I think the piece a failure.
But when listening to Cage's Aria and Fontana Mix I realized that the Quartet for tom-toms had at last found a medium; here the rules worked. I don't know whether they are the same rules, probably not, but they have the same purpose, forgetting the "hypnotic" business. Here are noises which present themselves in shape as noises, much more interesting to the ear than the wave-like electronic sequences of Maderna. And because the noises emphatically present themselves as individuals, each clothed in its own character, the silences between them become vital and vivid as a street, in a new city, as emotionally present and inexplicable as dream. This was the Fontana Mix, and what in the abstract character of noise on tape became vivid-enough to stir up audience response-was doubly vitalized by the live voice, singing, speaking, sighing, barking like a dog. As if on that new street, in that new interesting city, one walked into an incident, a crowd listening to a speaker, a lyrical cascade of voices from a stall. This · isn't music, and I don't intend my suggestions to be similes. As vital for the performance as the voice of the performer is the audience response, laughing, sporadic boos, impertinent imitations of the sounds. Cathy Berio has performed the Aria and Mix a number of times, and only once, she told me, has she been embarrassed; that was before an afternoon subscription audience in Milan, when no one booed, no one laughed, no one imitated any of the sounds. After that I was ashamed that I had listened in silence.
By contrast, the next work, Theme (Homage to Joyce), came close to being a genuine work of music, because the entire tape had been put together of electronic permutations of the sound of Cathy Berio's voice, reading the onomatopoetic first passage, the theme, of the eleventh chapter of James Joyce's Ulysses. Berio sets a high value on the onomatopoeia of the English language and on such a poem as Poe's Th e Bells. The theme of Joyce's chapter, he tells us, is varied by the author in the style of a fu ga per canonem. Though how a chapter of words can become, except by the most devious intellectual subtleties, a fuga per canonem, somehow escapes me. I cannot read it in the text. I am quite aware of the possibilities of verbal counterpoint and myself us e it regularly, in verse and prose, but to call such an example a fu ga per canonem seems to me bravura, or bluff.
During his lecture at San F ernando State College, Luciano Berio played us several progressive compositions on this text, for one, two, and three voices respectively in English, French, and Italian, exhibiting the many possibilities of this method. All were impressive, but for my taste Cathy Berio's reading of Joyce's original text is in every way more b eautiful, expressive, and in particular more subtly musical than any of the electronic variants. The composite is, however, a valid means of sound composition, achieved perhaps more successfully by Stockhausen in his Children's Voices. Here again I must be cautious, because Berio assures me that his electronic mixture is technically more elaborate than Stockhausen's, and for lack of experience I give him the benefit of my doubt. Such a vocal composition, superimposed upon an electronic composition, supporting the live voices of speakers or actors and live instruments and dramatic sounds, might lead to the great opera of sound Luciano Berio has in mind as the goal of his adventure. I still call it Gesamtkunstwerk and old-fashioned.
The final experiment in this sort brought Leonard Stein to the piano to accompany Cathy Berio in a piece called Voix de Femme by Sylvano Bussotti, from a larger work entitled Pieces de Chairs II. Bussotti is a very young Italian composer who seems to have borrowed from John Cage and from his immediate European precursors in about equal parts. "Bussotti uses a graphic representation which leaves many elements to be completed by the performer. This fragment makes use of the voice in eleven different languages, while the piano must produce J)ercussive effects by a great variety of means." The version heard at the concert was Bussotti's interpretation, transcribed more or less into conventional notation.
Actually little happened that could not have been derived from the early work of Henry Cowell . The J)iano was struck with one hand and the strings damped with the other. The strings were plucked and beaten. The piano lid was slammed. The singing voice went its multilingual way as if oblivious of the inci-  dental effects b ehind it, except when the singer putting her head under the piano lid gave forth as in an echo chamber. The whole business could be called unconventional music, or novelty, or what you will. It did not stir th e audience as the Cage piece did, and its incidental relationships with music rather detracted from the thought of fun. You couldn't tell whether it should be listened to or responded to.
The remainder of th e evening was given over to Gazzelloni performing with Leonard Stein works for flute and piano by Oliver Messiaen and Pierre Boulez, virtuosic and, in comparison with what preceded them, quite empty. Proving to my own satisfaction, if to no one else's, that it takes good music to stand up to an evening of fairly interesting noise.
In spite of my thorough respect for the virtuoso talents of Severino Gazzelloni, my chief enthusiasm went to the wonderful artistry of Cathy Berio, reader, singer, speaker, fonologia of vocal nois es, each deliberately and meticulously produced in a dynamic exactitude of timing that held th e attention constantly to her, p erforming with a grace that did not ever presume on the opportunities of th e media. The next evening we met at KPFK, where she read for tape the passage by Joyce, three poems by e. e. cummings in several versions, one \.vith voiced punctuation, and part of Un Coup de Des by Mallarme. The Cummings poems will b e composed by Berio after th e manner of th e Homage to Joyce during his six weeks this summer as composer-in-residence at the Berkshire Festival.
I must compliment th e performers for having included in th eir program work by two American composers, instead of confining themselves like two previous travelers in the same business, Pierre Boulez and Karlheinz Stockhausen, entirely within their provincial European idiom . A FESTIVAL OF ORIE NTAL MUSIC-PAHT I Though regional differences of marked character have divided the areas of European music, and national musics have risen and faded during the last century, European musical culture has evolved as a unity rather than a diversity of styles from the Gre-

ARTS & ARCHITECTURE
gorian period to the present. Influences of folk music have given it at various times individual patches of exoticism, and the constant apparent dichotomies b etween learned and popular art, between conservatism and whatever new music was then current, have imparted a ballistic twist to keep Western music on its evolutionary course. At no point during this long, slow-changing development has any part of the mainstream of European music, in any part of Europe, broken off from the remainder to become an individual, exclusive, esthetic manifestation. During the entire period European folk music has remained regional and in every region subsidiary to the common musical speech of Europe.
In Asia the growth and evolution of music has proceeded in quite the contrary manner. Though stylistic evolution and borrowing have occurred, as when Japan set up its own culture with borrowings from China, Korea, and the distant outposts of India during the H eian p eriod, Asiatic music has been regional and exclusive to a degree that we can scarcely imagine, divided as b etween one country and another, divided among separate portions of one country, b etween city and village, between settled and nomadic p eoples, split apart even among classes, and by exclusive rights of priesthood and privileges of rank.
I believe one can say truly that from earliest preserved history until the present day there has b een no place in Asia where a scholar could study Asiatic musical culture, or the instruments, or the systems of notation , or the inherited or hieratic rites of music, or its numerous manners of embellishment, or indeed anything else about more than a single manifestation of it in one place at one time. The styles have b een exclusive, often private, and more often than not unwritten. The instruments have achieved no generalized forms, like the European orchestra or keyboard, to which the musical art of various groups could be adapted. The manners of playing have been generally transmitted by memory or by aural instruction. In many places even the basic melodies have smvived only b y mnemonics .
I make these distinctions to emphasize the fact that for the first time in the history of Asiatic music th ere is now a single school where a student of Asiatic musical culture can b egin to study in one place more than one part of this whole vast pattern of es thetic differences. Here for th e first time it will b e nossible to discover, document and put into practice not only th e particularities but th e less-known generalities which govern the musical arts of Asia. And only in this place, at th e present time, can an Asiatic musician b egin to learn about th e other musics of his continent.
The one place is not in Asia; it is in America, at the University of California, Los Angeles. And though th e credit goes in part to several individual students, the honor of having organized and es tablished in practising ex istence this unpreced ented school of Asiatic musical cultures b elongs in large part to Mantle Hood.
