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Storytelling
Portrait Photography
How to Document the Lives of Children and Families
Published by:
Amherst Media, Inc., P.O. Box 538, Buffalo, N.Y. 14213
www.AmherstMedia.com
ISBN-13: 978-1-68203-148-3
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016945445
Printed in The United States of America.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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publisher.
Notice of Disclaimer: The information contained in this book is based on the author’s experience and opin-
ions. The author and publisher will not be held liable for the use or misuse of the information in this book.
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Contents
contents 3
Following Them Up the Path . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58 Open Shade on the Porch . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93
Go-to Action Poses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59 Happiness and Giggles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93
In Action with Their Child . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59 Get to Know You . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94
Moments of a Child’s Discovery . . . . . . . . . . . . 60 A Peek-a-Boo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94
Documenting Family Moments . . . . . . . . . . . . 61 Happy Expression . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94
Keepsakes of Mommy-and-Me . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62 A Favorite Location . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96
Looking at the Same Time . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63 Capture Their Pauses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97
A Special Moment Captured . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64 The Things They Love . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97
Ready for the Swan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65 A Parent or Assistant Should Always Be Near . 98
Picturesque Background . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65 Two Subjects with Selected Focus . . . . . . . . . . . 99
A Nice Snuggle Moment . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .66 A Zoom Lens Follows the Action . . . . . . . . . . . . 99
A Kiss on the Cheek . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67 Finding the Right Light . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100
A Moment to Remember . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67 Noisemakers to Get Attention . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101
The Setting Sun Lights a Face . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68 Photographic Access . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101
The Look . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69 Time to Discover . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102
A Great Trick . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70 Capturing Moments of Discovery . . . . . . . . . . 102
Time in between Moments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70 Looking . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103
So Expressive . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71 “Look at Me” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 104
More In-between Moments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71 Recording the Awe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105
Affection . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72 Backlit Bubbles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105
A Kiss on the Head . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73 Offer a Captivating Location . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106
Showing Their Love . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74 Reposition Yourself . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106
Cheek to Cheek . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75 Different Heights of Fence Rails . . . . . . . . . . . 107
Then and Now . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75 No Prompting Needed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107
Together and Interacting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77 Angle to Exaggerate Size and Height . . . . . . . 108
Hugs For a Beautiful Portrait . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77 Switch to a Telephoto Lens . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 108
Have Siblings Interact . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78 A Dramatic Feel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109
Something Fun to Do . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78 Discovering . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
A Few Seconds to Capture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79 Mom Is Just out of the Frame . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
The Yellow Leaf Road . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80 Zoomed In . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111
A Beautiful Light from Behind . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80 Overcast Sky Filters the Light . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111
A Colorful Element . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81 Piggyback Ride Pose . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113
A Reflector for Fill . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81 An Interactive Pose . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113
Four Sisters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82 More in-between Moments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 114
Moving Keeps Them Engaged . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83 During a Break . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115
All Together . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83 Follow the Leader . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116
Into the Leaves . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84 Down the Path . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116
Journalistic Sessions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84 A Moment, Stopped and Remembered . . . . . 116
Capture the Peak Action . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85 A Timeless Feel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119
Key Motions Are Clues . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85 Departing Image . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119
A Starting Place . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86 Little Walks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 120
Be Ready with another Camera and Lens . . . . 86 Returning Walk . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 120
Moving to a Second Location . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87 Free and Roaming . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
Zoom in to Capture Activity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87 Finding That I’ve Made a Capture . . . . . . . . . .122
Doing It Over and Over Again . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88 Show a Progression . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 122
Multiple Angles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88 A Perfect Walking Moment . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123
A Great Place to Sit . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89 Gear . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124
A Warm Tone from the Setting Sun . . . . . . . . . . 90 Fill Gear for Natural Light . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124
A Great Ending . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90 A Tri-Grip Reflector and a Place to Sit . . . . . . . 125
Photographing Children at Their Home . . . . . . 92 Index. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 126
Photojournalistic Style . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 92
specs > Canon Mark III with 135 2.0 lens at 1/500
second, F3.5, and ISO 400.
