Infographics and design ahead of their time
NEW YORK — Who wouldn’t want to have been in Paris in 1900? All right, who wouldn’t want to be in Paris at pretty much any time, but especially then. Art Nouveau, that most sinuously Parisian of styles, was at its height. A world’s fair took place there that year, the Exposition Universelle, and it remains one of the most celebrated. It was the start of a new century, after all.
Among the famous people you might have encountered at the fair was the pioneering civil rights leader W.E.B. Du Bois, who a few years later would help found the NAACP. Du Bois’s involvement in the fair inspires “Deconstructing Power: W.E.B. Du Bois at the 1900 World’s Fair.” In a charming touch, the show includes his ID card as a participant. The fair also figures in “Hector Guimard: How Paris Got Its Curves.” Both shows are at the Cooper Hewitt Smithsonian Design Museum, through May 29 and May 21, respectively.
In effect, the shows are paired; and the pairing is as shrewd and illuminating as it is unexpected. Du Bois (18681963), the great US social critic and activist? Guimard (18671942), the French architect and designer, best known for designing those fabulous portals opening on to La Belle Époque, the original Paris Métro entrances?
The connection centers on the fair and Art Nouveau but extends beyond. Du Bois’s presence at the fair was design based — though it was the kind of design we now refer to as informational graphics, rather than the undulations Guimard gloried in. As for Guimard, his concerns extended beyond the merely aesthetic. After World War I, he took up the cause of affordable housing (a sadly familiar phrase).
Traditionally, world’s fairs have been paeans to progress — and national pride. Du Bois’s contribution related to both, though far from conventionally. The progress in question was that of Black Americans, both what they had accomplished and what they were prevented from accomplishing. National pride was more properly the lack of it that white Americans should feel over their treatment of their fellow citizens.
Du Bois’s contribution consisted of 63 poster-size diagrams, which he had created with his students at Atlanta University, where he taught. Now Clark Atlanta University, it was the first historically Black college founded in the South.
The diagrams were part of a larger “Exhibit of American Negroes,” a display at the Palace of Social Economy. Eighteen of them are on display at the Cooper Hewitt. Their subjects include “Income and expenditure of 150 Negro families in Atlanta, Ga., U.S.A.” and “Land owned by Negroes in Georgia, U.S.A., 1870-1900.” They sound worthy, of course, and straightforward, if also not especially interesting, but it’s a different matter when seen.
What makes the diagrams so interesting, in fact, are their execution and intent. The past few decades have seen a revolution in informational graphics. Which makes all the more striking the quality of these examples from 123 years ago. They’re attractive, clear, legible. A good informational graphic does two things. It attracts the eye and readily reveals the information it has to offer. An unattractive informational graphic isn’t going to be looked at. And an opaque informational graphic withholds its information. These diagrams are both attractive and revealing. The quilt-like use of patches of color in the “Land Owned” graphic is social science with the visual appeal of folk art.
“Deconstructing Power” juxtaposes the diagrams with contemporary Art Nouveau objects from the Cooper Hewitt’s holdings: glassware, ceramics, metalwork. These items both provide a larger cultural context — they make the work of Du Bois and his students seem all the more ahead of its time visually as well as intellectually — and they serve as a transition to the Guimard show.
Guimard was a blend of artist, visionary, and entrepreneur. The artistry is there in the elegance of curve and line in everything from architecture and furniture to housewares and textiles. He even designed his wife’s wedding dress and jewelry. He knew how to mix business and pleasure. That included the fact that his studio was in his house, the Hôtel Guimard, built to his specifications.
The vision was of what he called “totally integrated design.” Guimard sought to blend traditional values of craftsmanship (beauty, quality, distinctiveness) with industrial production. What we notice today about those Métro entrances is their stylishness. What contemporaries noticed most — with many expressing disapproval — was their use of such unexalted materials as cast iron and glass. The entrances effectively democratized Art Nouveau’s luxe associations.
As regards Guimard’s entrepreneurialism, totally integrated design was a very early version of what we’d now call lifestyle presentation. He marketed his work under the heading “Le Style Guimard.” He had postcards printed up, highlighting his designs. Even his business card, a copy of which is in the show, is characteristic of his style. Such promotion makes perfect sense to us; but at the time this was considered in certain circles dubious or even crass.
There’s nothing crass about Guimard’s handiwork. Few styles seem less concerned with functionality than Art Nouveau (that luxe quality) — or so readily summon up a particular time and place. This is where the sheer diversity of examples here of Guimard’s work is especially welcome: from perfume bottles to doorknobs, wallpaper to architectural renderings. Totally integrated design wasn’t just a slogan for Guimard. The more extensive his designing, the greater the totality of integration both sought and achieved.