A Spectator's Notebook
No little anguish, I am informed, went into the making of the unusual document which has just emanated from the offices of the Royal Fine Art Commission in Carlton Gardens. Although styled prosaically the Nineteenth Re- port of the Commission, this paper is in fact a considered statement of the predicament this body finds itself in, and as such deserves more attention than, I fear, it is likely to get.
The Commission is an honourable institution of the kind described as 'peculiarly English,' meaning that it was set up to do a different job, in different circumstances, but has somehow evolved to meet as many as possible of the new and expanding demands made upon it. In spite of its rather restrictive name, it has in fact come to be cast in the onerous role of principal defender of what for want of a better word is called 'amenity' in fields so vast (they include architecture, town planning, road and rail de- velopment, and the protection of the country- side, to name a few) that in theory, at least, very little is left outside its scope. This is a hair- raisingly large undertaking for a body of eighteen unpaid men, all of whom are excep- tionally busy in other directions. It is not made any easier by the fact that the Commissioners are in the position of seeming to have responsi- bility without having power: they can recom- mend, or cajole, but they cannot actually veto even the most barbarous of proposals.
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