This year, under the general direction of Mantle Hood , th e D epartment of Music, th e Committee on Fine Arts and tl1 e Committee on Public Lectures within the University Extension Division, the Library, th e Grunwald Graphic Arts Foundation, the D epartments of Art, Anthropology and Sociology, Education, English, Folklore, Home Economics, Oriental Languages, Philosophy, Political Science, and Theatre Arts, of the University of California, assisted by th e Ford and Hnckefeller Foundations, presented the first Festival of Oriental t-. 1 lusic and the Related Arts. The programs , focussing upon music but expressing in some d egree th e interests of each of the d epartments, b egan on Sunday, May 8, and continued almost daily until Sunday, May :22, for a total of 22 lectures and p erformances.
H ere I consult th e dictionary, to distinguish between Oriental and Asiatic. The continent is Asia. Asiatic is "of or pertaining to th e peopl e of Asia." Oriental is "pertaining to, situated in, or characteristic of th e Orient; Eastern; especially Asiatic." Biogeographically, "designating a realm or region including Asia south of the Himalayas, th e Philippine Islands , and part of the Indo-Malayan Archipelago." Or, "a p erson reared in one of the three great civilizations of Asia (the Mohammedan, Indian, and Chinese-Japanese)." Neither word nor its definition covers th e subject. Hussian music is a part of European music. The arts of th e hundred or more linguistic subdivisions of Hussia are pre-' dominantly Asiatic and should come eventually within the fi eld of Asiatic studies. The music of Persia, to which a lecture and program of the F es tival were d evoted, has roots in a great cul-+ ture of Asia that precedes the long-standing Mohammedan domination, the Persian. Neither word will quite suffice for our purpose. I shall us e "Asiatic" to distinguish the entire continental area from the larger group of continents now dominated by European music, and "Oriental" to distinguish the musics covered by this Festival. In the same way I shall use "European" to describe the culture and "the West" to distinguish the area of European musical domination.
Until the present century the \ 1 Vest has had only a very sketchy notion of Asiatic history and culture. The chute of history down which every Western scholar slid b egan in Greece of the Fifth century B.C., threw a quick backward literary loop around Homer, Hesiod, Herodotus, and the Old Testament, avoiding any real historical clarification, came down with diminishing acceleration through the Homan centuries, no more than grazing the Byzantine, took a leap across the Goths and Vandals as well as the so-called Dark Ages, to land with a bump in early medieval history, with which the real facts of the modern world began. The last half-century of revolutionary anti-imperialism, world wars, unprecedented commerce and travel, of struggle for the minds of the uncommitted p eoples, and labor within our own historical-literary jungle to hack out a landing-strip for our high-flying exploration of the whole world, has been supplemented by unprecedented, in fact unanticipated discoveries in anthropology and archeology.
W e know now that H erodotus told more truth than myth ; that the Mediterranean cultures preceding that of Greece are not less than the Greek in their contributions to the present history of mankind; that travelers a thousand years before the time of Christ got around over the oceans more easily and traveled more regularly than travelers during the thousand years aft:=r the birth of Christ. We are aware that the birth of Christ concludes a thousand year period of the rise of other surviving religions and religio-philosophies, and that this great historical node, this world-wide appearance of a new spiritual consciousness in mankind has its origins in p eoples so dim, though not so much unlike ourselves as we had at first b elieved, that we are unable to find a time when certain fundamental graphic symbols of our present-day religions did not exist, or any missing link between the human and the sub-human.
Because we have learned so much, the founding of this Festival of Oriental Music and the Belated Arts at the University of California, which might seem no more than a cultural gesture between continents, assumes the grace of a revelation between the world's two principal areas of culture. Here for the first time the mind of Western culture is enabled to penetrate in some degree the musical arts of the Orient and, possibly more significant, here for the first time the mind of Asiatic culture is enabled to become self-conscious on a scale of musical self-knowledge which could eventually equal that of vVestern culture.
This last sentence may sound presumptuous. Of the depth and radiance of individual Asiatic cultures I have no doubt, but since the period of the wandering scholars of Asia, a thousand and more years ago, Asiatic culture has very nearl y ceased to communicate this depth and radiance beyond the local regions inhabited by its multifarious sections.
The Festival program filled six pages in the handsome booklet of some 75 pages that was published with it. The booklet contains 10 articles, on Balinese and Javanese, Japanese, Indian and especially South Indian, and Persian musics, on Japanese costumes, and Bertolt Brecht's Chinese play The Good \Voman of Setzuan. The lectures of the Fes tival covered folk-tale, art, films, textiles, costume, poetry, anthropology, cultural exchange, theatre. The musical programs included Japanese Court Music (Gagaku), Persian music, Javanese and Balinese music (Ganielan), Indian music, and Chinese music, with some dancing. The performers included one trained musician apiece from Persia, lndia, China, and lnclonesia; three of these musicians assisted in programs of music other than their own. Several of the vVestern p erformers had been trained during recent years in Oriental music, on American traveling fellowships for study, among them Mantle Hood in Indonesian music, Hobert Brown in South Indian music, and William .Malm in the literature of Japanese Naga-uta. An important member of the group, Robert Garfias, is now studying in Japan. Among the incidental performers, most of them students at the University, plus a few faculty members, were visiting students from Persia, India, Holland, and Greece. The leading performers, without exception, took part in more than one type of music and got around acceptably on several instruments. Only one performer, the visting Chinese virtuoso of the pipa and chin, Lui Tsun-Yuen, was not a member of the University, and it is hoped that he may b ecome so. All the group performances, except the Persian, were directed by Westerners. The quality of these performances was less remarkable, in the circumstances, than the fact that they occurred.
I was able to attend four concerts: the Chinese recital, the Gagaku and the two Gamelan concerts. I should like to have been present at the Persian and Indian programs and at several of the lectures . Twenty-two events in fourteen days, even when a couple of the programs are repeated, seems to me asking too much of players and audience. I believe that a series of events of this importance should not be fired off like a string of crackers, even though doing so may draw greater attention and perhaps larger audiences. We show in our society a ~recarious . disre~~rd for the seriousness of matters we deem senous, an msensihve vulgarity in reducing all meanings to whatever .can be gras~ed at one sitting by a relatively unprepared audience. Attention to an unwonted habit of art needs to be followed by rest and consideration if the effect is to be more than a good show. Asiatic cultu;es have learn ed to make much, each in its own area, of a relatively little variety. We compress several distinct examples of a culture into one performance and a half-dozen distinct cultures into a two-week Festival. The Western restless ambition to be noticed causes us to detonate several large experiences, that should be received separately, into no more than a single experience and then play up the resulting values in a falsifying picture-magazine disJ.?l~y. We might learn instead from the peoples whose Ion~ .traditions we are examining that there is more to these traditional cultures than our perverse scholarly curiosity can swallow at one gulp.
It had seemed to me that somewhere in the booklet the term "ethnic music" occurred, but at a quick check I cannot find it, and I am glad. A year ago a charming professor from Tokyo the sound of compliments will be yours • • • when contemporary interiors are created by crossroads

ARTS & ARCHITECTURE
University was here at UCLA teaching "ethnic music." I introduced him to Igor Stravinsky, and scarcely pausing to draw breath he asked Mr. Stravinsky whether he was not interested in "ethnic music." Mr. Stravinsky said he was not and went on to speak of his approaching visit to Japan. The professor afterwards complained to me that Mr. Stravinsky should have been interested, because he has so often drawn on "ethnic music" for his compositions. I replied that this is quite a false appraisal of Stravinsky's music, which has, despite appearances, almost no folk-music derivations.
