Final Reflection

When I created my object methodology a number of weeks ago, I knew that, eventually, I would need to re-tweak my already tweaked Prownian approach. In conducting this final exercise, I found the manipulation to be helpful in further understanding about the waistcoat. I remember laughing to myself the first time I the line “Does [the object] sing to me?” To me, it boiled down to agency: can an object have agency, let alone sing, without its owner ? I did not think I would find the answer to that question or stumble into a larger conversation about it. However, as you can tell from my conclusion, there is a larger conversation to be had about both the potential for object agency and whether relationships between humans and objects are reciprocal or human-reliant.
This all said, there are obvious limits here: If someone else owned this waistcoat, would its story be any less interesting? Indeed, Captain Brown’s story is an incredible one and, perhaps, some of that incredible story transferred into the waistcoat’s own story. This limit requires future and further studies of objects like this waistcoat to see if the argument for a reciprocal relationship between object and human is an outlier more than a phenomenon. This phenomenon can be tested and further informed beyond the parameters of material culture. As we have seen in our class’ readings, material culture has roots in fields ranging from prosthesis and objects as postmodern texts to cultural anthropology and objects as clues about past communities.
In the end, I feel that conducting this exercise gave me a better sense of what I think material culture is for different people and where I think material culture studies can be applied. As a communicative technology student, I appreciate the connection between material studies and communication studies to the extent that the object, too, can communicate information about its history over time and space.

Potential Exhibit Plan

After staring at the exhibit plan and object list trying to find some agreement between the space and number of objects, I think I've come up with an arraignment that may work for space and the objects. As you can see in the attached screenshot, I've included the ideal route the exhibit visitor would take. Each of the objects (represented by "Floor Planner's" rainbow-colored circular rugs), safely arranged behind the protective glass wall, progress through the 19th century. On the wall opposite the glass case are seven circular tables corresponding with the items behind the case (e.g. The first table will contain information about the first object, the second table with the second object, and so on). Although this looks to be a dizzying, circular motion, guests are still free cross between the benches sitting in the middle of the room.

My goal in featuring the 19th century items in this exhibit is to have exhibit visitors get a better sense of Philadelphia society through time-specific objects. This way, as the guests progress through objects, they're also progressing through time. Further informing their visit are the corresponding information tables. Initially, I thought these tables would include the exhibit cards. But it seemed a little backward to not have the exhibit captions right near the object. So, I thought that including some passages or interesting information for our object history papers could best be used as a part of these tables. In a best case scenario, it would provide more information about the object to those who crave it, while not overwhelming the casual exhibit visitor at the glass case.

Ideally, the exhibit visitors will discover the amount of information appropriate to their interests and, even more ideally (it's probably a hoop dream, actually) talk with other guests about what they've seen and read. This way, guests can communicate their subjective impressions with one another. This exchange of ideas could promote a phenomenological exchange with the exhibit and its visitors.

Sensing the Gaze: Conforming to an All-Seeing Society

This weeks reading brought about a couple of reactions centering on sensory experience. The first reaction, sight, has to do with my object: the 18th century wasitcoat. The second shifts toward another sense, touch, and how we can (or can't) make use of this when thinking about our exhibit.

To begin, while reading Mark M. Smith's Sensing the Past: Seeing, Hearing, Smelling, Tasting, and Touching in History, I was immediately reminded of a reaction I posted a few weeks ago. Before moving further, it's important to note Smith's critique of Marshall McLuhan (and Walter Ong). The author (and others referenced in the introductory pages of the book) has an issue with McLuhan's implicit suggestion non-visual senses are lower, or inferior senses. To me, although Smith offers significant evidence of a sensory evolution in alternate histories rooted in various regions, I don't quite buy into critiquing implicit suggestions. I understand the importance of Smith's expansion into the other senses, but I didn't really find it helpful to critique sight in our visual culture. Then again, maybe I'm just being sensitive to another McLuhan critique. This all said, I want to get back to my post about structure and power from a few weeks ago. Smith's chapter on sight uses Foucault is wrestle with the panoptic gaze's power. In sum: feeling surveilled by another, a person can internalize a "managerial gaze" (p. 25). I attempted to apply this to fashion because it was a visual confirmation of one's social status. Smith seems to agree with this assessment, noting a person's "accept[ance of] social norms" as a microcosm of Foucault's musings. I've been interesting in thinking about power and surveillance in society because the more information I receive about Capt. Brown, the more it appears surveillance plays a role in his social performance. As I mentioned last week, sitting near more powerful community figures informed Capt. Brown's social status. A document I reviewed this week listed Capt. Brown's children. One child, George Washington Brown seems, to me, be a result of such surveillance--indicating Capt. Brown's awareness of his status in 18th century Philadelphia because of his affiliation with America's first president. Uncovering bits of information like this further suggest that his waistcoat embodied power within Philadelphia's culture and society.

