I’d seen slides, and illustrations in books, but only when I saw the object did I really understand what it was about. Unfortunately, even having seen Duchamp’s “Bride Stripped Bare” in person, I still don’t get that piece. Such is life.
So what is it about the fur-lined tea cup in person that makes it so different? What is it about Jacob Lawrence’s Migration series that makes it different? Or Pollock, for that matter? Why is the real thing so ineluctable?
I don’t know, really; what I do know is that it matters. I’ve held a transparency of The Migration of the Negro, Panel no. 1, in my hand before, and it’s not as good as seeing the marks Lawrence put down in gouache. I’ve held a Robert Capa print in my hand, marked on the back with publication notes from the 1940s and it still gives me goosebumps to think of it, to think of him in the water off Normandy on D-Day. Existential ambiguity of the wrecked emulsion be damned: those images, held in your hand, are more moving than you can imagine from seeing them published in Life or any monograph.
I’ve had people say to me recently that “it doesn’t matter,” that no body will know if they’re wearing 1774-1783 clothes at a 1790 event, and I disagree strongly and thoroughly. It does matter. The mattering is the whole reason museums exist. It’s why we go to see our favorite music performed instead of sitting home with Victrola or iPod listening to the crackle of Bessie Smith² or album-produced Billy Bragg. Listening at home puts us at a remove, polishes the roughness and steps back from immediacy.
To say that the image in the book or the not-really-right clothes are the same at the real thing does a disservice to ourselves and to the public. Are we really suggesting that audiences for art or history are that stupid? Or that we are so unmoved ourselves that it just doesn’t matter?
I’m too old for nihilism. Bring on the real. Let’s get it right, because it does matter. I know when it’s real, and so do you.
______________
¹Sadly, this goes through my head with the phrase “the real thing.” Curse you, Douglas Coupland, for capturing my generation’s fixation on pop references.
²Yes, I know she’s dead, go with me here.
On Saturday, we commemorated the 225th anniversary of President Washington’s visit to Providence after Rhode Island finally ratified the United States Constitution on May 29th, 1790. We like to take our time with these things, to be sure that we will have all the rights we’re accustomed to. Happily, we did decide to go along with this United States of America business, and as a reward, His Excellency President Washington made a formal visit in August, 1790. It rained then; this time, we had sultry summer weather.
Once again, the housekeeper spent the day running back and forth and up and down the stairs. Fortunately, I didn’t trip on the gown too much: it’s longer than I usually wear, but I did catch the hem on my shoe buckle, so some tweaking will be required.
Mr Brown greets the President
There was the kind of ceremony and formality you would expect, with very little drama, which made for a simpler day than we often have. The afternoon was warm, the speeches were short, and the toasts were drunk.
Of course, you have to look out for John Brown’s housekeeper, who is all too happy to spend her afternoon reading and making punch. Unlike a real 18th century person, I had no idea where to start with punch beyond the basic: rum. I turned to my friends for assistance, and got some solid advice, including a reference to Punch: The Delights and Dangers of the Flowing Bowl.Chapter VIII helpfully turns to “How to Make Punch, or the Four Pillars of Punch.”
Mmm, punch.
I don’t always manage to read all the way through the directions I am meant to be following, but the oleo-saccharum was relatively straightforward, since the instructions were entirely on one page. Lemon peels, sugar, mashing. These are simple things that you can handle even in a week when the workplace van has been stolen and recovered, and you’ve had conversations in which someone asks you to find a photograph for them, even though they don’t know where they saw it.
No, I won’t say how many cups I’ve had.
That went well enough, but I got distracted along the way by the excitement in the house, and added the correct ingredients in the wrong order. I don’t think it mattered. Water, black tea, lemon juice, and a bottle of Smith & Cross rum all went in to the redware pitcher and wafted up the back stairs, giving the servants’ quarters a festive ambience.
While the partakers did not know, the bowl from which they ladled punch had once been used in cleaning the Mr Brown’s house– but that only meant it was quite clean, and thus suitable for use. The bowl was nearly emptied and replenished once, by which time Mr Brown’s housekeeper had sampled quite enough of the concoction.
What do you see and remember at events? At every event I go to, I see a range of impressions, or historic expressions.
unknown artist, 18th century, The Encampment in the Museum Garden, 1783, Aquatint, hand-colored, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection
There are Good things: a chintz bedgown that’s actually becoming; a checked suit I wish the kid would wear; the Ugly Dog Coat Mr S wants, the umbrella I want to make just for its lines.
The Bad and the Ugly are present, too.
Drawstring shift necks, makeup, infernal bodices, Birkenstocks, sofa-size prints… “light” troops with dining flies, tables, and tin roasters. Stores tents packed with plastic packaging. White “trews” baggy as painters pants, breeches reaching below the knee, haversacks as man-purses, tube socks, sneakers, peacock feathers on women’s hats, girls with undressed hair and no caps.
What is the meaning of these bodices and tube socks: are they the disease, or a symptom? I think they’re a symptom, telling us about a deeper problem.