The word "ethnic," in its Greek and ecclesiastical usages, connotes those who are outside the chosen culture and therefore culturally less: The dictionary gives as the first meaning: "Neither Jewish nor Christian; pagan." And as the second meaning: "Of, pertaining to, or designating races or groups of races discriminated on the basis of common traits, customs, etc." Since music needs to be discriminated quite as sharply within the races as among them, I think we shall do better to avoid the implied suggestion of a greater race studying the curious habits of lesser races. I am happy that the makers of the Festival have avoided this implied misunderstanding.
Mr. Lui Tsun-Yuen, for example, is a virtuoso of the pipa, a four-stringed Chinese lute with a history and literature of several hundred years, going back, if I understand Mr. Lui correctly, not so far as the European lute. Anyone who listened to Mr. Lui would appreciate, without explanation, that there is nothing possible to be played on the pipa that Mr. Lui cannot play with a rare excellence. The figurations obtained by the finger-movements of his plucking hand are as interesting to watch as listen to. But, as often happens, the virtuosity of his playing very nearly effaces the stylistic distinctions among the several pieces from different periods that he performed. The whole effect of this music resembles that of Elizabethan lute music, although the large European lute of 16 to 22 strings is a far more complex instrument. Possibly for this reason the revival of European luteplaying has not achieved such virtuosic competency, and its styles, though often improperly rendered, are more easily distinguished in performance.

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Scientific popularization has a number of functions and they are of considerable significance. It continues, corrects and fills the gaps of school education, which inevitably lags behind the march of progress. It stimulates vocations for research and is thus of direct benefit to creative science, which it also serves by keeping the public at large informed of scientific achievements and power; it thus provides science with a hearing and with the support of public opinion. It creates a link between specialists working in different disciplines, since it is popularization which ensures that the physicistknows something of what is happening in biology, and that the biologist has some idea of what is going on in physics. It keeps-or could keep-politicians informed, and nowadays politicians, more than ever, need to keep up with scientific developments.
But however important these various functions, may be, they do not take into account the true and specific aim of popularization which is purely and simply to introduce the greatest number of people to the dignity of knowledge; to ensure that the great mass of the people should receive something of that which is the glory of the human mind and that they should not be kept apart from the great adventure of mankind-to bring man closer to man by trying to reduce the terrible if invisible gulf of ignorance; to struggle against mental starvation and the resulting underdevelopment by providing everyone with a minimum ration of spiritual calories . . . .
In a word, the ideal of the popularization of science-and this ·is where its moral value lies-is to develop and assist a community of thought. It is the reverse of Renan's aristocratic concept of a small group of "informed" people acting as guardians to an ignorant multitude. It is a work of "decalibanization," if one dares to use the word, or, if you prefer, of intellectual "disimpoverishment" and, hfmce, of liberation.
The more important its mission appears to us, the more exacting we must be with regard to the way in which it is carried out. We must insist first of all upon strict impartiality, unfailing objectiveness and absolute philosophic honesty. There is no question of using the authority of science to indoctrin~te minds or force them to conform to a pattern, to implant in. them any cramping or constricting dogmas; but, as the philosopher Guyau put it, they must be "converted to undeniable truths,'' so that, with the raw materials freely provided, every man may build his own small universe.
Today any distinction between the man of science and the man in the street is unacceptable, as is segregation based on inequality of knowledge. Whether we like it or not, the laboratory now opens right on to the street. Science not only affects us at every moment of our daily lives, it hunts and pursues us. Haven't we all been turned into involuntary guinea-pigs, ever since atomic fission, without asking our opinion, began to plant harmful particles in our bones?
This obligation to endure gives us the right to knowledge.
The time is clearly coming when the man in the street will have his say in all the great social, national, international and moral issues which have been raised recently by certain applications of science. And perhaps the scientist himself, weary of bearing on his own a too heavy burden of responsibility, will be happy to find sympathy and support in public understanding.
All men have the right to receive the truth, and the truth has the right to reach all men. This large project was designed to fulfill two basic requirements: a business need for increased and more efficient office space, and to provide a sound revenue-producing investment. The architects ' solution provides a center with a unique integration between the office building and the hotel facilities, with the hotel linked by a bridge to convention facilities in the block structure under the office tower . Foundations for a projected third tower have also been provided.
Fundamental principles in the design solution were flexibility and provision for low-maintenance costs, parking, expansion, and an attractive environment. A full city block of 2 % acres in downtown Dallas was selected as the site. A 3,4 acre terrazzo paved and planted plaza occupies the middle of the block, separating the principal structures. Pools and sculptures in the landscaped areas provide a pleasant respite from the crowded city sidewalks and streets. The ground floors of the office building and hotel are devoted primarily to landscaping and lobbies, supplemented by shopping space. At the ground floor also is located a motor entrance to the parking garage with convenient access to the elevator lobby. The second floor is a common floor for both office building and hotel and provides space for the facilities which may be used by both office personnel and hotel guests. These include meeting rooms and conference rooms and a 2500-seat grand ballroom for conventions, exhibits and lectures.
The typ ical floor of the office tower is designed with an off-center interior core to provide maximum contiguous space for the owner's own operation and maximum rentability to major tenants. Recessed fluorescent fixtures, arranged in a removable ceiling, provide flexibility for rearrangement of partitions.
Ramps to the underground parking are reached from an automobile concourse under the office tower, and lead to a three-level parking garage with a capacity of something over 1000 cars. An off-street loading dock will make possible a transfer of goods direct to the floor designation without interfering with street traffic.
The exterior walls are reinforced concrete; the curtain walls, prefabricated panels. Glass mosaic on precast concrete spandrels was selected after extensive tests showed that it was not subject to weathering and is almost entirely self cleaning. The exterior panels are designed with contrasting blue-green tiles in the office tower and blue and gray tiles in the hotel. Windows and exterior mullions in the building are anodized aluminum in contrasting dark gray and natural aluminum. . LJ · -· • ·· -· -~ • · ==== · · "'"" · · lJ.!..J~  Vision is above all a cognitive act. The focusing of the welter of optical signals coming from outside to make perceptual images is a basic form of comprehending. We use vision to explore the world, to make ourselves at home in it, and to change it. Even without instruments to aid us, our eyes can establish relations with things as far away as the fixed stars. In our closer environment we depend upon vision to measure and locate things, to identify danger or opportunity.
No less important than the outer vision with which we explore our environment is the inner vision we use to explore ourselves and to find significance and meaning. Our inner world is peopled with sense imagesvisual, auditory, kinesthetic, tactual-formed from the traces in our systems left by our sensory traffic with the environment. These images inside our heads we use to focus experience, code our sensations, crystallize feelings, build our dreams, and set our goals. Without these images our experience would not cohere and our memories would be disconnected and meaningless.
The created visual image, the visible forms we make with our hands and eyes together, link the outer vision that explores the external world with the inner vision that shapes our felt experience into symbols. These created pictures-graphic images, sculptured formsare basic to communication, expanding an individual experience into one that is shared. They provide a foundation for the arts and sciences and make social and intellectual growth possible.
The artistic image-the work of visual artis the created image in its highest form, a significant message delivered simultaneously to our sonses, our feelings, and our minds. At every stage of history men have looked for images that would keep them oriented in the world, ~hat would tell them what the world was like. how sweet and rich it was, how good or bad, a~d what was their own place in it. Artistic images have served to bring their outer and inner worlds into correspondence, providing th .~m with means for inducing inner pictures 0f l'•~ outer environment-pictures shaped witl. ' '·'mpathy, with the joys and sorrows, fears anJ lll~pes in the heart of man. And above all the wu1 k of art has sustained man with visions of a felt order. It has returned understanding to the indispensable eye, the foundation of our thought and feeling, the core of experience.
