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.