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〃Because they are unconventional and because they are true。 And yet they are purely decorative。 You wouldn't like to think of them as standing apart in a great frame。 When you go close you will see that the colors are laid on flat。 And they don't shine。 For this reason they have great carrying power。 Observe The Bowmen down there in the distance。 Even from this remote end of the court it expresses itself as lovely in color and composition。 Let us walk down and see how it grows on us as we approach。〃
Slowly we moved along the colonnade； the figures seeming to grow more and more lifelike as the painter indicated their technical merits。 〃They are of the earth； those men； aren't they？ They are the antithesis of the highly civilized types used by so many of the painters today。 They suggest red blood and strength of limb and joy in the natural things of life； eating； drinking； the open air； and simple comradeship。 They make us see the wonder of outdoor living； the kind of living that most of us have missed。 What a pleasure it is to find a worker in any kind of work trying to do a thing and actually doing it and doing it with splendid abandon。 Now if Brangwyn hadn't entered into the feelings of those bowmen in the foreground； he couldn't have made the figure alive。 And the life； remember； isn't merely brought out by the happy use of the flesh tints or by the play of the muscles。 It's in the animating spirit。 As Brangwyn painted those fellows； he felt like a bowman。 So he succeeded in putting into his canvas the strength that each bowman put into his bow。 He isn't pretending to shoot； that sturdy fellow in front。 He is shooting； and he's going to get what he is after。〃
Before each of the four pairs of murals； the painter indicated to us the happy way in which； by the deft use of the coloring； each blended into the other； and she called my attention to the clearness of the symbolism。 So often； she remarked； the mural decorators used compositions that seemed like efforts to hide secrets； a childish way of working； sure to defeat itself。 Brangwyn had no secrets。 He was sincere and direct。 He was happy over this work。 He said that he had enjoyed doing it more than anything else he had ever done before。 If these canvases had been found in the heart of Africa they would have been identified as coming from Brangwyn。 No one else used color just as he did； with his kind of courage。 His colors were arbitrary； too。 He didn't follow nature and yet he always conveyed the spirit of natural things。 Throughout his work he showed that he was a close and subtle observer。 The sweep of rain through the air； the movement of figures and of draperies in the wind； the expression of human effort； how wonderfully he managed to suggest them all and to make them pictorial。 But he wasn't interested in merely an activity。 He loved repose。 In nearly all of these eight canvases； so brimming with life； there were figures looking on serenely； calmly； conveying the impression of being absolutely at rest。
In every particular； according to the searching observer； Brangwyn was successful； with the exception of one； his treatment of birds。 He evidently didn't know birds。 If he had known them he would have loved them； and if he had loved them he would have entered into their spirit and he would have flown with them and he would have made them fly in his painting。 Now they merely flopped。 They were just about as much alive as the clay figures used in a shooting match。 Even his highly decorative flamingoes weren't right。 They did not stand firmly on the ground。 They weren't alive。 And the necks of the two flamingoes never could have met in the curves that Brangwyn gave them。 This very failure； amusing as it was and hardly detracting from the effect of his work as a whole； was another proof that he was an instinctive painter； who relied for his guidance on feeling。 But it was plain enough that he had chosen those flamingoes for their color； and a right choice it was。
We could not decide which of the eight murals we liked best。 Perhaps； after all； they could not be considered apart。 Though each was in itself a unity； the eight completely expressed a big conception。 And in detail each canvas was full of delightful bits。 If you closed your hand and peered between your thumb and your fingers； you could see how beautifully the color had been applied and how； throughout the whole surface； the workmanship sustained itself。 Never was there the sense of faltering or of petering out。 And everywhere there were expressions of fine understanding and sympathy； in the study of a peasant mother holding her babe； nude boys flying kites； a happy face with the lips blowing a pipe； a muscular figure lifting a jar； all conveying abundant life and rich coloring。
The painter finally ran away from us； apologizing for her enthusiasm。
In discussing her opinions； the architect said： 〃Well； I don't altogether agree。 But she may be right。 She sees from the inside； which is very different from seeing from the outside。 There is a great deal of artistic appreciation that can be felt only by the artist； by the fellow…craftsman。 No wonder we go so far astray when we criticise aspects of art that we're only related to indirectly or not related at all。〃
We walked to the Marina。 From there we saw the sun； a great red ball； sinking behind the Golden Gate。
XVII
Watching the Lights Change
〃There probably never was an Exposition in a more magnificent setting；〃 said the architect。 〃The stretch from here to the Golden Gate makes one of the most splendid bits of scenery in the whole world。 It was a good idea on the part of the Exposition people to build the little railway here so that visitors should get a glimpse of all the beauty。 But； ideally； the view ought to be seen from a height。 The curve from here to the Cliff House makes our foreign visitors gasp。 It also makes them wonder why our boasting over San Francisco doesn't include some of the things we have the best excuse to boast about。〃
We stopped at one of the open…air restaurants； where we could eat and watch the fading light at the same time。 Then we went to the lagoon； which the architect declared to be particularly interesting at this time of day。
The rotunda and the colonnade began to take on a deeper mystery。 Across the surface of the water ran a faint ripple。 In the background； over the Golden Gate； the sky was turning to flame。 Delicate； gray cobwebs seemed to float in the air like veils； dusk and fog intermingled。
The light grew dim as we sauntered along the colonnade of the Palace。 Through the columns we could see the Tower of Jewels； suddenly illuminated from inside； all in red； obscuring the sculptured figures and giving the lines greater unity and reach。
In the red glow the Italian towers fairly leaped into the air。 〃It's curious how the light makes them taller；〃 said the architect。
Now the grounds were twinkling with a multitude of bulbs。
Presently the red light in the tower softened into white。 Two of the Italian towers grew paler； the other two retaining their brilliancy。 Ryan was putting on his colors like a painter； one over another。
We made our way back to the Marina； where the scintillators were soon to blaze。 Before we arrived they informed us of their presence by the great feathered fan； of many colors； that rose into the sky。
〃There was some opposition to the decorating of the Tower with jewels。 The architects with conservative ideas very naturally felt that architecture which depended on its lines for beauty didn't need that kind of ornament。 But Ryan has unquestionably justified himself。 The feature has been talked about throughout the country more than any other。 See how the light falls on the tower like a great shimmering robe。 It gains by the contrast it makes with the subdued lighting beneath。〃
The group on the Column of Progress stood out against the sky。
The doorways were taking on the color of gold； becoming even more beautiful than they had been by day。
〃What Ryan tried hardest to get；〃 said the architect； 〃was evenness of lighting。 He wanted to bring out clearly the details of the architecture and he succeeded。〃
XVIII
The Illuminating and the Reflections