The common denominator of artistic expression has been the ordering of a vision into a consistent, complete form. The difference lwtween a mere expression, however intcmc and revealing, and an artistic image of that expression lies in the structure of the form. This structure is specific. The colors, lines, and shapes corresponding to our sense impressions are organized into a balance, a harmony or rhythm that is in an analogous correspondence with feelings, and these in turn are analogues of thoughts and ideas. An artistic image, there-. fore, is more than a pleasant tickle of the senses and more than a graph of emotions. It has meaning in depth, and at each level there is a corresponding level of human response to the world. In this way, an artistic form is a symbolic form grasped directly by the senses but reaching beyond them and connecting all the strata of our inner world of sense feeling and thought. The intensity of the sen~ory pat~ tern strengthens the emotional and intellectual pattern; conversely, our intellect illuminates such a sensory pattern, investing it with symbolic power. This essential unity of primary sense experience and intellectual evaluation makes the artistic form unique in human experience and therefore in human culture. Our closest human experience is love, where again se~sation, feeling, and idea compose a living umty.
The essential unity of first-hand percept and intellectual concept makes artistic images different from scientific cognition ur simple animal response to situations. To r<'I >eat, it is the unity of the sensory, emotional, and rational that can make the orderly form:. of artistic images unique contributions to human culture. The meaning of the artistic experience is impoverished if any one of these areas of experience takes undue preponderance.
Images deriving solely from a rational assessment of the external world, without passion of the eyes, are only topographical records. Images of emotional responses without real roots in the environment are isolated graphs of a person's inner workings: they do not yield symbolic form. And the most beautiful combinations of color and shape, the most exquisitely measured proportions of line, area, and volume, leave use where they find us if they have not grown out of rational and emotional participation in the total environment. Each of these visions is a fragment only.
The visual images of the twentieth century provide a broad spectrum of fragmented artistic vision.
If I may be allowed to speak in a subjective vein, I now see my own evolution as a painter as a succession of partial insights. As a young painter, I was internted in nothing but an exploration of the sensory variety and riches of the visible world, its wealth of color, texture, and light. Soon, however, I had to face my own feelings and emotions. I took to the expressive reporting of my emotional ups and downs, and made explosive gestures in which the image lost all coherence. In consequence, the need of bringing my feelings and responses into order impressed me, and my conscious goals became discipline and precision. I received immense satisfaction from the very notion of building forms that could live independently because of their inner consistency, their spatial clarity, and balance of color. I felt like a creator-shaping, ordering, making forms that came alive.
My next stand was brought about by environmental change: the world came to exhibit primary attributes of mass poverty, depression, and social unrest. I lost confidence in the validity of creating such forms in isolation from the main stream of events, and in my subsequent phase I interested myself in the impact of man-made images on people, in a visual communication. of ideas to make life better. Such a communication had to be on a broad basis, I felt, it had to become mass communication. Painting now seemed an anemic medium, and in my search for idioms with _breadth and power I turned toward film as the most advanced, dynamic, and accordingly potent social form of visual communication.
But again, the enormous expansion of human conflict in World War II and its consequences made so many ideas seem shallow that I was impelled, like many others, to search for values rather than tools. The social horizon, with its immense and seemingly insoluble problems, did not seem to contain the key to those values. The scientific revolution, with its menaces, benefactions, and promises, did seem to open an emotional window. Basically, I felt, the , world made newly visible by science contained the essential symbols for our reconstruction of physical surroundings and for the restructuring of the world of sense, feeling, and thought within us. I was drawn to the converging contributions made by art and science, and to the distillation of the images common to our expanding inner and outer worlds.
I now recognize that the metamorphoses in my approaches to art are a history of changing assumptions. Whatever _ concealed. motivation patterned the road of ' :' change, new artistic goals arrived without ooris.cious and systematic decision. These goals arose through my own encounter with concrete realities. Each convincing new image became a kind of deduction from a set of postulates of knowledge and value. Like these artistic images, all purposive human acts are based on such sets of postulates. What we see or feel, how we think or act, depends upon the basic assumptions we hold, sometimes unconsciously. The world is real to us only on the scale of our inner model of space, purpose, and values. To see more than this we have to exchange elementary for advanced assumptions-as we all do, inescapably, in the course of growing up.
Artists, too, see what they see by means of assumptions. Their vision, if it is sensitive and true, becomes ours also: they teach us how to see and how to enjoy. We rely upon them to help us make our perceptual grasp of the world functional, meaningful, satisfying, and communicable-even though there is often a considerable time lag between the artist's grasp and ours, for the artist's high degree of sensitivity tends to make him something of a prophet. We sometimes gain insight into our own attitudes more quickly by questioning art than by questioning ourselves. The attitudes are common-and, in the images of art, highly concentrated. Further insight is furnished by testing the postulates of artists against the conclusions of science, first with respect to the energies and processes of the physical world, second with respect to the energies and processes of the individual and society.
An essential theme of this issue is the contemporary relation between the visual arts on the one hand and science on the other. Because our modern specialization so often separates artist and scientist, neither has been always fully aware of the profundity of the other's work. Scientists and artists both reach beneath surface phenomena to discover basic natural pattern and basic natural process. Yet there is a tendency for the scientist to expect the artist to interpret literally, like some unthinking sensitive device, and for the artist to expect the scientist to think coldly and mechanically, like some unfeeling technical appliance. To a reader with an essentially scientific bent it should be insisted that the creation of a visual image in the arts is not the instinctive act of certain individuals but rather a fusion of their deepest inner workings with the messages of society, including information from the realm of knowledge and rational thought. Like the scientist, the artist uses the learning of his times in a basic way. And, a. gain like the scientist, the artist profoundly ·affects our world outlook.
A fundamental transformation of our world outlook is indubitably taking place on every possible level of thinking and feeling. Less indubitably, l_)erhaps, but demonstrably, the insight brought us by art is a partner to scientific understanding in this process of transformation. The bold generalizations of scientists, bringing formerly unconnected phenomena into larger, more general schemes impressive in their cohesion, are redefining the expanding world and keeping it accessible to our intellects. Among the echoes and parallels in other human endeavors are the brave efforts of many artists of this century to find an emotional footing upon this bewildering new world.
Science, in a sense, has been the angel with a sword, evicting us from the smaller, friendlier world in which we once moved with a confidence born of familiarity, and plunging us into a bigger, alien world where our unaccustomed sensibilities are forced to cope with a formidable new scale of events.
The responsibility is being laid on us of coming to emotional terms with the new horizons, under pain of the blackest self-punishment. Our age, no less than any other, needs to find a consistent orientation, to harmonize its inner and outer vistas. But we are trapped by a crisis of scale.
Most of our ideas and images grow out of and belong to a small scale of existence; we try to apply them to a scale that is far too big for them. We seem unable even to keep pace with events. It is as though our human capacities grew by linear increments, and the problems resulting from our activities grew by exponential increments. The limited range of signals to which our naked animal bodies are sensitive has hardly changed in the last twentyfive or thirty thousand years, but our new image of nature now harbors strange forms, such as nuclear particles and radiation, none visible to the naked eye, none relatable to our own bodies. This new nature is alien to our senses-and it is not only nature that is alien. The man-made world, after five centuries of accelerating scientific discovery and technical development, has expanded so explosively in so many directions that we seem unable to grasp its dimensions or assert authority over its dynamics. The wild growth of our citiesin µhysical mass, in population, in complexity of human relationships-makes them seem endowed with an independent life beyond human control. We have disrupted the atom and speared the moon, but, as we all know, there is as much apprehension over the unknown, unpredictable consequences that are released as there is joy in new vistas of what life c:m be.