Roughly transitioning, now, to touch in the limited (...more likely exhausted...) space I have remaining, I want to explore Smith's use of "seeing is believeing, but feeling's the truth" (p. 93). A few weeks ago, during our class discussion, a few of my peers discussed the benefit of having tangible supplementary material at the exhibit for the public to interact with. I think this is something worth exploring as it seems, according to Smith, the paradigm may be shifting in this direction. According to the author, some museums even encourage active participation via touch (p. 115). I guess I'm not sure if Smith views this as a good or bad thing. His mention of museum touch as a road to museum profit via increased attendance wreaks of skepticism. But, again, maybe I'm reading a bit too into things. My interest in talking more about this has more to do with a potential paradigm shift within museum exhibits than anything else. I'd be interested to hear if my Material Culture peers felt the same way.

Becoming More Human? Prosthetics and Normalizing Objects

My reading of The Prosthetic Impulse was a bit chaotic. To me, it seems prosthetics are a postmodern text for this collection. Although some may argue that the functional nature of a prosthetic limb reflects a ‘modern’ sentiment, the differentiated examples covered in this text and connection to language games makes a stronger case for prostheses as indicative of postmodernity. The editors’ introduction and use of the term “posthuman” suggest they, too, agree with this characterization. If we’re to read the ‘post’ in posthuman the same way we it in postmodern, then it seems Smith and Morra agree that there’s more than one way to define prosthetics’ role in defining human experiences. Willis, in his chapter focusing on speed and displacement, evokes Derrida’s philosophy of language games to discuss how quickly one moves from “normal” to “other” (p. 245).

Prosthetics serving a function.

The negotiation of “normal” appears as a frequent theme within the text. In this sense, prostheses provide normalcy. In one chapter, this characterization raises the issue of agency and whether prostheses limit human agency. In clearer terms: is a person still ‘normal’ or a ‘human’ without their prostheses? Does the normalizing effects of prosthetics inform what makes its more human? The difficulty in answering these questions lays in the chaos. Semiotics theory reminds us that there are many ways to read a text. Such is the case when considering prosthetics. One ‘reading’ of prosthetics that I find a bit more interesting than the rest is that of Vivian Sobchack. Sobchack, herself an amputee, weaves personal experience into her discussion of the prosthetic metaphor.

Still a prosthetic? More expressive than functional?

Now the interesting part: How does this apply to Capt. Brown’s waistcoat?

Immediately, this appears difficult and potentially impossible. If we read prosthetics as a vehicle by which it’s owner reaches a desired end (being more “human”), we see a connection to the waistcoat. An interesting piece of information I discovered about Capt. Brown was documents about owned pew space in his church. Essentially, parishioners would lease pew space to reserve a spot for crowded services. Repeatedly we see Capt. Brown sharing pew space with other high-ranking Philadelphia officials (e.g. other military officials, future political leaders, etc.). In sum: Capt. Brown was a symbol of high society in Philadelphia. The waistcoat, to me, was a vehicle for maintaining this status.

Robert Rodriguez's take on prosthetics in Planet Terror.

Beyond this relationship, I find myself thinking more about “class” or “success” inherently placed in an object like the waistcoat. This, on the other hand, week’s reading has me thinking more philosophically about objects, like prostheses, being more “human.” Class or prominence is one thing because you can perform a specific classes or successes… but can you perform humanity? I guess this is where the discussion of agency comes back into the fold. But, I guess that’s the nature of reading a postmodern (or even hypermodern) text: it’s thought provoking because of multiple and fractured meanings. Because this collection is so different from the articles we've read so far this semester, I think it'll add a different element to what objects philosophically are and what they do.

Prosthetics: More 'human' than human?

Dramaturgic Denim: Jeans and Narrative Identity

I found the first half of Miller and Woodward’s Blue Jeans: The Art of the Ordinary particularly interesting based on our last class meeting. A majority of my notes center on performance. Last class, when discussing potential exhibit themes/theses, we narrowed our options to several strong contenders. One such contender was how each object served as a vehicle for performance. That is to say, the object owners used the objects as an indicator of their public or private selves.

Miller and Woodward, too, discuss the role of performance during their ethnography of their “silent community” (p. 10). These performances vary from informant to informant, as the authors describe the role of jeans for a diverse collection of people. Whether it be divorcees attempting to reclaim youth (p. 25), a woman publicly displaying/feigning their relationship status via “boyfriend jeans” (p. 51), or a mother’s displaying her too-busy-to-bother narrative (p. 17), the authors provide a number of examples of jeans informing one’s narrative identity.

Katie Holmes in (maybe?) an example of "boyfriend" jeans.