Genuine Moments
I love to sit young families down on the
ground during their sessions whenever
possible. This helps for the younger
children to feel more at ease and not
as nervous when I’m photographing
them. Especially when it’s their first ses-
sion with me. They soon learn to trust
me, as mom and dad are smiling and so
is their older sibling. This session was
one of those instances. Big brother had
been photographed by me years before
and seemed very comfortable with me;
his brother definitely had some reserva-
tions. However, once they sat down
and mom raised him up in the air,
his brother tickled his belly, everyone
started laughing and he began to smile
Make the Session Fun and have fun. He forgot I was there, which is
important so that I can capture those genu-
I first met this family when their little girl ine moments during my family sessions.
was just four months old. Fast forward a few They are sitting under tree cover on an
years and she is a big three-and-one-half- early fall morning with open sky in front of
year-old sister to her little eighteen-month- them for fill. I laid down on my belly a bit to
old brother. These ages can be tough if you get lower than them.
try to pose them. I made it an enjoyable
session by letting them have fun. I sat the specs > Canon Mark III using a 135mm, f/3.5, 1/500
parents down in the grass as mom held her second, and ISO 400.
Photojournalism
Skills
I use my photojournalism
skills at every session, wait-
ing for those unexpected
moments like this one. Dad
had brought his trombone
to the session and started
playing it at the Boston
Public Gardens, which if
you have ever been to the
garden, is not unheard
of. Lots of musicians play
This is a great
moment, especially
for a new walker.
Interacting
and Trusting
get to smile as dad handed her a small yellow
Parents interacting with their child is impor- wildflower he found in the field they were
tant in order to get the youngster to trust sitting in.
me before I start to photograph them solo.
I always start with the whole family first so specs > Canon 5D Mark II using a 70–200mm at 95,
this trust can be gained. This little girl didn’t f/3.5, 1/500 second, and ISO 320.
need much prompting, as she was easy to
Filter through
the Trees
He soon started
to warm up to me,
and mom and dad
watched as he started
smiling my way, while
still in the comfort of
dad’s arms.
Sun is filtered
through the trees with
some fill from open
sky behind me.
In the houses thus far described I have mentioned several which have
been decorated in whole or in part by Messrs. Morris & Co., but have
reserved until now a special treatment of their style. Their decorations, apart
from their undeniable beauty, derive importance from the fact that they can
be adapted to the requirements of persons with moderate incomes, or to the
needs of those who are prepared to pay large sums. The firm in question—
as befits a company whose head is one of the most graceful of living poets
—has mastered the Wordsworthian secret of
“The eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony.”
BOYD’S GRATE.
Of the many different papers with which they hang rooms, only a few
have appeared to me unsuited for the purposes of a refined decoration of
almost any room. One, an imitation of square trellis-work, with a bird
sitting in each opening, I have seen on the walls of a bedroom (which, I
suspected, might have been originally intended for a nursery; in which case
I am not prepared to say that it might not have appeared in place), where it
was not pleasing, and it has appeared to my eye frivolous in sitting-rooms.
Nor do I altogether like their lemon-yellows, which are so well placed in
corridors, to find their way (as they sometimes do) into drawing-rooms; that
color, however adapted for daylight, suffers bleaching by candle or gas
light. But generally their wall-papers are of beautiful grays—pearl, sage, or
even darker—and, while full of repose and dignity by day, light up well
under any artificial light. This firm also does the finest wall mouldings in
relief that I have met with. A remarkable instance of this may be found in
the Grill Room at the South Kensington Museum, to which reference has
already been made. And a somewhat similar moulding is still more
effectively used in the drawing-room of the Hon. Mr. Howard, in his house
at Palace Gardens—a willow pattern, with buds, on a cream-colored
background, which rises to a deep frieze of green. In two rooms of the same
mansion the light pomegranate paper, with shut and open flowers, is used
with good effect. In the dining-room the general hue is faint pink, and this is
also pleasing. In the nursery there is an exceedingly beautiful paper of wild
daisies on a mottled ground. Mr. Howard is not only an artist himself, but a
collector of pictures and other objects of art. His walls have in a great
measure been decorated with the idea of adapting them to the purpose of
displaying to the best advantage the quaint old cabinets which he possesses,
and the many fine pictures of pre-Raphaelist art which adorn his walls. On
one of the landings of the stairway there is a fine organ, upon which Dr.
Burne Jones has painted a charming picture of St. Cecilia playing on her
keys. This picture sheds light and beauty around, and shows how much may
be done in a house by having such objects brought into the general system
of ornamentation adopted in the house. It is hardly enough to bring into the
house furniture of a color which is vaguely harmonious with the wall-paper;
by a little decoration even the piano, the cabinet, the book-case, may be
made to repeat the theme to which the walls have risen.