We try to cope with the exploded scale of things without the standards that would help us to evaluate them. For this we need more than a rational grasp of nature. The extended world revealed by science and the technical world of man's own making both require mapping by our senses, the disposition of our activities and movements in conformity with their rhythms, the discovery of their potentialities for a richer, more orderly, more human life. The sensed, the emotional, are of vital The project calls for the housing of forty bowling lanes with two locker rooms, storage, a cocktail lounge, dining room, kitchen and parking space to accommodate at least 240 cars.
A two-inch thick undulating roof system clear spans 110 feet over automation, alleys, spectators and concourse to rest on the ridges of the same construction over the services spaces. 1" x 7" steel plates form the ridges and valleys of the folds and are laced together with 2" x 2" steel T's. Two-inch thick triangular wood fiber panels infill and laterally brace the lacing webs of the system. Walls and screens are of modular masonry panels that terminate at a height of 6'-8" with wood fiber panel and glass partitions extending to the valleys of the roof system above . The undulating side walls are of thin insulated cement asbestos panels that permit easy future expansion. The building together with landscaped courts and encircling walks is positioned on a raised podium five feet above the parking lot to prevent inundation from spring flash floods and prevent its low silhouette from being hidden behind a field of automobiles from the raised super-highway on the west.

Interior of Classroom
The basic objective of the community of Daly City, California, was to construct an elementary school which could be utilized for educational activities and also be incorporated into the total recreational program since it is an integral part of the city park. The intent was to create small clusters of small classroom units. around intimate courts and then to relate the four-room clusters around larger courts. The larger courts are to be utilized for special activities such as entrance courts, lunch terrace and play court, and special gardening and service court. A multi-use unit was placed in a central position so that it would serve as a common meeting area, central to all facilities, and could be used both for indoor and outdoor activities. The arrangement of facilities on this basis was further motivated by a desire to fragment the program into a number of small courts and units, thus creating the impression of a small village . Provisions have been made for protecting the courts of the school building by the introduction of wind and vandalism screens to protect and define the outer spaces.
The kindergarten is located at the main entrance with a playground entirely separate from the other play areas.
Since the project is to be constructed in lowlands inclined to be marshy, a special compacted engineered earth fill has been constructed in the form of a raised circular mound. The raised circular mound will be appropriately landscaped and will also be defined with a railing at its edge in order to protect the school building from the adjoining play area. The adjoining park areas have been developed as part of a master plan of Daly City qnd will include turfed areas, community club house and common parking area, tennis courts, picnic areas and so forth.
A plywood folded plate roof, supported in large part by the tubular mullions, is the prominent structural feature, and lends itself to the light, open garden pavilion atmosphere.
.+ The Gibraltar Savings Building, in Houston, Texas, is a simple cubical form enclosed on three sides by uninterrupted glass surfaces extending from the principal floor level to the roof; on the fourth side, by an unbroken wall of decorative aggregate surfaced panels.

Roof Plan and Courts
Use of solar gray, heat-absorbing plate glass set in gray anodized aluminum framing gives an impression of mass from without and an openness from within.
The ground floor is devoted to lobby and driveways and sufficient planting to provide the desired setting. Drive-in windows are equipped to handle routine transactions with dispatch. Attendants park customers cars in the basement garage while they transact their business on the upper floors, which are reached by escalators and elevators from the lobby.
Mechanical equipment is largely confined to a penthouse on the roof designed for ultimate incorporation in the five future stories which the structure will accommodate.
Marble, bronze and walnut, overall carpeting, and translucent draperies are used in the public areas.
Luminous ceilings throughout all areas contribute to the spaciousness by day, and divide the building into planes of light at night. Progress continues on the Case Study Triad with an opening date set for the late summer. The colors have been selected and painting is well under way. House: "A" has its resown 1" x 4" T & G redwood walls coated with Pittsburgh Paints "Rez," in a warm, grayed sepia tone. The "Rez" allows the rich grain texture of the redwood to come through yet provides a continuity to the surface for a contrast with the white plaster walls. The entrance courtyard is completely understated with all trim and redwood in the grayed sepia tont:s, with only the 10'-0" high entrance door in white. This area has been keyed in this manner as an extension of the simple elegance of the interior furnishings.
House "B"-This house in contrast to ".A" and "C" is enriched by the texture of the Harold Jones lauan siding. The 10'-high entrance door is an ice blue. This door and the ice blue canopy at the courtyard between the living room and the master bedroom are the only departure from the total color of the building. The Mosaic tile floor in hacienda beige provides an excellent foil for the simple lines and pure color of the contemporary furniture.
House "C"-Here the Harold Jones lauan siding is coated with Pittsburgh Paints "Rez" in muted bitter cocoa tones contrasted with white plaster walls.
landscape plans are complete and the materials will soon be installed by the landscape coordinator, William Nugent. The total concept Inasmuch as in this project aluminum, in its most perfect mass-produced form, had been used for the wall itself, and in large part throughout the entire building, there was, I felt, a need for contrast, for something more primitive and enigmatic to counter-point the sophisticated surroundings. {Therefore, I turned to a metal casting technique which I had invented in the past year.) The mural wall is 120 feet long and 9 feet high . I decided to cast aluminum panels of various dimensions and compose them in tight groups in three areas of this long wall. Each grouping forms a visual unit made up of individual sculptures . Viewed from a distance, the panels constitute a mural; seen close up, each is a complete exper:en ce in itself; every casting being in ~hCl~P contrast with the others of the same group, complementing and accentuating its neighbors. It '"'ClS necessary to develop a process of casting mo 1 ten rietal into forms of wood which undergo a ..--.,+rolled process of partial disintegration.
If the materials are carefully balanced they reveal their characteristics most dramatically in th e freedom of their fluid state. When this exuberance is caught in the casting the organic str·· ril'JI::! between the elements becomes visible. Ddiberate plann ing, encompassing every detail, qi•1es one complete control over the many comrlexities contained in each casting , even the s'r·•cture of the surface and the final finish. It is un · q 11e in this process that all these elements are inco~p0rat l"' d in the wood form. At the climactic moment when the piece is cast everything happens simultaneously: all the gases, chemicals, crystals, min~mls, materials are instantly and finally fused in~o a harmonious whole. This is a casting process of great depth and scope. It requires the will to create and the willingness to let creation take place. It is a process toward the organic, influenced by innumerable organizing forces that shape whatever is complete and balanced ... where the ugly and the beautiful are one; where there is order in devastation; where the accidental is the most directed, the most adjusted; where there is no tension but all-tension; where meaning springs from the merging of opposites. This is one of two pilot houses of steel developed for a hillside lot. The objective was to take full advantage of technological advances and production methods to produce a house with maximum performance at a competitive price. The problem was to design within approximately 1200 sq. ft. a house with three bedrooms, two baths, living room, family dining area, kitchen, plus a two-car port and utility and laundry area. The irregular site has a thirty-five-foot drop in 120 feet.
The simplicity in detailing and ease of erecting of all component parts was a maximum consideration. The framing system, of the lightest available steel columns and beams at l O' on center, spanning 30', was shop fabricated, trucked to the job and bolted to the foundation. The frame is covered with light gauze metal decking, spanning from beam to beam, and making a finished ceiling and roof to which Fiberglas insulation and a built-up roofing were applied.
