The Outdoor Primer
                                                                                                     by Eulalie Osgood Grover
                                                                                                     Chicago, 1904
                                                                                                     photographed on a desk folio of full calf,
                                                                                                     embossed and gilt dans le style-francais,
                                                                                                     late 19th century

Initially I intended to describe the appeal Mrs Grover's Primer holds for me (beyond its publication date) by comparing its printed cover design to the work of William Nicholson (1872-1949).  Upon further reflection, however, I must admit the resemblance is decidedly vague at best.  The stylized hollyhocks flanking the little boy in his sailor suit are far more in the manner of Kate Greenaway, certainly, and the young fellow himself has that glazed, medicated look Kate's little girls often have, lined up like tiny chubby zombies in their oversized bonnets.  If you don't know Nicholson's work, however, I urge you to seek out his Alphabet, especially his self portrait with the letter A.  And his Almanac of Sports.  And his Queen Victoria.  Wonderful.

Along with Taste, of course, there is Style.  "Most people don't have any," an acquaintance of mine in the design field observed last night.

"You mean many people don't," I suggested, trying to be charitable.

"I mean most," he countered, clearly in a dark mood after a day of business meetings in the Valley.  "Has no one forwarded you those photos of Walmart shoppers?"

I admitted someone had.  Terrifying.  I shuddered.

And yet like Taste, surely Style's an elusive quality, don't you agree?  Seemingly rare and of limited availability, yet one can't help wondering why.  Presumably Taste and Style are different from Potential, which like Talent some people are said to have great amounts of.  Of course Potential (if not Talent) is a fairly meaningless quality on its own.  Rather like Weight when you think about it.  After all, a rock is only interesting for being heavy when you try and pick it up and throw it at someone.  A Talent for Weight is nothing to brag about until Sisyphus comes along. 

Telling a rock it looks heavy, however, is not quite the same as telling a child he has Great Potential, since you can set up all sorts of expectations, (not in rocks who are notoriously immune to flattery but in the child), thus encouraging the child to dream of some far off future when someone will come along to pick him up and throw him into a Glorious Realization, a Brilliant and Successful Outcome, and in the meantime he spends his time nurturing an unhealthy dependence on Inertia.  He can wind up a very big stone with a nagging suspicion there's something he's forgotten to do.

Or not.  Some of us find ourselves in constant motion, tossed back and forth in the waves and the surf until we're worn down into small smooth pebbles.  Buffed down from sharp shards to beach glass.  Some of us actually aspire to sand.  It's a personal choice. 

Still, it's the movement that matters.  It's the action, the lifting and throwing, don't you think?   You pick up something and throw it together with something else and in so doing you find your personal style and develop a taste and show your potential, all at the same time.   Whether Good or Bad is, obviously, a matter of opinion.    Good or Bad is, after all, when it really gets interesting.