Dr. Burne Jones—for Oxford has bestowed on him its D.C.L., to its own
honor as much as his—has decorated a grand piano with finest art. Around
its bands is told the fable of Orpheus, the potency of music, in scenes of
classical, but not conventional, treatment. On the lid is a Muse leaning from
an oriel of the blue sky; beneath stands a poet musing; and between them is
a scroll inscribed with a bit of old French, “N’oublié pas”—motto of the
family for whom the piano was made. At another end of the lid is painted
amid bay-leaves the page of a book, with illuminated letters here and there,
the lines being those of one of Dante’s minor poems, beginning, “Fresca
rosa novella.” But all these beauties are surpassed when the lid is lifted.
Amid the strings, which are exposed, there is a drift of roses, as if blown
into little heaps at the corners by the breath of music. On the interior surface
is painted a picture to be gazed on with silent admiration, for few can be the
strains from those keys which will interpret the subtle sense of the picture.
The only name given is Terra Omniparens. Between the thorns and the
roses sits this most beautiful Mother, naked and not ashamed, with many
babes around her. Above, beneath, around, amid the foliations they are seen
—impish, cherubic, some engaged in ingenuities of mischief, others in
deeds of kindliness and love. Greed, avarice, cruelty, affection, prayer, and
all the varieties of these are represented by these little faces and forms.
Some nestle around the Mother; one has fallen asleep on her lap. The fair
Mother is serene; she is impartial as the all-nourishing, patient Earth she
typifies; all the discords turn to harmonies in her eternal generation. Her
impartial love waits on the good and the evil; she is one with the art that
“shares with great creating Nature.”
Although the hangings of Morris & Co. do not imply a lavish, but only a
liberal, expenditure, they do not readily adapt themselves to a commonplace
house inhabited by commonplace people. There must be thousands of these
square-block houses with square boxes for rooms which would only be
shamed by the individualities of their work. The majority of houses attain
the final cause of their existence when the placard inscribed “To Let” may
be taken down from their windows. No doubt the decorative artist might do
a great deal toward breathing a soul even into such a house, if it were
inhabited by a family willing to pay the price. But there are houses built
with other objects than “to let,” built by or for persons of taste and culture,
and to such the decorations of Messrs. Morris & Co. come as a natural
drapery. Mr. Ionides, who has just entered a new house in Holland Park
Villas, has shown, by adopting in it decorations similar to those of the
smaller house he has left, that, after many years, the hangings of Morris &
Co. still appear to him the most beautiful; and it is significant of the spirit in
which he has carried out his own feeling in both cases that he has steadily
refused to let the house his family had outgrown to all applicants who
proposed to pull down its papers and dados, and convert the house into the
normal commonplace suite of interiors. He preferred to retain for some
time, at a loss, that which he and his artistic friends built up with so much
pains, rather than have it pass into inappreciative hands. In the new
residence of Mr. Ionides he has found a beautiful hanging for his drawing-
room in a Morris paper of willow pattern, with two kinds of star-shaped
blossoms, white and yellow, which harmonizes well with the outlook of the
room into a conservatory. The curtains of the bay-window in the spring
season are of Oriental cream-colored linen, with flowers embroidered in
outline (light gold), and at wide intervals, upon them. The paper in the large
dining-room is the small floral square (sage-gray) pattern of Messrs. Morris
& Co., which harmonizes well with the red carpet, the pictures, and the
green-golden lustres of the velvet curtains. Mr. E. Danreuther, in whose
brilliant successes as interpreter of the “Music of the Future” America as
well as Germany has reason for pride, has his residence in Orme Square
decorated mainly with the Morris patterns. The house is quaint and old, and
nothing can exceed the sympathetic feeling with which these designs
harmonize with the style of the halls and rooms. It is a picture for the
imagination to think of Carlyle and Sterling (who once resided here)
conversing on great themes amid these quietly rich, these even poetical
designs and colors. Nearest to that imaginary picture is the real one which I
have seen a little way from Orme Square, namely, in the villa of the late Mr.
Edward Sterling, son of the poet John Sterling, himself an artist, who had
used his own excellent taste, and that of his wife (a sister of Marcus Stone),
in adorning his house at Kensington. An especially fine appearance has
been given to a high wall which stretches through two stories beside the
stairway by changing the style and color of the (Morris) paper midway, and
thus breaking the monotony. The hangings of the lower hall are dark, and
the light shed down from the higher wall is thus heightened. In this, as in
the majority of beautiful houses, the first effect at the entrance is that of
shade. The visitor who has come from the blaze of daylight is at once
invited to a kindly seclusion. Beyond the vestibule the light is reached
again, but now blended with tints and forms of artistic beauty. He is no
longer in the hands of brute Nature, but is being ministered to by humane
thought and feeling, and gently won into that mood
“In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world
Is lightened.”
