Friday, December 20, 2013

Why are barns painted red?

The industrial designer Henry Dreyfuss said that this question was a frequent one after talks and panel discussions:

Since this question is so often asked, I have done some checking, for I have always been fascinated by the simple beauty of these red barns. They were built, as almost everything should be, from the inside out. A farmer needed a place to keep his livestock and store his feed and tools. So building took shape around these needs — four walls and a roof. Simple doors and windows were placed where they were needed, not to achieve exterior symmetry. This is functional architecture at its finest. But why are these barns painted red? Out of curiosity, I queried people who might know — artists, educators, architects, museum researchers, businessmen, designers, and farmers. Some of the answers that flowed in follow:

Architect Eero Saarinen expressed the belief that the tradition of painting barns red originated in Finland and Sweden because red — “red earth” — was the only available paint. Financier Harry B. Lake and Faber Birren, the color expert, stated that barns were painted red, originally in New England, because the color absorbed the solar heat and insured a warmer barn for the livestock during the winter. Grandma Moses agrees that the practice started in New England but she believes that red barn paint originally was made by mixing linseed oil with a certain kind of clay which resembled decayed iron ore. The result, an inexpensive and lasting paint, was found to have no lead properties which could be poisonous to cows. Francis Henry Taylor, of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, dug up the fact that most paint preservatives are reddish, making it easiest to use them in red paint without destroying the color. On the other hand, William W. Wurster, dean of the School of Architecture at the University of California, said that the color red has no special durability factor since it is the oil that is important. Architect W. K. Harrison replied, ”Red paint is cheap, covers well, and does not show dirt.” This view was echoed by Advertising Man Leo Burnett and Scenic Designer Joe Mielziner, who added that red lead was the best protection against the weather. Industrial Designer Harold Van Doren stated that he didn’t know why, but he knew how farmers got their barns painted red — it was done free by the Mail Pouch Tobacco Company in return for advertising privileges. Similarly, Architect Ralph Walker expressed the opinion that barns were painted red to give a background to ads for Carter’s Little Liver Pills. William Otto, executive of the Pittsburgh Plate Glass Company, which manufactures paint as well as glass, so that the red paint used on barns in bygone days derived from Venetian red — an economical, durable paintmaker’s pigment still utilized in low-cost barn paints. He pointed out that it is an earth color, as opposed to chemically derived colors, and has more permanency than the chemical varieties. Industrial Designer Egmont Arens stated that the prosperity of farms in Iowa used to be judged by the color of their barns — white in good times and red in hard times. Business Counselor Sheldon Coons suggested that the reason was that red stood out so well against snow on Christmas cards.

I prefer to believe that farmers of an earlier day felt, as we do today, that when the landscape is blanketed with snow, red barns give a feeling of warmth and security. And so a tradition grew.

Designing for People (1955)
A search engine will return many results for why are barns painted red. Here is one that is especially interesting.

A related post
Dreyfuss on survival forms


[A thin line of Pantone Barn Red, code 18-1531 TCX. Click for the whole barn.]

Henry Dreyfuss on survival forms

The industrial designer Henry Dreyfuss:

By embodying a familiar pattern in an otherwise wholly new and possibly radical form, we can make the unusual acceptable to many people who would otherwise reject it.

A simple, practical example of this may be found in the unnecessary numerals that today adorn the faces of most clocks and watches. I call these numerals unnecessary because children as a rule learn to tell time before they can distinguish one number from another. They do this by memorizing the positions of the hands on the clock dial, and it doesn’t make any difference whether the numerals are Arabic or Roman or are represented by dots. Yet it has been demonstrated over and over again that popular-priced clocks and watches without numerals on their faces simply don’t sell in quantity. Unnecessary or not, the numbers constitute a survival form that most people demand. Things like electric toasters, coffeemakers, typewriters, and fountain pens often bear survival forms that manufacturers think are necessary or desirable. The chrome band on the base of a typewriter is, for instance, a modern version of an older molding, and the stylized decoration on the side of an electric toaster is a modern replacement for the rosebud or fleur-de-lis that appeared on some household article Grandfather used.

The purist is likely to throw up his hands at the thought of such a restriction and accuse the designer of artistic blasphemy. True, we are straying from the path of utter purity when we consider anything but pure form, proportion, line, and color, but we have larger horizons than the purist need consider. Ours is the ever-changing battleground of the department store rather than the Elysian fields of the museum.

Designing for People (1955)
The “survival form” seems to be more or less synonymous with the skeuomorph, and I would imagine that Dreyfuss’s reasoning here was of great interest to Apple in its work on iOS. I have no strong feelings about survival forms or skeuomorphs in general: they can be beautiful, charming, and witty (the now-gone microphone for iOS’s Voice Memos) or absurd (see below). The individual instance is all.