The second half of the book steps leaps from how people use jeans to explore what jeans do for people. Specifically, Miller and Woodward wrestle with the “ordinary” quality of jeans and how such a characterization helps to eliminate self-consciousness in people—particularly The Other (re: immigrants to the examined area). The authors argue that jeans are “a medium that is genuinely transcendent and poses no possibility of inequality” (p. 119). To this end, the Miller and Woodward point out that, in public, jeans give The Other a chance to feel normal by being ‘ordinary’—something members of the domestic majority take for granted. This isn’t to say throwing on a pair of stone-washed, low-rise, boot-cut jeans immediately serves as an equalizing force. Miller and Woodward acknowledge that jeans are certainly limited as an equalizing medium in the process of identity development.

To me, the second half of this book is certainly interesting, but the first half lends itself to the discussion of public/private performance using objects to narrate the story of your self. In the case of Captain William Brown’s waistcoat, the satin material and button craftsmanship both serve to communicate something about the wearer’s public identity as affluent society member. The object, in this case, supports the societal narrative of its owner, William Brown.

Capt. William Brown Breakthrough: Visiting the Old Pine Churchyard

During our last class meeting, everyone had an opportunity to present a blurb of information about their objects to Claire Sauro, who, in turn, provided some initial feedback and guidance for our research going forward. My initial research focused on my waistcoat's owner: Captain William Brown. My first examination of a collection of the last names of Philadelphia's colonial families resulted in little to no indication of who this man was, let alone his societal standing. As I mentioned in class, most of my information about Capt. Brown's existence in Philadelphia during colonial and revolutionary America came by way of advertisements in early-American newspapers (see image below for an example of The Pennsylvania General Advertiser, published April 13, 1779).

The Pennsylvania General Advertiser outs Capt. Brown as a tardy letter collector.

Because I was having just a difficult time finding information about Captain Brown, I made plans to travel into Philadelphia to visit Brown's grave and surrounding neighborhood to get a sense of where Brown lived. On Monday, October 22, I visited the Old Pine Street Church Yard located near Philadelphia's Society Hill. Admittedly an outsider, it became readily apparent that the houses (some still houses, others converted apartments) had a colonial vibe about them. A majority, if not all, of the streets and sidewalks were cobblestone. Lining these streets were row houses mainly constructed of brick (see below for example on Pine Street between 5th and 6th Street). 

According to a few web sources, Society Hill initially housed a number of local officials and wealthier families. Once local companies and industry spread westward (in the 19th century), so too did local elites and wealthier families looking to live closer to the migrating city-center. This all said, this migration occurred nearly 100 years after William Brown's death in 1808. This helps confirm Claire's initial deduction that this particular waistcoat, due mainly to the craftsmanship on the steel cut buttons, was owned by someone entrenched in the upper class. As Brown's grave lays in this area, it leads me to guess that he lived his days around this location. 

Upon arriving at the Old Pine Church Yard, I entered the empty grounds and began weaving in and out of the rows of colonial headstones. Weathering made it rather difficult to determine the occupant of each grave. Below are a number of photos I took while visiting the cemetery: 

Beyond the headstones is the Old Pine Presbyterian Church. 

This is a photo with my back to the church, facing 4th Street.

Any revolutionary soldier's grave is decorated with one of these colonial flags.

These headstone provide an example of the effects of weathering.

Although I was able to find headstones belonging to some people who died on or around 1808, I was not able to successfully locate William Brown's headstone. The trip to Society Hill and Old Pine Church Yard was informative because it confirmed Claire's suspicions about the societal status of the person who owned a waistcoat like this one. However, it was a little frustrating to not find any specific  information about Captain Brown. Before leaving, I left some contact information with the rectory in hopes of connecting with someone who knows a little more about Williams Brown then his propensity to be late in picking up his mail from the Post Office.

Not an hour later, Ronn Shaffer, a historian working with the Old Pine Church Yard cemetery connected with me and offered a lot of information about who Capt. Brown is what hand he had in a number of historical events. According to Shaffer's notes, Capt. Brown was a revolutionary service member and Captain in the colonial marines. Capt. Brown served under Gen. Washington during the General's famed crossing of the Delaware River on Christmas night. According to Shaffer, Capt. Brown's task was to defend the Pennsylvania boarder should Washington's campaign be unsuccessful. After its success, Capt. Brown and his men joined Washington in the Battles of Trenton and Princeton.

Needless to say, my trip to Old Pine Church Yard and subsequent conversation with Ronn Shaffer was beyond helpful in not only discovering the societal place of someone wearing a waistcoat similar to that of Capt. Brown, but also painted a clearer portrait of the extraordinary life of the waistcoat's owner. I plan to further discuss Capt. Brown with Shaffer this Friday and look forward to discovering more information about his life and documented role in Philadelphia history.

Fashion and Structure: Is there 'power' in the waistcoat?