The exterior space was enclosed with transparent, sliding, aluminum-frame doors bolted directly to the structure. Pre-assembled solid partitions of l Va" sandwich plywood material were keyed into the. pre-assembled steel angles with the frame. The elimination of all bearing walls made it possible to obtain maximum interior flexibility. Interior space was divided, as required, by cabinet "space dividers" in place of customary walls. All cabinets were pre-assembled in the factory and set into place after the building was enclosed.

REDEVELOPMENT PROJECT BY A. QUINCY JONES AND FREDERICK E. EMMONS, ARCHITECTS
The design represented here is one of garden and walk-up balcony apartments for family living in the heart of San Francisco. There are three basic floor plan types in the development. Two plan types are three bedroom with two baths, living room, dining, kitchen and family room. The third type is a four bedroom unit. All the four bedroom units will be at ground level for direct access to garden areas. All three plan types provide the full facilities of a three or four bedroom house. It is felt by the developer that this is the type space most needed in the central metropolitan area. The usual concept would have been to build one, two and three bedroom apartments.
Each apartment is provided with private gardens or balconies for both its living and bedroom areas, thus providing for the necessary separation of family activities not often considered in apartment design. The spaces between the buildings are landscaped to provide areas for quiet adult gathering and children's play in shady, green surroundings. The architect feels this character of repose is a necessary contrast to the bustling city that surrounds the development.
These  recreation area, for larger groups, is provided south of the Y.M.C.A. building on Parcel H-1. This will serve the residents of all three parcels. Garage space is provided in reinforced concrete basements under the apartment buildings, furnishing one staff for each apartment under cover. This location allows the maximum use of space around the buildings for outdoor living.
The concept of the central laundry facility has not proven popular in projects of this type, so the developer intends to furnish a washerdryer in each case. The units will be radiant heated with copper tubbing placed in the floor construction. The garage construction up to and including the first floor level will be reinforced concrete. From the first floor level through the remaining three floors the construction will be wood frame. The stairs will be prefabricated steel units with each stair serving two apartments. For the upper floor apartments the doors from the stairs to the balcony will in effect become the front door of the unit.
The concept of the design was one intended to provide the same facilities in the heart of the city that a person normally would get in a single family residence in the suburban area. The open spaces between buildings will be as great as that which usually occurs in tract housing. The only difference being that in lieu of the usual rear yard outdoor living area each of these units will have either a garden on grade or a balcony, which in each case will be private to the individual unit. This project exemplifies one type solution for the development of existing sub-standard urban areas. Whether it be redevelopment or initial development of raw land, schemes for residential living must in the future take patterns of density such as this.

(Co11ti1111ed from pt1ge 20)
of the planting has been directed toward continuity of the Triad, yet with individual interest for each of the parts. The dominant theme of the composition is the use of the 16'-0" tall 50 year old Oleo Europaea (olive) trees and large masses of color thro:.Jgh the Petunia Hybrida. Two of the olives will be used at the forecourt of House "A" at either side of the landing. At the street level, Hedra Hanii (Hahns ivy) will be used as a low light green foil to the grayed lavenders of the flowering ground cover at the 3'-0" lower level. Cissus Capensis (evergreen grape) will be espaliered at the extremities of the redwood front walls. The pale yellow green of the evergreen grape provides a fine background for the grays of the olive trees and the sepia tones of the wood. The proper treatment for the formal entrance courtyard has provided quite a problem. The original concept provided rows of match clipped Ficus trees on either side of the pool. Upon examining the space of the court when it was framed, this obviously was not the right solution. The present solution seems right with simply matched espaliered evergreen grape on the walls on either side of the pool. This simple form is repeated in the massing of white petunias at the pool line to the base of the walls. This may once again be changed when the pool is completed. It may be necessary to achieve a major repetition on either side of the pool. If so, the grape will be kept, but huge white pots, five on a side, will be set upon a simple base set in turn on the fine texture of Hahns ivy. These will be planted with clipped Raphiolepis introducing pale pink flowers and deep sepia berries into the composition. The planting at the master bedroom courtyard will be developed to feature the fine Italian sculpture set on the basic axis in a balanced composition. On either side of the sculpture ferns will be grouped. On each side of the white Pomona Tile terrace, yellow violas will be spread.
The total composition will be featuring the grayed-white tones of the sculpture, set against the muted sepias of the redwood walls with the pale greens on either side of the ferns. At the base and as a softening element for the white tile terrace, the ochre yellows of the violas will be placed. The terrace to the west off the living room will be sheltered by screen planting from the hot sun. On the east side of the screen wall Dicksonia Antarctica and Hawaiian tree ferns will be combined . The terraces and the view to the north from the living room have become a special problem. The view is magnificent with the total coast line to the north, but unfortunately the utility companies have dominated the view at the 4'-6" level with a major black cable and several minor obtrusive wires. The cost of moving these cables and wires would be prohibitive. The solution then ap-+ AUGUST 1960 pears to be the de-emphasizing of the problems with low screen planting to a 3'-0" level and a system of delicate stemmed trees through which the view is seen subordinating the smash of the ugly wires. The screen planting is shown as Xylosma and Grewia combined. The trees are shown as Acacia Podalyriaefolia. These may change to a bank of lemon eucalyptus (Citradora). The motor court from the kitchen will be screened by a native sycamore (Platanus Racemosa) set in a huge tub .
House "B" and "C" courtyard-On either side of the drive a huge banking of Petunia Hybrida will be set in shades of grayedlavender and white. At the top of the 9'-0" incline, the Olea Europaea (olive) are located in a base of large rock outcropping. At the focal point of the drive and the base of the hill above and beyond the house there will be a clump of Jacaranda Acutifolia, Prunus Cerasifera and Albizzia Julibrissin. The whole of the hillside will be a combination of bougainvillea and Streptosolen Jamesonii.
House "B"-At the front of the reflecting pool a bank of ice blue petunias will be set against the white walls; on either side of the ice blue door Cissus Capensis (evergreen grape) will be espaliered . The longer tendrils will be spread up and over the suspended trellis over the pool. The intimate inner courtyards will be planted with Cycads which will provide a delicate symmetry to the total composition. At the view end of the courtyard Cedrus Deodar Compacta will frame the view.
House "C"-At the front of the reflecting pool a bank of the ice blue petunias will be set reflecting the theme of House "B" and the unity of the Triad. The focal point of the entrance hall is an intimate garden. This is planted with banks of ferns; Dicksonia Antarctica and Hawaiian tree ferns, with base cover of Hexilino (baby tears) and matched rock paving . The view from the living room is seen through a fern grouping at the corner of the terrace and a view to the fine old olive tree. Nandina Compacta is silhouetted against the Factrolite glass screen . The master bedroom is partially screened to the northwest by a large clump of Acacia Podacyriaefolia with base planting of Viburnum Robustrum and Xylosma Senticosa. The screening off the master bath and secondary bath is softened by vines of bougainvillea and Wisteria Floribunda with base planting of delicate forns and Hahns ivy.

THE VISUAL ARTS TODAY-GYORGY KEPES
(Co11ti1111ed from page 13) importance in transforming our world of chaos into order. The new setting, both natural and man-made, has its own dimensions of light, color, space, form, texture, rhythm-a wealth of qualities to be apprehended and exp erienced. A grasp of the new conditions, on the sensed and the emotional levels, may yield forms and images that provide a vis ion of contemporary reality.
In th e crisis of scale presented by the complex condition in which we now live, we face two different but related obstacles to meeting its challenges. One is the corruption of our visual surroundings by cultural forces divorced from art; th e dirt and clutter of th e uncontrolled and ugly man-made environment infect us and numb our capacity to see. The other is th e discouragement of our creative artists in th e fac e of a surrounding chaos and a new scientific prospect, b oth seemingly too vast for them to comprehend.