In all the beautiful effects which I have observed the ornamentation has
been in more or less accordance with the fundamental principle of these
rules—namely, the subordination of decoration to use. Many persons of
taste and culture have had to wage a sometimes unequal conflict with
architecture whose object was a low one—to sell; but they have been
rewarded just in the proportion that they have regarded the principles just
quoted. It will be especially observed that realism, in the sense of exact
imitations of nature, is entirely repudiated. Conventionalism, precisely
because it is a degradation in human character, is a first necessity in
ornamentation. The rationale of this is admirably given in a little book on
the Oxford Museum, by Dr. Acland and Mr. Ruskin, not likely to have been
seen by many American readers. The following remarks by Mr. Ruskin,
taken from it, constitute my second extract:
“The highest art in all kinds is that which conveys the most truth, and the best
ornamentation possible would be the painting of interior walls with frescoes by Titian,
representing perfect humanity in color, and the sculpture of exterior walls by Phidias,
representing perfect humanity in form. Titian and Phidias are precisely alike in their
conception and treatment of nature—everlasting standards of the right. Beneath
ornamentation such as men like these could bestow falls in various rank, according to its
subordination to vulgar uses or inferior places, what is commonly conceived as ornamental
art. The lower its office and the less tractable its material, the less of nature it should
contain, until a zigzag becomes the best ornament for the hem of a robe, and a mosaic of
colored glass the best design for a colored window. But all these forms of lower art are to
be conventional only because they are subordinate; not because conventionalism is in itself
a good or desirable thing. All right conventionalism is a wise acceptance of, and
compliance with, conditions of restraint or inferiority. It may be inferiority of our
knowledge or power, as in the art of a semi-savage nation, or restraint by reason of
material, as in the way the glass-painter should restrict himself to transparent hue, and a
sculptor deny himself the eyelash and the film of flowing hair which he cannot cut in
marble. But in all cases whatever right conventionalism is either a wise acceptance of an
inferior place, or a noble display of power under accepted limitation; it is not an
improvement of natural form into something better or purer than Nature herself.
“Now, this great and most precious principle may be compromised in two quite
opposite ways. It is compromised on one side when men suppose that the degradation of
the natural form, which fits it for some subordinate place, is an improvement of it, and that
a black profile on a red ground, because it is proper for a water-jug, is therefore an
idealization of humanity, and nobler art than a picture by Titian. And it is compromised
equally gravely on the opposite side when men refuse to submit to the limitation of
material and the fitnesses of office, when they try to produce finished pictures in colored
glass, or substitute the inconsiderate imitation of natural objects for the perfectness of
adapted and disciplined design.”
F IVE years ago I happened to pass through Chiswick, near London, and
paused near a field where Prince Rupert and his little army camped
overnight, on their retreat before Hampden and his Roundheads—a
scene which the perspective of time has made into an allegorical tableau of
Aristocracy retreating before Yeomanry. (It is a retreat that steadily goes on
still.) At that time I found it pleasant to see large and beautiful gardens, with
stately poplars and every variety of fruit-tree, glorifying the acres once
steeped with the bluest blood of England. Eight hundred Cavaliers were
here found dead when the Roundheads came in the early morning, glowing
with victory, to pitch their tents where the Cavaliers had just folded theirs.
Last year I turned in to take another look at the same place. I paused again
near the Rupert House—surely a very civil-seeming home for the barbaric
prince whose name was twisted into “Prince Robber.” Two lions couch
above the projecting door-way, two child-figures stand on the ground
beneath, which may be emblems of that ferocity for which the prince was
famed beyond all warriors of his time, until he fell in love with the pretty
actress under whose sway he became gentle as a child.
I meant to enter on the grass-covered Roman Road along which the
prince retreated some seventeen centuries after the Romans made it. Here
Roman coins and bits of ancient tile have been found, are still occasionally
found. At any rate, it is well enough to keep one’s eyes sharp upon the
ground for a few hundred yards. But first another good look at the beautiful
gardens which cover the camp of the Cavaliers—gardens planned and
planted by Lindley, the famous horticulturist and botanist, father of the
present Mr. Justice Lindley.