In Fashioning the Bourgeoisie, Perrot navigates the class-infused (and enforced) fashion of France to its contemporary ancestors in our current closets and drawers. During this journey, Perrot ‘s discussion touches on the struggles of negotiating what fashion is for the bourgeoisie (or general upper class) and whether or not this fashion is attainable for the middle and working classes. At times it’s not; as the upper class was, by law, privy to the fashions most effectively able to display an elite cultural status. For example, in 18th century France we see restrictions against middle or working class members adorning lavish threading or ornamentation associated with upper class fashion   Early in the reading, Perrot points out that these laws existed because clothing gave “meaning” to its wearer. This commentary harkens back to last week’s reading, when Kirsh-Gimblett links dramaturgy and exhibitions. Although Kirsh-Gimblett focuses more on displaying findings in a museum, one notes the link between museum exhibit performance and societal performance as the participants in each attempt to act in a desired way. For the purposes of Perrot's discussion, this performance is, at times, a struggle for those lacking in means.

In repealing the fashion laws in France during the 18^th century, Perrot notes a turning point in the upper class’ stranglehold on dictating high end fashion. After this point, popular clothing was determined by availability via department store and the rise in fashion journalism. These two addition appear to have worked in tandem to promote “short-term fashion,” a term that Perrot gives little value to in his discussion of fashion’s evolution. The author does, however, seem to devote more attention to social structure and technological advances as determinants of material fashion. For instance, in discussing a post-freedom of dress 18^th century France, the author notes an “elaborat[e] … complex system of dress including aesthetics, hygiene, fashion, and propriety” enacted to keep the power of fashion in the upper class’ hands (p. 20). Although the author considers “short-term fashion” a myth, it seems that, despite not assisting fashion's evolution, the constant shuffling best served to assist the bourgeoisie simply because they could afford the constant changing. To this end, the structure of power remained in the upper class, as its members seemingly dictated what was (and was not) fashionable.

(Above is an example of Baudrillard's 

"absense of morality" through brightly 

colored material, p. 32.)

Although not French, my late 18^th century waistcoat existed during this same period. The reading forces me to consider whether or not power was infused in colonial American dress during this same time. For instance, while I know the owner of my waistcoat was a “captain,” I wonder if wearing an ivory, satin waistcoat inherently displayed the status of a captain—if a captain in colonial America held any status at all. Additionally, while I know Captain Brown died at the age of 74, I wonder if the waistcoat was connotative of an older or more established individual in his Philadelphia community. In short, Fashioning the Bourgeoisie forced me to think beyond the man and the material and think about the structure of the individual’s community and what role the object served in satisfying a specific need.

Perrot’s detailed assessment of fashion’s evolution is helpful in identifying questions to add to the growing number in attaché case as I attempt to find information about the waistcoat in late 18^th century Philadelphia. 

Mediated Exhibition

As I mentioned in my first blog post, my background is in media studies. Therefore I was excited to noticed references to Marshall McLuhan (via Ken Yellis' article) and Neil Postman; two seminal scholars within the media ecology field. More on these two to follow later in this week's post.

This week's articles hone in on what makes museum visits a unique experience for a visitor. Yellis (2009) notes that, in his experience, the visitor typically attends museum exhibits looking "not so much for information, but for insight" (p.  340). This distinction indicates that exhibit viewers are somewhat informed prior to their visit. For this reason, Yellis places a premium on discovering a "new way of telling an old story" (p. 334). Relating this to our class exhibit, it seems Yellis' advice would be to research an exhibition (or exhibitions) of similar objects and question if there's another angle from which a story can be told.

Meaningful stories, according to Beverly Serrell, require forethought about doing it well. To this end, Serrell applies Postman's "five new narratives for redefining the value of schools" (p. 15). Although Serrell uses these narratives because they're novel (at the time of this book's 1996 publication), I'd argue that Postman's narratives work because they're different--precisely echoing Yellis' earlier suggestion of finding a new way of telling an old story.

Kirsh-Gimblett (1998) gives wide ranging examples of the evolution of the exhibit. Although some seem a bit extreme (live subjects?), Kirsh-Gimblett's examples invite the reader to consider museum exhibits as a Goffmanian dramaturgic event, where the viewer is an audience member and the exhibit a performer. This metaphor, however, comes with some warnings. Most immediately is the negotiation between "front region" and "back region." Without getting too involved with Goffman (and resultantly less involved with Kirsh-GImblett), I'll briefly describe front region as the face or mask the audience sees before them and the back region as all the other possible masks the performer has as performance options.