Industrial civili zation has propagated conditions that poison not only the body but also th e spirit of man. We are justifiably alarmed about the dan gers of radiation fallout. But the smoke, the dirt, the meagern ess of the space in which men are forced to live, th e lack of color and light, th e corrosion of the b est qualities of man's creative work-these are a fallout at least as dangerous. W e speak today of safety levels, and \:Vatch out for the number of milliroentgens in our surroundings, but neither now nor in th e past have we accorded recognition to the importance of th e safety levels of our dail y lives . We worry very little about mitigating the boredom of repetitive work-a killer of the spirit. vVe make no move toward arresting th e waste of creative energies devoted to inane gestures or toward res toring the fading courage of man am id his progressive isolation. For the tragedy of democracy is the chaos of communication: the three-hundred-ring commercial circus of advertising, public relations, slick magazines, and fatuous entertainment. To most p eople ideas and values are imparted by middlemen whose objectives are crassly narrow and nonsocial.
Our sensibilities have b een so starved as to have b ecome in general untrustworthy. Some of the discourse in these pages 29 wou ld have been obviated if the contemporary scene were not so vast, noisy, confused, and contradictory, and also if its values were accessible, if we could all cope wi th its tangle of communications, uncompromised b y exposure to th e sights and sounds of a crudely. commercial civi li zation. But we are compell ed to use th e aids of sociological and psychological interpretation as correctives to our vision in order to grasp th e real value of man-created visual images. \!'le need, th erefor e, more than th e artist's capacity to respond strongly to aesthetic facts: we also need clear, comprehensive thinking.
As many have remarked, men who have acute sensibility and can also exert disciplined rational thinking are rare . Artists are deeply committed to their eyes, they can bring th eir passionate vision to the most intens e focus; but as a rul e th ey lack impeccable logic and manipulative skill in verbal communication. In addition, th ey are understandably reluctant to translate from their own concrete, sense-bound language into an ali en and un accommodating langua ge of pale, abstract, verbal signs-this is not the area of th eir competence. The other side of th e situation is the cheerful willingness of persons to compensate for th eir undeveloped sensibilities b y making public statements about art, building elaborate sp eculative structures from limited or secondhand d~ta . Such speculati ons, unl ess combined with a direct ex peri ence of th e unique meanin gs of visual forms , are unlikely to contribute to genuine understandin g. The eye has no surrogate, and the sensibility of artists' eyes is an absolute requirement for reading th e potentialities for human life inherent in th e new scale of events.
The task of adjustment is onl y part of our traffic with th e expanded environment-·we also need to reach out for its gifts of new insights and values. Artists have responded variously to our cris is of scale. Some have moved toward accepting its challenges, and have turned th eir eyes and minds outward upon th e expanded world and its new promise. Others have been overwhelmed, and have turned inward upon thems elves, contracting th eir world and widening the gap b etween outer and inner perspective.
Some major artists of the preceding generation-Juan Gris, + Piet Mondrian, Fernand Leger, and the architects who shared their new kind of vision-opened their eyes to the wealth of the industrial civilization and tried to bridge the gap between a rational and an emotional understanding of it. They accepted science and technology as a value, and welcomed the visual forms generated by the new conditions of modern life. Artistic goals were also tools for a proposed social transformation; in a period of social upheavals and revolutions, of disillusionment and pessimism, they had an absolute faith in the future, they created an aest11etic of dynamic space and precise, clear, machine-inspired forms, and in their working theories they employed such key words as "honest," "functional," "economical," and "architectonic." . They developed a deep sense of interdependence, between man and environment and between man and man, as embodied in the painting of pictures or the shaping of buildings.
We see now that these men were overoptimistic and overconfid ent: the problem was bigger than they knew. Creative artistic use and interpretation of the values latent in our technical civilization required a orofound confluence of art and sciencesensibility and knowledge-a stage difficult to envisage, let alone assume. A completely successful solution of artistic problems could not develop while human minds were splintered, while men lived in a world divided-socially, politically, personally. Although the architectonic vision was one of the stirring achievements of our century, it lacked the breadth to comprehend both our outer and inner worlds.
The modern failure to achieve common boundaries is symbolized in some of the authentic documents of the recoiling midcentury mind, especially in the manner these are presented to our view. A beautiful crystalline structure in America's greatest city (itself a symbol of the finest thinking in contemporary architecture and at the same time, like the torre of medieval Tuscanv, a boastful symbol of wealth and power) displays, in surroundings that state an absolute control of contemporary materials and techniques and a perfect mastery of the new beauty of architectural space. images of the torn and broken man. In its offices and corridors are paintings and sculptures shaped with idioms in tune with the twilight soirit that created them: surfaces that are moldy. broken. corroded, ragged, dripping; brush strokes executed with the sloppy brutality of cornered men.
To the men of today's generation, the key words of yesterday have too bold and confident a ring. Some of these men retire to the caves and jungles of the unconscious and explore contracting spirals diminishing toward oblivion. Others go slumming in inner areas of corrosion, burning and tearingdisplaced persons who tour the inner ruins much as, in the last century, the Romantics toured the ruins of the outside world. Still others mark time, fonding a way of staying in the same place but keeping their sojourn interesting: these immerse themselves in gadgetry, playing inside elaborate boxes of colors, lines, and spatial layers, obsessed with the precision of relationships and the refinement of space effects, narrowing more and more the visions they had two decades ago. Rather than accept the creative challenges within the range of the visual arts, rather than learn to see a broader world, most of us, our artists included, divorce ourselves from common obligations, turn our backs on t11e rational, and separate man from himself, from his fellow men, and from his environment. The artistic expression preferred at this point in time is fluid, amorphous, and undefined. Although the best among contemporary artists have created images of a shining inner structure in spite of all programs, there is spreading in this sophisticated world a new type of artistic image that has made a central principle of the unformed, the irrational, and the uncontrolled. The created image is constricted in space and meaning, and is reduced to the elementary experience of the kinesthetic pleasure of the act of painting. Some painters limit their horizon to the space within physical reach: others require a direct sense of physical contact with their space-creating image. Jackson Pollock, whose work has had a major impact on the present generation, once commented, "My painting does not come from the easel. I hardly ever stretch my canvas before painting. I prefer to tack the unstretched canvas to the hard wall or the floor. I feel nearer, more a part of the painting, since this way I can walk around it, work from four sides, and literally be in the painting." The bright-colored hortus occlusus of the medieval painter finds its faded twentieth-century projection in this picturing of a nest, with the creative act weaving a blanket against the chilling wind of memories.
Another painter, Willem De Kooning, has written: "The space of science-the space of the physicist-I am truly bored with by now. Their lenses are so thick that, seeing through them, the space gets more and more melancholy. All that it contains is billions and billions of hunks of matter, hot or cold, floating around in darkness echoing the great scheme of aimlessness.
"The stars I think about, if I could fly I could reach in a few old-fashioned days. But physicists' stars are used as buttons, buttoning up curtains of emptiness. If f stretch my arms next to the rest of myself and wonder where my fingers are-that is all the space I need as a painter." Here the total world, the common world that unites the thinking mind, the motivating heart, and the acting body, is denied an unity, for such a unity seems beyond hope. It takes a special courage today to face the heavy odds of a blighted landscape; the vulgar faces of cities; the hard, mechanical rhythm of the industrial scene, so out of time with our heartbeats, our desires, our hopes; and the fantastic expanse of cosmological pattern, from ultramicroscopic to superastronomical, unrolling from the looms of science. It takes still more courage to take this whole as a whole.