[The pebbled leather and ragged paper of the original iOS Notes, as seen on my first-generation iPad.]

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Tiffany telephone dialer

Cooper-Hewitt’s Object of the Day: the Tiffany telephone dialer, a perfect mid-century gift, immortalized in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

If blogging is dead, I hope no one at Cooper-Hewitt finds out. I read Object of the Day daily and recommend it with enthusiasm.

Separated at birth?


The actor Myron McCormick and the soprano saxophonist Steve Lacy. We saw McCormick in an episode of Naked City the other night. Add a few inches of height and a soprano saxophone, and we might have been looking at Lacy.

If your idea of the soprano saxophone has been brought to you by the letter G, try the letters B, C, and L. With the first track, the soprano arrives at 1:55. It’s worth waiting for.

Related posts
Nicholson Baker and Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Ted Berrigan and C. Everett Koop
John Davis Chandler and Steve Buscemi
Ray Collins and Mississippi John Hurt
Broderick Crawford and Vladimir Nabokov
Elaine Hansen (of Davey and Goliath) and Blanche Lincoln
Harriet Sansom Harris and Phoebe Nicholls
Ton Koopman and Oliver Sacks
Joseph McCarthy and Ted Cruz

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

J. Logan Govers


[A logical sequel to the previous post. Click for a larger view.]

J. Logan Gover (1908–1986) was an east-central Illinois insurance agent, real estate broker, and civic leader. Many businesses used to give out calendars: I think it’s safe to assume that J. Logan Gover gave out glasses. I bought these three a few years ago at an estate sale. A strange and happy part of the story: Elaine’s quartet was to play for the wedding of a Gover granddaughter, a few days after the sale. Elaine told her about these glasses, and she and her fiancé came by and bought dozens.

An eBay seller has a J. Logan Gover glass with a fourth picture. I wonder how many J. Logan Govers there were.

[Snow is cheaper than Silk.]

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Organization man?


[Click for a larger view.]

I found these photographs in a paperback copy of William H. Whyte’s 1956 book The Organization Man. The photographs, stamped April 6, 1960, were in an envelope bearing the name of a Lubbock, Texas, photography studio. Was the man in these photographs an organization man? Or was he playing the part? Did he buy the book looking for a way out?

Whyte’s book makes interesting reading in 2013. From the chapter “The Practical Curriculum”:

By default, the anti-intellectual sector of education has been allowed to usurp the word “democratic” to justify the denaturing of the curriculum, and while liberal arts people may win arguments on this score, the others won the war long ago. Once the uneducated could have the humility of ignorance. Now they are given degrees and put in charge, and this delusion of learning will produce consequences more critical than the absence of it.

I return to my pessimistic forecast. Look ahead to 1985. Those who will control a good part of the educational plant will be products themselves of the most stringently anti-intellectual training in the country. Nor will the laymen be out of tune with the vocationalists; to judge by the new suburbia the bulk of middle-class parents of 1985 will know no other standards to evaluate education of their children than those of the social-adjustment type of schooling. And who will be picking the schools to endow and sitting on the boards of trustees? More and more it will be the man of The Organization, the graduate of the business school — the “modern man,” in sum, that his education was so effectively designed to bring about.
A related post
A list found in an old paperback

Canned Heat and Cooper-Hewitt

Cooper-Hewitt’s Object of the Day today: a 1968 concert poster for Canned Heat at the Fillmore West. The artist is Lee Conklin.

Related reading
All Canned Heat posts (Pinboard)

Monday, December 16, 2013

Hi and Lois watch


[Hi and Lois, December 16, 2013.]


[Hi and Lois corrected, December 16, 2013.]

Good answer, Hi. But I had to do something about the faulty mirror — or is that a vampire bracelet?

Related reading
All Hi and Lois posts (Pinboard)

[All Hi and Lois repairs made with OEM parts and Seashore, an open-source image editor for Mac.]

A Naked City Mongol


[“Goodbye, My Lady Love,” Naked City, January 27, 1959. Click for a larger view.]

That’s Detective Jimmy Halloran (James Franciscus) and a Mongol pencil. It’s the ferrule that gives it away. Here’s another Naked City Mongol.

Yes, there are all kinds of ways to enjoy television. This post involves a highly specific application of the studies-in-material-culture approach.

Related reading
All Mongol pencil posts
All Naked City posts

[There are eight million pencils in the Naked City. This has been one of them.]

Sunday, December 15, 2013

Growing optimism

I have sometimes described myself as “cautiously pessimistic.” Ha. But I am an optimist at heart.

Last night, my daughter Rachel told me that she thinks I’ve grown more optimistic over the years. I sure hope she’s right!