Angels and ministers of grace! am I dreaming? Right before me is the
apparition of a little red town made up of quaintest Queen Anne houses. It is
visible through the railway arch, as it might be a lunette picture projected
upon a landscape. Surely my eyes are cheating me; they must have been
gathering impressions of by-gone architecture along the riverside Malls,
and are now turning them to visions, and building them by ideal mirage into
this dream of old-time homesteads!
I was almost afraid to rub my eyes, lest the antique townlet should
vanish, and crept softly along, as one expecting to surprise fairies in their
retreat. But when across the Common a Metropolitan train came
thundering, and the buildings did not disappear, I began to feel that they
were fabrics not quite baseless. That they should be real seemed even
stranger than that they should be fantasies. The old trees still stood, the
poplars waved their green streamers in the summer breeze, the huge
willows branched out on every side; but the turnips and pumpkins they once
overhung had become æsthetic houses, and amid the flowers and fruit-trees
rosy children at play had taken the place of grimy laborers. I passed beneath
a medlar—who ever before heard of a medlar-tree out on a sidewalk?—on
through a wide avenue of houses that differed from each other
sympathetically, in pleasing competition as to which could be prettiest.
Their gables sometimes fronting the street, their door-ways adorned with
varied touches of taste, the windows surrounded with tinted glass, the
lattices thrown open, and many comely young faces under dainty caps
visible here and there, altogether impressed me with a sense of being in
some enchanted land. After turning into several streets of this character, and
strolling into several houses not yet inhabited, watching the decorators
silently engaged upon their work, I recognized that this was the veritable
land of the lotus-eaters, where they who arrive may sit them down and say,
“We will return no more.”
My summer ramble ended in a conviction that Bedford Park was an
adequate answer to Mr. Mallock’s question, “Is life worth living?” If lived
at Bedford Park, decidedly yes! In one year’s time an architectural design
adapted to our taste and needs stood finished in brick, amid trees planted by
Lindley; the last convenience was completed, the ornamentation added; and
therein I now sit to write this little sketch of the prettiest and pleasantest
townlet in England, while my neighbor Mr. Nash is out on the balcony
sketching the trees and houses that wave and smile through my study
windows. For those who dwell here the world is divided into two great
classes—those who live at Bedford Park, and those who do not.
Nevertheless, we of the first class are not so far removed from those of the
second as not to feel for them, and to help them as well as we can to see our
village, so far as it can be put on paper in white and black. It is with that
compassionate feeling that Mr. Nash with his pencil and I with my pen have
prepared some account and illustration of what has been done toward
building a Utopia in brick and paint in the suburbs of London.
For a long time cultured taste in London for persons of moderate means
had been able to express itself only on paper. Any deviation from the
normal style could be achieved only by the wealthy. The Dutch have the
proverb, “Nothing is cheaper than paint,” but the Dutch might have
discovered their mistake had they lived in London within recent years, and
ventured to desire any variation from the conventional decoration of houses.
Even twenty years ago the artistically decorated (modern) houses in this
vast metropolis might almost be counted on one’s fingers and toes, and they
were the houses of millionnaires or of artists. The artists could do much of
the work themselves, and the millionnaires could command special labors.
But meanwhile the people who most desired beautiful homes were those of
the younger generation whom the new culture had educated above the mere
pursuit of riches, at the same time awakening in them refined tastes which
only through riches could obtain their satisfaction. However, London is a
vast place. One of the best things about it is that nearly every head, however
ingeniously constructed, can find a circle of other heads to which it is
related. The demand of a few expanded until its supply was at hand.
Jonathan Carr, member of a family to which much of this kind of artistic
activity in London is due, had become the proprietor of a hundred acres of
land out here at Chiswick. It was land on which art had already been at
work; a considerable part of it had been the home garden of Bedford House,
where, as already said, Lindley had resided. Around the large garden were
orchards and green fields. Mr. Carr believed that his land might fairly be
made the site of a number of picturesque houses, both as to architecture and
decoration, such as many of his acquaintances were longing for; he believed
that if a considerable number of persons should contract for such houses,
that kind of work which has been costly because exceptional might be much
reduced; he believed also that there were architects and decorators who, out
of materials sufficiently alike to be secured in large quantities, could
produce a rich variety of combinations, so that a maximum of individual
taste might be expressed at a minimum of cost. Mr. Carr consulted Norman
Shaw on the matter; that architect encouraged the project, and agreed to
devote himself personally to it. And I may say here that the speedy success
of the scheme was largely due to the well-known characters of the landlord
and the architect. Their enthusiasm for art, their liberality and honor,
excluded all suspicion that the scheme was a money-making bubble; the
slow-growing plant of confidence was already grown in their case for the
kind of people who really wanted these houses. In the course of little more
than five years three hundred and fifty houses have been erected. They are
embowered amid trees, and surrounded by orchards; their generous gardens
are well stocked with trees, flowers, and fruits, so that these houses appear
as if they had been here for generations. No one could imagine that seven
years ago they were all little sketches on paper, passing between landlord,
architect, and house-hunters; and indeed my friend Abbey, the artist, who
has visited us occasionally, says he cannot yet get it out of his head that he
is walking through a water-color.
