"Scottish" Doesn't Exist
by Roy McEldridge
Dr Samson's Scottish awakening sounds like the deathbed conversion of an atheist. There is scarcely anything left in our culture that can honestly be called Scottish and nothing demonstrates this clearer than so-called Scottish furniture. What is there with claims to "national" identity apart from a basket-chair closely associated with a remote island chain? And that monstrosity, the Orkney chair, was the product of local necessity, namely having nae wood.Furniture made in Scotland has always resembled that made in England. Exceptionally, a century ago, there was a brief moment of inventiveness in Glasgow which gave birth to the MacIntosh chair. As icons go, it may now be on a par with shortbread. But how can we call it Scottish? As at Culloden, at the time there were more Scots in the opposing camp, agin our historical hero.
It would be mad to claim that there was anything intrinsically Scottish about the upcoming exhibition, except that it is smaller than the English equivalent. Scotland's Housing Expo in Inverness at the moment displays some spectacularly innovative architecture, but nothing recognisably "Scottish". And, yet, this is all the more remarkable for Scotland has had recognisably distinct architecture since at least the Neolithic. Red pantiled roofs in Fife, silver granite in Aberdeen, red sandstone tenements in Glasgow, low white longhouses in the islands, picturesque dormer windows in neat symmetric two-storeyed Victorian farmhouses, and nowhere a red brick terrace to be seen. Yes, Scotland once looked and felt very different to England.
Today, sterile Wimpesque estates look identical to those south of the border. Marginally more attractive than their seventies concrete harled counterparts, they will be equally ugly in 30 years time. When big money is spent on architecture, we call on architects from Spain or Israel because, like Norman Foster, they can create monumentally expensive weirdness that passes for greatness.
There is no outcry, whether from politicians or the public, the media or academia, or even the architectural profession itself against the abandonment of tradition and a recognisable sense of place. Nothing erodes a culture faster than the loss of a sense of place. But in Britain the great unwashed take up arms at the prospect of the loss of the pound or the introduction of metric weights, while their architectural landscape becomes ever more ugly, dull, unfamiliar, and, quite simply, more profitable. If recognisable Scottish architecture is abandoned without comment, what chance does the Scottish kist have?
Perhaps furniture design does have a tiny chance at being Scottish. If teaching, designing, making, purchasing, using and policing of "correctness" are all kept confined to a small area, shared ideas and tastes will bring about a regional style, be it furniture or music or accent. There are few enough establishments that teach furniture design in Scotland and a single professional body for those who do it for a living. It thus has many of the requisites for a regional style to develop. While some few copy Macintosh, Tim Stead has provided a modern source of inspiration which started to produce a Scottish style. Because he set up the Wood School, his influence and aesthetics were passed on quite actively to students. The mark of establishment approval, by enshrining his work in national museums and galleries, firmly stamped his style with Good Taste. Five years ago the influence his work had on Scottish designers was much more marked. Moreover, one could go to Cheltenham's CCD exhibition and find not one Stead-like piece among the work of 70 cabinetmakers.
But, instead of embracing this regional stylistic development, many pointed fingers and made accusations. Plagiarism! And his unfortunately early death meant he himself could no longer champion it, teach it, develop it. And so many have gone back to drawing inspiration from Krenov and Maloof, far distant Americans (and similarly deceased).