Thinking about front/back in terms of our class exhibit, the "front" is how I arrange the exhibit, what words I use in the label, and how this communicates something about both my object and me. The "back," or unseen parts of my self, still influences my description and arraigment of the object and, therefore, influences the exhibit visitor's interaction with the object. To me, this necessitates our class (and any exhibit curator for that matter) to consider the advice provided by this weeks authors (Parmon not included above, but still helpful suggestions). I'd like to end with a particularly helpful piece of advice from Yellis:

"All other reasons leave us potentially open to the three devastating questions no museum visitor should ever have to ask and which, if they are asked, make it guaranteed that the visitor experience will be unsatisfying at best: Why are they doing this? What kind of exhibition is this? And my personal favorite: Have I seen this exhibition before?"

Using Landscape, Walls, and Niddy Noddies in a Repressive Culture

            For this week, Upton and Weyeneth examine two different period of architectural segregation spanning from the 18^th century to the mid-20^th century, respectively. Thus, these readings appear closely related in content. My assigned chapter, “Willie-Nillie, Niddy-Noddy” in Ulrich’s The Age of Homespun, deals with a vastly different topic: spinning in late-18^th century New England. However, a theme of material culture in a restrictive or repressive society appears to stretch across the content of these analyses.

           

            To start, Weyeneth analyzes the relationship between architecture and segregation. The reader discovers a multitude of avenues through with architecture promoted segregation. The author communicates how social customs, in some ways, strongly influences segregation in some buildings. Weyeneth also notes that, while there was a sense of strict segregation in some areas, others were more malleable to the social practices of the time. Additionally, a struggle between legal mandates and social customs during a building’s construction in this period creates a confusing contemporary take on its composition. One interesting example that I was unaware of before this reading is the Pentagon, where one notes influences from modernist architecture (undecorated, functional, etc.) as well as influences of segregation, particularly in the number of bathrooms (enough were constructed to separate by both gender and skin color).

            Upton reflects on the roots of these segregationist attitudes by examining housing and landscapes in 18^th century Virginia. Although, the author notes the arrangement of the interior of a slave quarters, he reminds the reader that the exterior, particularly the landscape work, can act as an extension of its character. At times, this extension interacts with the landscape of the dominant white landscape of the plantation owner. Resultantly, this interaction has the potential to birth a landscape struggling to extend the home’s black interior with already established, dominant, white landscape exterior. At the heart of this struggle, in most cases, was a combination of the limiting freedom to customize the landscape in an overtly unique way and the reflexive nature of plantation slaves. These characteristics result in, what Upton calls, “peculiarities” in a continued dominant white landscape outside slave’s quarters. To this end, understanding the limits placed on slave expression (though not in all cases, see: Christina Campbell’s relaxed approach, p. 365) and their lack of means suggests that, if given the opportunity, these quarters may’ve adorned different landscape characteristics.

            Ulrich’s chapter continues this week’s theme of material culture within a restrictive society. My focus in this chapter is on a woman’s relationship with patriarchy and the influence it has on spinning production. Although the author notes that spinning fabrics at a quick pace created a mini-celebrity status for a woman (p. 206), these stories paint a picture of devout, hard-working women striving to help a greater cause. This cause can manifest itself in micro-level familial duties to a husband or father as well as a macro-level devotion to the church or political movement. Ulrich exemplifies this example quite neatly in her summation of the differences between the Sons and Daughters of Liberty: “While the New England Sons of Liberty indulged in rum, rhetoric, and roast pig, her Daughters worked from sunup to sundown to prove their commitment to ‘the cause of liberty and industry’” (p. 183).

Readings Entwined: Object Biographies v. Object Life Cycles

This week, I read Helen Shumaker’s Love Entwined: The Curious History of Hairwork in America along with supplementary articles by Kenneth Ames and Karin Dannehl. Together, these pieces further inform my classmates (featured on the new blog roll to the left) and my own journey through material culture.

In first reading Shumaker, followed by Ames, I admit that I initially wondered about the connection between the pieces. On the one hand, Shumaker provides a wide spanning look at the hairwork’s emotive injection into material culture. Together, the reader and Shumaker journey to the peak of production to the eventual decline. Ames, however, focuses on a specific historic period in a specific region in a specific style of house while examining three specific furniture items in said house. Dannehl, my third reading, tied this all together in discussing how researchers negotiate a balance between object biography and life cycle (depending, of course, on the object). Upon completing this reading, one could argue that Ames and Shumaker serve as good examples of object biography and object life cycle, respectively. This isn’t to say that each exclusively relies on one method more than the other, however, it seems that, to one reader (me), Ames examines a “tightly defined finite time frame,” while employing research techniques that highlight object usage during that time (Dannehl, p. 124). Further, Shumaker’s more ecological look at hairwork as a part and influencer of a larger environment exemplifies Dannehl’s description of object life cycle examination.

