The field of decorative metal is so rich with tradition and style that its really a shame that so much has been forgotten by lazy designers and manufacturers. In between projects, we’re constantly searching through metal designs from the last century, looking for ideas to swipe and concepts that have been lost to history. We’ve got so much information and material at this point that we decided to put it together in a book. Part design manifesto, part art history lesson, Epiphanies in Metal should be going to press by the end of the year. Here’s a preview section:

The Art of the Archetype
Having talked some about the history of symbolism in architecture, its fitting to examine the origins of the specific patterns that we deal with. Its one thing to know that the meaning of a specific design element has been contested through history; its much more interesting to study what it originally represented. Most all of the patterns used extensively in decorative metalwork, like the tale of Odysseus’s sailors, go back to the lotus plant. The legendary blue lotus of Egypt was used by the ancients as a sacred hallucinogen and is one of the oldest symbols in all of mythology. Native to a place special to us, the Great Lakes region of Africa in modern-day Tanzania and Kenya, ancient dope-fiends carried the magical plant with them as they moved out from the cradle of civilization and built high metalworking cultures out of Stone Age sorcery. We feel a bit of affinity with that trajectory—Chris was lucky enough to spend a large part of his formative years in Tanzania, and calls African symbolic art a huge influence.
Lotus flowers are a major part of ancient religious symbolism from Egypt to India to China. The lotus plant grows out of muddy, stagnant water to blossom in the light. The Egyptians saw it as a symbol of the sun because it blossomed during the day and folded its petals at night. Throughout the ancient world it was a symbol of the purity of soul within the material world, and of resurrection.
Among the many traditional representations of the lotus are the European fleur-de-lis, representing the open flower, and the older Egyptian rounded bud, showing the flower in the process of opening or closing. Many older egg-and-dart motifs include a lotus bud; either closed as the “egg” being pierced by the sun’s rays, or stretching up as the “dart” that impregnates the egg. Either way is correct, as the lotus symbolizes both male and female, the fertile earth and the fertilizing sun.
The fleur-de-lis was first adopted as a royal symbol by the empress Theodora of the Byzantine Empire. Theodora, an actress and sex worker (her most famous performance was an adaptation of Leda and the Swan where she lay stripped naked and prone to allow a pair of swans to eat off her body), wore a lily on her crown as a symbol of female empowerment—possibly of prostitution and goddess-worship, according to her jealous biographers. It was taken up during the crusades by Louis VII, and became a symbol in Europe of the Holy Trinity. Other representations of the lotus survive in Buddhism as mandalas representing cosmic harmony and spiritual illumination.
The motif known as the “tulip chain” deserves special attention. The tulip is the closest thing to the lotus that grows in the lowlands of Central Europe, and it took on all of the symbolism of the lotus with fresh connotations of its own in 17th century Holland. Introduced into Europe from Asia by Muslim sultans, tulips were among the first commodities to be traded on the stock exchange, and played an important part in the rise of capitalism in Holland, which was the great metal-working center of the time. Tulips came to be typically depicted in architectural ornamentation as tall three-petalled flowers arranged in rows and chains, often pierced by a dart symbolizing sex and fertility.
From the sacred lotus, lily, tulip, or iris came a handful of other plant symbols to complete the palette or ornamental decoration. The acanthus leaf, a spiny frond believed to have been used in Christ’s crown of thorns, represented life emerging from the grave to the Greeks; the cyclical nature of life. The honeysuckle or woodbine flower is used as decoration and as a Mediterranean equivalent of the palm frond. The pine cone, as an evergreen, symbolized the everlasting spirit as well as being a fire sign and a representation of Venus or Artemis. Oak leaves were used in Europe as homage to Zeus or Thor—the oak and lightning gods who came to prominence with the Iron Age throughout pagan cultures. And most important of all, the mythical “tree of life” was represented by a palm leaf as far back as ancient Egyptian times, which merged with the Greeks’ and Romans’ use of the laurel to signify victory.

With a few added symbols over the years, such as the shell, the urn, the scroll, ribbons and braids, nearly all ornamental patterning can trace its development back to these symbolic plants. While humanity has grown beyond the myths we once needed as religion to make sense of the world, the archetypes from which those myths grew are still embedded in our language, our imagery, our buildings, and our consciousness. Just as our spoken language has grown subtle and complex while still keeping the common roots (just try to find one language where “ma” doesn’t mean “mother”), decorative art has added new complexities in proportion and pattern, while still preserving the basic symbol-language.
Modernist architectural thought, by creating a dialectic between structure and ornament and attempting to eschew archetypal ornamentation in favor of an imagined “international” present, posed an interesting problem to consciousness, and indeed, what you see and feel when looking at the best modern architecture is not determined so much by what it is, as by what isn’t there—how does it feel when the space where you spend your time has no reference to the tens of thousands of years of human evolution? It’s a bold feeling to cut edifice off from tradition, but that feeling is completely dependant on knowing and feeling that tradition.
Today, when a company with as bland a design image as Subway customizes cheap egg-and-dart molding and chair rails to remodel its stores, and Starbucks, arguably the most design-heavy of major corporations, redesigns its signature goddess and wave crests logo every few years to keep it current, there is no doubt that ancient archetypal patterns are as important in architecture today as ever.
So in a sense, there is no “rebirth” of architectural ornament today, just a continuation of the age-old art of reframing and reworking the language of symbolism to make everyday objects sing with meaning and beauty; working ancient myths and images into everyday objects as a tool for deepening the consciousness of the people who use them everyday. While this understanding is still prevalent in Eastern cultures, where the ancient myths are still repeated, studied, and built upon, perhaps the European experience of Christianity and struggle against paganism has cut off so much of the original meaning of symbols that it may appear shocking to say this today. We are not just doing “neo-classicism” by using an anthemion-patterned lip treatment on a hood or an egg-and-dart cornice on a ceiling. The “classics” don’t interest us as such. What interests us is the ancient symbols humanity used, some dating back even before spoken language, to explain its world, and every great “classical” civilization was great because it understood and built on these African Stone Age archetypes.
The poet Robert Graves wrote an influential book a century ago where he argued that there was really only one story for poetry to tell: the pursuit and seduction of the moon goddess by the horned god; and that all poetry could be ultimately judged by how faithfully it tapped into this archetypal story to communicate to a modern audience. Of course he over-simplified a bit, for the sake of being provocative. But it really isn’t that far over the top to apply his argument to architecture. We work with plenty of smooth surfaces, from appliances to countertops to cabinets, and we love the smooth surfaces in design (metal by its very nature is a smooth surface). But successful design, to us, is always the balancing of ornament with function. Design should tell a story—or rather, it should tell the story—and it should do so quietly, beautifully, and without preaching.
We will be officially releasing this book December 1st, and shipping advance copies sometime around the middle of November. To purchase or reserve an advance copy, call us at 717-739-1088. The book is 96pp, full color with hundreds of photos, and will cost $20 for the paperback and $50 for the case bound signed limited edition.