If “authenticity” is a journey and not a destination, everyone starts this journey at a different point, and some people are more sophisticated consumers of knowledge than others. Hard as it is to fathom, some people—even with decades of time in this— don’t know any better. I’ve encountered half-correctly dressed wives of men who’ve been to Battle Road who didn’t even know workshops are available to help them with stays and gowns. The ignorance is not always willful, even if it seems that way.
Why are some women such a mish-mash of reasonably accurate jacket with acceptable petticoat worn without stays, a drawstring shift, an OK cap, modern glasses, and a purse?
Paul Sandby RA, 1731–1809, British, Washerwomen, between 1790 and 1805, Graphite and brown wash on moderately thick, cream, rough laid paper, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection
Do they not see the return on investment for stays and a gown and shoes and a cap and glasses and no makeup? Perhaps they don’t feel pretty when they venture out of their normal realm, and they’re only visiting, anyway. Is this the reason for the half-baked costume approach?
Or could it be that the unit commanders have set no standards for the women? That they don’t consider the women to really be unit members? Or that the women don’t consider themselves members? That they don’t matter the way the muskets do?
Could some women’s lack of authenticity—and by “authenticity” here I mean “period appropriate clothing”—be rooted in the phallocentric/musket-centric culture of the hobby? In some units, men and women seem to engage in parallel play, like toddlers, where the men field in the foreground, and the women cook in the background (women on the field is an issue I will not take up here). The men are in charge, making the decisions: the women, and what they wear, appear not to matter, and are nearly invisible. I think this is rooted in basic misogyny and the riptide of the hobby’s boys-club attitude.
If misogyny is part of why women perpetuate inauthentic impressions, then having women invested in their units and roles, with more research and more care, might be threatening to men who want weekends for themselves and their ‘war games.’ But I believe that without a significant investment by women, and by units in women’s roles, this hobby won’t survive, and it’ll be a lot less fun and educational for everyone.
That means, of course, that I think units will have to allow women a voice, and develop standards for women as well as men. Those units with the farthest to “travel,” authenticity-wise, will need to build up stores of wearable, authentic women’s clothing to loan, or include women’s workshops in their schedules. If they don’t want women and/or families participating, then that has to be clear, too, and women who do want to participate will have create their own civilian units. (I don’t have solutions for all of these issues.)
attributed to Hubert-François Gravelot, 1699–1773, French, active in Britain (1733–1745), Matrimonial Fisticuffs, with a Portrait of the Pugilist John Broughton, in the Background, undated, Watercolor, pen and black ink and graphite on medium, slightly textured, beige laid paper, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection
When the men around them don’t value or encourage their participation, and when units do not have men and women as equal members with clear standards for both, I think you end up with poor impressions—particularly women—and camps full of crap. These are symptoms of a larger problem of misogyny and silence.
Anthony Highmore, 1719–1799, British, Group of Three Ladies, undated, Watercolor, pen and brown ink, and graphite on medium, blued white, moderately textured laid paper, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection
In recent years there have been calls for greater attention to standards for women by unit commanders. But I think that we should go further, and call for greater participation of women in real leadership roles in the hobby. That’s when you will see real change, not just in clothing, but in presentations.
And that is where I think the future of this hobby lies: in recognizing that living history events are mobile museums, not just mobile monuments.
To get more complete, inclusive and, I think, authentic, experiences will take more inclusive leadership structures, from unit memberships to the boards of umbrella organizations. That would be one small step towards bringing leadership and management into line with the modern world and current best practices in management for cultural and historic organizations. Because that is what the umbrella organizations have become. The boys’ historic shooting clubs have grown up, and it’s time to let the girls play for real, and to value women’s roles past and present.
Detail, The Letter. Pietro Longhi, 1746. Metropolitan Museum of Art, 14.32.1
My time-travel was cut short this weekend after a trip to eight-nine-teen-something in Salem, as I had a trip to the Central Fly Over* for work instead. Still, through the magic of telephony and the interwebs, I heard about the Sunday OSV Experience and the Great Drawn Sabre of Saturday. (Caution: Strong language) One presumes and hopes that aside from whatever disciplinary action OSV will take– and they will–the CL commanders will address this clear safety violation.
The news photos show the usual collection of baggy menswear (are those painters’ pants? is this 1812?) and the Bodice of Myth and Legend (St. Pauli, anyone?) along with obligatory musket firing and “gotcha” shots of fallen soldiers sneaking peeks at the action. I don’t even have to say what we all think when we see those images.
But the Sunday report that struck me the most was this: The tactical went on for 45 minutes, very few soldiers fell, and the public began to leave before it was over. Got that? They got bored. As the teller of this tale said, The magic is gone. You can consider that a public endorsement of either more civilian events or a re-imagined tactical. I prefer the former, you may prefer the latter. But either way, if you’re going to use The Public as your justification for playing armed dress up on a hot day, you’d better engage that public. What that could mean will have to wait for another time, but when people head for the exits, the show won’t last.
Kirsten Hammerstrom 
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