To me, each method is appropriate for the different objects examined in each study, which further drives home a point we’ve been discussing during our American Material Culture class meetings: object methodologies should be malleable in order that each method best applies to a specific object. For example, if Shumaker employed a more focused object biography, some of the interesting themes (sentimentality v. sensibility, fashion, grief, love, mass mediated influence, etc.) may’ve been sacrificed.

Personally, these readings raise a few questions about biography, life cycle, and my object. Although Shumaker and Ames’ respective focus is on specific items (hairwork and hall objects, respectively), each examines different varieties of these objects. For the purposes of our class, each student has one specific object for examination this semester. Would it be helpful to research the general use of an object (e.g. waistcoat) during a specific time (e.g. late 18^th century) in a specific place (e.g. Philadelphia)? On the other hand, would it be more helpful to use the information already possessed, like the owner’s name, in order to find out more about the person who owned the object. Essentially, I wonder if it’s better to start with general information before moving to a more specific examples. Any suggestions would be very welcome. Thanks for reading!

Visual Description (and clues!!!) of the Waistcoat

The subsequent paragraphs provide a detailed description of an 18^th century man’s waistcoat. Following the formula offered in the previous methods assignment, this analysis begins by examining the larger pieces of the object before gradually moving toward the more minute aspects of the waistcoat. At the conclusion, the author deduces potential answers provided by the object and a note attached therein. These clues should provide a scope through which the observer can understand a little more about the waistcoat and its status in 18^th century Philadelphia.

This specific description begins in focusing on the largest most notable features. This object, classified as a satin waistcoat, is currently beige in color. However, aging is the most likely attribute to this beige coloring. Once, this waistcoat could have most closely resembled a cream or ivory color during its original originally production. A darker ivory colored linen lines the interior of the waistcoat, seemingly to have a layer of cloth between the satin and the wearer’s skin. Upon close examination, it appears the that the garment’s interior is comprised of two contiguous, horizontal cuts of linen, one wrapping around the top portion of the waistcoat and another the bottom portion. The entire exterior, save the upper back, of the waistcoat is satin. The top two-thirds of the back portion of the waistcoat is the same linen used to line the interior of the jacket. This exception appears to guard against any perspiration staining or affecting any satin placed in this region. However, further examination of similar products during this period should indicate whether this was the norm or an outlier for the period during which one would wear such a waistcoat.

            In terms of identifiable cuts on the waistcoat, the object most resembles a longer version of a modern day button-up vest. The object is sleeveless, with an opening spanning from the wearer’s neck descending past the waist. The front of the garment measures 33-inches in length and is the longest opening on the object. The waistcoat also features three additional slits in the lower third region of the object. Two slits appear on identical, opposite sides of the vest, where the wearer’s hips or pant pockets would reside. The final slit appears on the waistcoat’s rear. This slit resides over the lower third of the 30-inch backside. It appears the slit’s positioning served to cover the wearer’s posterior while permitting mobility during any motion.

            The front of the waistcoat features two symmetrical pockets. Both pockets appear to be waist-high and capable of fastening via three buttons. The buttons, classified as “steel-cut buttons,” feature an intricate weaving pattern masking what appears to be a cork, or similar, interior from the front. However, examining the buttons from a side-angle view reveals the cork material touching the satin front. The weaving pattern decorating the front of the buttons most closely resembles a crisscross pattern, as a the horizontal thin, metal wiring is thread over, then under each corresponding vertical thread. In total, the waistcoat features 24 steel-cut buttons. Three for each front pocket and 18 in the front center, used to button the object shut on its wearer. Finally, the irregular pattern of stitching indicates that the producing this waistcoat required the ability to do so by hand. The craftsmanship of the buttons combined with the symmetrical cuts of fabric and the hand-sewing technique inform the skill displayed by the waistcoat’s creator.

            Accompanying the waistcoat is a note informing the viewer to whom the waistcoat belongs. During a later period, someone sewed the note to the upper-inside portion of the waistcoat; where one would typically see a tag for a modern shirt. The note provides the reader with information about the owner, Captain William Brown (1734-1808). Captain Brown traveled to the English colonies from his home in Edinburgh, Scotland sometime between 1734 and 1791, the year he married Mary Coren in Philadelphia, PA. In 1808, Captain Brown died in Philadelphia and buried at Old Pine Street Church Yard.

            The attached note provides a helpful background for the waistcoat’s place in colonial society. First, it identifies the object as an 18^th century article of clothing worn by someone with the title of “captain.” Additionally, in the 18^th century, colonial owners of a waistcoat would not sport a waistcoat with no covering jacket. To do so was a colonial faux pas. Therefore, Captain Brown was likely wearing a colonial suit rather than just a waistcoat, which explains the need for the object’s sweat-guarding fabric detailed above. Whether Captain Brown’s title afforded him the ability to wear such an outfit (as opposed to it being an example of a commoner’s outfit) requires further examination. Further, although it is clear that Captain Brown came to the English colonies from Scotland, it is unclear which location produced the waistcoat. Uncovering information about regional production may lend itself to answering more questions about who Captain Brown was. For example, perhaps as a revolutionary he would be more inclined to wear fashion created within the colonies, rather than abroad. Further information about the object could shed more light on the still-dim picture we have about the waistcoat in 18^th century Philadelphia. It appears that more information on Brown or any colonial period captain should provide more insight into this object analysis.