The first consideration is health. Bedford Park is naturally healthy. It is
situated upon a gravel-bed, remote from the fogs of London, and with easy
access to the river for its drains. Kensington is but twelve minutes nearer
the centre of London than Bedford Park, yet at Kensington few afternoons
between October and February can be passed without gas-light, whereas
here there were only four or five occasions last fall and winter when the
lights were required before evening. There are beautiful walks around, and
in ten minutes by train we reach Kew Gardens. The Chiswick Horticultural
Gardens are under ten minutes’ walk. Near these is the long avenue,
overarched by trees, the Duke’s Walk; it leads to famous Chiswick House,
whose sixty acres of ornamental wooded ground is the most beautiful
private park in the suburbs of London, to say nothing of the charms of
romance investing the old Italian villa where statesmen consulted the fair
Duchess of Devonshire. There is thus no lack of breathing space. The
houses are built with fourteen-inch brick walls, and without cellars. It is in
conformity with what has been decided to be the prudent plan in London
that underground rooms are unknown here, each house being founded on a
solid bed of concrete, the floors raised sufficiently high above this to allow
of full and free ventilation beneath every house.
DINING-ROOM IN TOWER HOUSE.
The best standards, indeed, Mr. Carr is generally able to show in his own
house. His taste and that of his wife have made their house beautiful. It
would be difficult to find a prettier room than the dining-room, which our
artist has drawn with care; but much of its beauty depends upon the soft
colors and tints of its walls and its genuinely old furniture. This house,
known as the Tower House, is as elegant, comfortable, and charming as
need be desired even by those whose home is the seat of a continuous and
liberal hospitality. The hall, landings, and rooms are all spacious and well
proportioned; yet the entire building, arrangements, and decorations have
probably not cost four thousand pounds.
In Mr. Nash’s sketch of “Queen Anne’s Gardens” the observer may see
some characteristic features of the place, such as the venerable air of our
trees, and the relation of our streets to the old characters traced upon the soil
by the gardens which preceded these. It is said some of the streets of
Boston, Massachusetts, followed the old sheep-paths; and it may now be
entered in the archives of Bedford Park, against its becoming a city, that its
streets and gardens have been largely decided by Dr. Lindley’s trees. Some
of them curve to make way for the lofty patriarchs of the estate, which we
hope may long wave over us. There has been an accompanying good result,
that wherever the eye looks it meets something beautiful.
CO-OPERATIVE STORES AND TABARD INN.
One of our views is slightly utilitarian. It is taken from the old Roman
Road, and from the Co-operative Stores in the foreground commands the
railway, on which trains bear us to the heart of London in thirty minutes.
Indeed, one can start from our little station for a voyage round the world, so
many are the junctions to be reached from it. The portico of the church is
visible on the right in this picture, and in the distance the steeple of
Turnham Green parish church. Beside the Co-operative Stores stands the
one inn of Bedford Park. It is a part of the contract of each lessee that he
shall not allow any public-house (or drinking-house) to be opened on his
premises, nor allow any trade to be carried on upon the same. Yet there is
need of an inn, that families may come to experiment on the place, and
where lodgings may be obtained when houses are overfull of guests,
Bedford Park being much given to hospitality. The inn is called “The
Tabard.” That was the name of the old inn in the Borough, near London
Bridge, from which Chaucer’s Canterbury Pilgrims started. The excellent
artist, Mr. Rookh, whom Bedford Park is fortunate enough to have as a
resident, has painted a beautiful sign for our “Tabard,” representing much
the same scene as our picture on one side, and on the other an old-time
herald habited in a tabard.
Another of Mr. Nash’s views shows our tennis lawn and Badminton
floor (asphalt), which are pretty generally the scene of merry games. These
beautiful grounds are at the west end of Tower House (seen on the left), and
contain beautiful trees, among others the first Wellingtonia (as the English
insist on naming that American institution) planted in England.
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