Before now in history, men have risen to the creative challenge of altering human consciousness in order to orient themselves on a higher level. Through such modifications of consciousness we have become manifestly distinguishable from the biologically identical men of the Ice Age. Artistic sensibility has had its role in this process, in teaching all of us to see and in developing models and symbols from which concepts have been built.
There can be little doubt that this is an age of extraordinary vitality and promise. It calls upon artists for more than strong protest: its enormous potential for undreamed-of harmonies and rhythms demands new levels of sensibility, a new capacity for unification, a new creativity. Our buildings of glass and steel Machine rhythms can be tamed, they can become the rhythms of human needs. Blight in the man-made environment can be repaired, and with it the corrupting damage inflicted upon twentieth-century men. Artists can explore the new scienceborn horizons, make them accessible to our common perception, and develop consistent, orderly images and symbols. The public can be brought to an appreciative understanding of the minds and feelings of creative people.
Our scientific perspective, our cultural legacy, and our art too, can help bring our sensations, feelings, attitudes, and thoughts into harmonious correspondence with the broad movements of nature and society. But our transformation of ourselves and our surroundings must proceed from a knowledge that we can meet new circumstances and grow with them.
We can move once more with confidence through the world, provided we unify our experience of eye and mind. Symmetry, balance, rhythmic sequence express essential characteristics of natural phenomena: the connectedness of nature-the order, the logic, the living process. Here science and art can meet on common ground . . The challenge of scale can be met only if we broaden the base from which we view and live the world. We must use our faculties to the full-with the scientist's brain the poet's heart, the painter's eye. Through our scientific knowl~dge we are aware of the biological and psychological requirements of men, and so can begin the restructuring of the man-made world and restore the balance between men and their surroundings. The symbols of order needed for this major task may be drawn from the poetry of image awaiting the explorer of new horizons .

MUSIC (Co111i1111ed from page 8)
Among all the virtuosi I have known I have never seen such hand~ as those of Mr. Lui, long, slender as a bird's foot, and seemmg all muscle over a fragility of bone. They recalled to me a description of the hands of the great pianist Ferruccio Busoni as a friend of mine who played for Busoni when she was a child saw his hands hanging before him, curved like an eagle's claws by the muscular act of playing.
There is another sort of hand, and I watched it moving across tbe face of a long drum in the Javanese gamelan. It is capable of an absolute flatness , such as we never see among European music~a~s, and every part of this flat hand is separately capable of s?"1kmg the drum-face by an angular undulation, without curvmg. I knew that this musician had been trained from boyhood to play the drum with his hands, and I identified him later as Hardjo Susilo, the Indonesian musician. When he came before the curtain to sing extracts of poetry from the Tjentini, the epic poem of Java, he walked slightly bending forward, his toes turned out, a ?ecorum so entirely of the culture he represented that to move hke that was a gesture as distinctive as the Kelana da~ce gestures of the warrior before battle he performed for us m full costume with magnificent intensity.
In this one particular the hands of Mr. Lui and of Mr. Susilo are alike; they are capable of becoming absolutely Hat. A Westerner can Hatten his hand, but he has never been accustomed to Hatten it absolutely; always some portion of the hand curves, at palm or finger-tip or in the articulation of the thumb and palm. In .the i:nusculature of a hand capable of such flattening the articulation of thumb and palm are distinct, Mr. Lui's thumb appearing almost as long and indeµendent in action as another parallel finger. The cause of this Hat hand, however developed by instrumental training, would seem to be not the instrument but the use of the hand for many other purposes in a culture where the articulate hand serves the purpose of common implements and tools that our hands grasp. You will observe a similar Hat hand, less articulately developed, among Negroes newly come out of our non-urban Deep South. The formally leaning walk, the formal movements of the dance, the formal positioning of the hands playing instruments report a constituency of habit we are likely to misrepresent, if we derive external rules for them and think of them as "ethnic." If Mr. Lui's virtuosic display on the pipa rather effaced the stylistic distinctions of the music, his more reserved performance on the chin fortunately did not. This hollow log, Battened and most delicately worked to make a resonating sound body, is the ancestor of the larger Japanese koto and relates to the koto in the same manner as the Western clavichord to the harpsichord. The chin has seven strings, the koto thirteen. The chin sounds most delicately as a solo instrument, too soft to be accompanied by any instrument except a flute; the koto can be an orchestral or a solo instrument. Mr. Lui strings his 700 year old chin with nylon strings, admitting that the nylon strings are less resonant, though probably not less loud, than the original silk strings. He did not make clear his reason for doing so. A similar differentiation applies to the use of nylon plectra on the harpsichord; they produce tone less mellow than that of buff leather plectra and give less overtone than the older quill plectra.
I regret that Mr. Lui did not divide his recital more evenly between the two instruments, playing the chin only twice, so that our inability to adjust our attention at once to the more delicately expressive sounding of this very ancient instrument prevented us from more than grasping at its extraordinarily sensitive and reticent art. As the seldom heard clavichord is among the most demanding and expressive of European instruments, so it seems to me at first contact that the chin is among Oriental instruments.
I was sorry to miss the much praised Bute playing of the Indian musician Tanjore Viswanathan and also the lecture by Robert Brown on Improvisation in South Indian Music which accompanied this recital.
The first program I attended was given by a group whose work I have previously reported, a program of Gagaku, Japanese Court or Ceremonial music, which survives, however modified by passage of ten centuries, from its time of ascendancy, the Heian period until the rise of the Shinto religion during the + twelfth century. This aristocratic and priestly art has never been known or practised by the common people of Japan.
The Heian period corresponds to the Proven9al period of courtly love, poetry, and music in Europe, but it lasted longer and its peculiar manifestations pervaded all aristocratic society as a positive force, involving rulers and warriors as well as courtiers and women, whereas the Proven9al culture seems to have been in part a refuge of small groups of educated women and their adheren ts against the illiterate brutality of the world around them. The Heian society set a more lasting value on its culture, which has remained the high standard of all Japanese esthetic thinlcing until the present day. This was nevertheless a culture of refuge against conditions prevailing beyond the narrow radius of the court; and to be exiled from court was to be cut off, as in France during the Bourbon predominance to be removed from Paris was to be deprived of any culture and society except that which one possessed within oneself.
Gagaku has been for centuries a sterile, non-creative art, surviving among families of musicians who perpetuate the literature and the method of performing it by mnemonic training : the young musician learns by heart the traditional melodies before beginning to study an instrument. Thereafter he progresses through the orchestra by seniority, until he reaches at last the double-end drum of the orchestral leader.
In 1959, for the first time, the Imperial Court Orchestra of Japan, released by the Emperor from traditional duties and privileges, toured this country, the tour ending at the University of California. To illustrate the insulation of Oriental musicians from music not of their own area, at the University these Oriental musicians heard for the first time a Gamelan orchestra. They announced themselves to be so impressed by the playing of the University Gagaku group that they consented to devote several days to teaching its members. They also recorded for Decca, though a year later this record, perhaps the only extant highfidelity recording of Gagaku, has not to my knowledge been issued. After returning to Japan they were instrumental in gaining permission for the University musicians to dress in the traditional costume of the Court orchestra. Thus the ancient practice of adoption by which the musical tradition of the Court orchestra has been retained and carried forward through a small group of traditional musician families was translated into a new dimension, and the University group became in a sense the latest inheritors of the tradition. Unless their work catches on thoroughly enough in its new surroundings to establish itself as part of a new vogue of Orientalism in Western musical studies, they may well be the last inheritors.

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