A Proposed Method for Object Analysis

In developing a method for analyzing an object, it is at once necessary to become familiar with classical examples using such an approach. Interacting with these classical models informs this unique, tweaked method best suiting my assigned object: a man’s waistcoat. This methodological approach leans heavily on Prown’s (1982) seminal work detailing a researcher’s approach to analyzing material culture. Within this work, Prown offers a clean division between three stages of object analysis. In an attempt to hone this approach more directly in line with the assigned object, my methodology includes suggested addenda from Montgomery (1982), Steele (1998), and Severa and Horswill (1989). Such alterations intend use a detailed assessment to inform the deductive and speculative components of this research at the conclusion of the analysis. Below, an outline identifies those scholars whose work assisted in the shaping of my multi-step approach to researching this object. As Prown recommends, this analysis is broken down into three stages: description, deduction, and speculation. Mimicking these stages serves to maintain Prown’s effective, neat, and detailed analysis of the object.

Description

To begin, this stage contrasts from that of Prown in that this stage analyzes the object’s construction and appearance. Clearly, Prown’s approach performs these two actions. However, the rationale behind specifically drawing a distinction between these two descriptive elements focuses the research on elements that may provide answers about the object’s arraignment and decoration. This is not to suggest that Prown’s original approach will not answer this question. This addendum solely aims to offer a cleaner model merging content and formal analyses under the appearance category. Beginning with the object’s construction, Prown (1982) recommends detailing the observable elements of an analyzed object beginning “with the largest, most comprehensive observations and progress systematically to more particular details” (p. 7). Ideally, an analysis of the object’s construction provides details centering on its metrics. This includes the size, weight, and cut of the objects multiple elements, including buttons, stitch patterns, and any metal usage. During this stage, Steele (1998) recommends the observer be thorough in his or her description, but not too thorough because it may “cause a loss of focus on the object as a whole” (p. 329). In order to maintain a honed focus, the construction analysis will produce a controlled, yet descriptive, assessment of the object’s construction.

            The second component of the description stage is an assessment of the object’s appearance. This subsection most closely resembles Prown’s content and formal analyses. As Montgomery (1982) reminds us, “many facts [about an object] offer clues” (p. 147). With this in mind, paying attention to ornamental additions is a necessity. Performing this task could uncover information about the waistcoat’s craftsmanship—thereby answering questions about the object’s place in Philadelphia history. Additionally, Montgomery recommends paying attention to an object’s patterns and colors as they offer insight about communal trends and historical period, respectively. Further, Severa and Horswill (1989) note that using material or clothing to cover the one’s body is one of “the most fundamental components of material culture” (p. 51). Taken in tandem, these scholars note the important role that understanding object’s function as and noting ornamental factors in placing the object in a communal and historical perspective. Further, noting the appearance dually serves to answer deductive questions in the second stage of this methodology.

Deduction

            The deductive elements of this section pertain to the observer’s intellectual and intuitive engagement with the object. The observer’s sensory engagement, in this case, is limited and therefore a majority of the deductive analysis will rest on the aforementioned forms of engagement. To start, Steele (1998) suggests that, when dealing with an article of clothing, the observer “contemplate what it would be like to wear it” (p. 329). From this starting point, the observer gleans a few pieces of information. Ideally, the observer gets a sense of how to wear the item and how the article accentuates or hides parts of the body. Further, the observer may decipher the object’s function or purpose based on his or her findings. Fleming (1974) notes that discovering the effective functions of an item should “indicate the ways in which the artifact became an agent of major change within its culture” (p. 158). To this end, the intellectual engagement process provides the researcher with questions upon which to speculate and, eventually, aim to answer with further research.

            The deductive process should not end with intellectual reasoning. The observer should also deduce any emotional or intuitive response the object evokes. Montgomery (1982) and Prown (1982) invite researchers to, upon initial interaction, note his or her triggered emotion. According to these scholars, the importance of noting one’s initial reaction offers insight about what other people may feel when reading the object. Further, the documented emotional reaction may indicate a common cultural reaction about the object. Indeed, documenting emotion is important, however Severa and Hoswill (1989) remind us that “the intuitive conclusions must be stated as educated guesses,” regardless of the education level or experience of the observer (p. 55). For the purposes of this methodological approach, furtherance of these educated guesses occurs in the third and final stage, where the observer traverses from deduction to speculation.

Speculation

            The final stage of this methodology requires the researcher to speculate about the object. During this stage, the observer aims to form hypotheses or research questions rooted in the information gleaned during the first two stages of this process. Steele (1998) recommends developing questions that help “formulate” a hypothesis about a bigger cultural picture (p. 331). To this end, it would be helpful to metaphorically take a step back from the narrowed vision used during the course of this analysis and speculate about why and how a specific cultural period used the object. During this stage, the observer should have questions raised about people of a specific culture during this historical period. Answering questions about the object should, in turn, answer questions about the people during the period of its fabrication. It is my hope that this methodology communicates information about the arranged selves of those people who wore such an object.

What's Popular? Various Thoughts From Deetz, Kniffen, and Glassie

In the interest of being as open as possible, I read Kniffen and Glassie’s Building in Wood in the Eastern United States: A Time-Place Perspective (1986) before delving into Deetz’s In Small Things Forgotten: An Archaeology of Early American Life (1977). I make this note initially because after completing the later, the second half of Deetz’s book informs adds an additional layer of information to Kniffen and Glassie’s article. Both provide multiple examples (via housing, tools, food, and tombstones among others) of archeology informing material culture studies. In the briefest of summaries, Kniffen and Glassie followed the expansion of people from the eastern seaboard of America toward the Great Plains. For their purposes, the authors were most interested in which housing structures, or housing styles, followed the early settlers of the westward expansion. Deetz begins by focusing on cultural influencers during pre- and early American life as communicated through ceramics, houses, and gravestones. The first half concludes that material culture is only applicable to single cultural traditions, before moving on to an examination of African or African-American material culture.

The second half of Deetz’s work supplemented the Kniffen and Glassie article through further identifying the origins of some elements of particular housing structures in specific regions. This said, Deetz’s conclusion about single cultural traditions sparks additional questions about the article. Aside from identifying the approach as Scotch-Irish or German, I wonder if there was there a dominant culture using building these popular housing structures? Deetz’s warnings suggest there could be.

The collective readings raised a few questions for me as an American material culture neophyte. For example, in terms of fashion and clothing, in general, the section about folk culture verses popular culture struck me as interesting. Would clothing fall into a particular category, or does it depend on the article of clothing? For instance jeans have a long-standing place in contemporary culture, thus making them part of folk culture, or something that experiences infrequent change. However, jean style (flares, baggy, etc.) experience frequent change, thus making it a product of popular culture. I’m interested in discussing this further in class and, maybe, getting some feedback on this in the comment section.

Finally, in completing these readings, I’ve thought about how each may apply to my object, the men’s waistcoat. Deetz, in particular, warns against drawing macro level conclusions based on micro level findings. That is to say, any findings I uncover about this waistcoat and its owner doesn’t communicate anything about everyone who owned a similar waistcoat. Additionally, supporting the recommendations of earlier readings, it appears something as simple as measure length and width or counting buttons can narrow the scope of the period during which the object created. Lastly, Deetz’s mentioning of “sociotechnic” function immediately brought my waistcoat to mind. According to the author’s definition, this type of function adds to the owner’s social makeup. Perhaps I will find my waistcoat was such an object.

Thank for reading and feel free to comment below!

Statement of Purpose: Welcome to Communicative Stuff!

My academic background is rooted in communication and media studies with a focus on technology and technological influencers. In 2008, I graduated from Fordham University’s Graduate School of Arts and Sciences with a Public Communication degree. While attending Fordham, I was schooled in viewing media as having an ecological relationship with its respective human consumers. This academic foundation sparked my interest in studying different electronic and digital media and how using said media influences human perception and behavior. After receiving my graduate degree, I worked as an adjunct instructor for multiple colleges and universities on Long Island and New York for three years. These positions afforded me an opportunity to both teach college courses and work together with students in an effort to understand how students, particularly those fresh out of high school, navigate through a life crowded with media technology. During this time, I realized that I enjoyed teaching and working with students at the college level and decided that this is what I would like to spend the rest of my life doing. This revelation brought me to Temple, where I have focused on web based perceptions of identity, specifically how users assemble an online identity and what this digital front gives off (read: communicates) to his or her peers.

            
Last semester, I had my first taste of material culture while learning that fashion, as communicated through clothing and buildings (or other structures), can serve as an indicator of a philosophical point of view. Although the focus of this course was indicators of postmodernity through fashion (among many other items), the experience sparked an interest in understanding what things communicate. I recognize that, just as with electric and digital technologies, items also influence human perception and behavior. By enrolling in History of Material Culture this semester, there are a few goals I hope to accomplish. Most notably, I look forward to the exposure into new literature about material culture and how this influences, or influenced, people during different times in recorded history.  I look forward to exploring this topic in this class and further developing my understanding of how cultural norms are reflected through various media.