This week’s three readings ask us to consider the politics of making material objects. First, Glassie states that folk culture is disappearing because popular culture is replacing the need to invent technological solutions for local problems. Next, Pye frets over the utter disappearance of the handmade (workmanship of risk) from our environments and what that means for people. Finally, Morozov asserts that although we have moved from a ‘back to nature’ movement in the 70’s (where Pye leaves off) through ‘hacking’ and now to ‘making,’ we have not yet solved the ‘workmanship of risk’ problem because we are still seduced by what he terms the “lure of the technological sublime.”
Henry Glassie, Pattern in the Material Folk Culture of the Eastern United States, (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1969)
In Patterns, Glassie gives us a sturdy, thus relevant working definition of Material Culture as embracing “those segments of human learning which provide a person with plans, methods, and reasons for producing things which can be seen and touched.” (Glassie, p. 2) He defines a ‘folk thing’ as an object that is produced outside mainstream or academic culture. Deetz in Small Things Forgotten would characterize this as academic architecture – a building plan drawn up by a trained architect then built by workmen, compared to vernacular architecture – a building made by workmen from no plan other that what they copied from an architect. Glassie later asserts that the cultures that produce popular and folk material objects influence each other and produce modified objects. (Glassie, 24 – 25) Finally, he discusses the problem of discerning the difference between a folk object, a folk art object, and a kitsch object (a velvet painting or the work of an ‘untrained genius). Glassie straightforwardly defines ‘folk art’ as “secondarily art – it is craft, that which is primarily practical and secondarily aesthetic in function.” (Glassie, p. 30)
After setting up these definitions, Glassie presents a methodology for determining if an object can be classified as ‘folk’ by breaking the object down into its components of form, construction, and use. He asserts that “form is of the utmost importance because it is the most persistent, the least changing of an object’s components.” (Glassie, p. 8) Glassie discusses the need for theory and analysis as a means to move beyond the material qualities of the object to infer its significance when he states, “the best student of folk culture is both fieldworker and theorist…” who will move beyond understanding the object’s form, construction, to speculate about the mental intricacies that surround, support, and reflect the object’s existence. (Glassie, p. 16)
After providing these definitions, Glassie deepens his method for understanding regional patters. He states “folk material exhibits major variation over and minor variations through time,” then contrasts this with products of popular academic culture that change little over space but much over time. Thus, the characteristics of folk objects will have differences over space and a popular object will reflect differences, or changes over time.’ (Glassie, p. 33) Through “Patterns,” Glassie moves from a discussion of seminal Mid-Atlantic regional patterns to show their influence on Southern, Northern, and the Midwestern folk patterns in the United States. Glassie breaks this down further to examine subregions of agricultural and non agricultural lifeways. Then he shifts his analysis to consider first the causes of these regional patterns, and then the presence of nonregional patterns brought in by Native Americans and further waves of European immigrant culture.
To demonstrate these patterns, Glassie primarily examines log buildings and more refined wood or stone houses, and includes objects such as agricultural tools, canoes, chairs, baskets, grave stone carving, and children’s toys. Glassie concludes with his reassertion that “an examination of the material tradition of the eastern United States leads to the recognition of three major divisions: North, Mid-Atlantic, South.” (Glassie, p. 234) As of 1968, Glassie remarks that folk culture in the United States is vanishing in the face of popular culture, an ongoing process that began with the influence of mid-eighteenth century scientific agriculture and mid-nineteenth century industrialization. Glassie states, “material traditions were developed as a solution to practical problems which no longer exist, and modern technologies provide easier solutions than folk ones do for the problems that remain.” (Glassie, p. 237) He concludes with a call for folklorists and anthropologists to study Eastern folk material culture. (Glassie, 241) I wonder what he would have to say about the forces of cultural homogenization at work in the United States that have accelerated this process in the 48 years since this book appeared. These dizzying array of forces include the interstate system (barely a reality in 1968), cable television, film, malls (now a dying economic model), superstores like Walmart, personal computers and the Internet, smart phones, social media, 24 hours saturation news coverage, international travel, to name a few.
To perhaps turn inward from the cacophony and threat of global modernity, much academic study in the area of American folklore material culture has followed Glassie, and one flourishing example I am familiar with is the ongoing Foxfire project (http://www.foxfire.org/) that began in 1966. Today, this non-profit organization offers publications, resources for educators, classes, and a museum that are “grounded in the Southern Appalachian culture” that “promotes a sense of place and appreciation of local people, community, and culture as essential educational tools.” (Foxfire website, “About Us” page: http://www.foxfire.org/boards.html, accessed 2/13/2016)
New Sweden and Log Cabins, a Reckoning with Glassie
That said, Glassie incorrectly asserts that colonial era German log cabin construction techniques found in Pennsylvania set the regional patterns for cabin construction in the South, the North, and the Midwest. Glassie’s assertions came into question in the academic literature of the early 1980’s and continued through the early 1990’s. Although Glassie gives a nod to the presence of some Fenno-Scandian log construction techniques in Pennsylvania (a specific area is not mentioned), he moves quickly to give full credit to the influence of colonial German, British, German, Irish, and Welsh cabin builders, but no Swedes. (Glassie, p. 48-49) When he mentions Scandinavian influence, it is in conjunction with Central Europe (German influence), then only in passing to subsequently go ignored entirely. (Glassie, p. 9)

Swedish Log Cabin, detail of “V” notching. (Photo Credit, Laurie Fitzpatrick)
The periodic resurgence of interest in the influence of Fenno-Scandian material culture in the Delaware Valley (generally coinciding with the anniversary celebrations of the founding of New Sweden) is well represented by Terry G. Jordan’s 1983 article, A Reappraisal of Fenno-Scandian Antecedents for Midland American Log Construction. For this research, Jordan examined wood buildings throughout Finland, Sweden, and Northern Europe, and concluded that a specific log notching technique was practiced in areas of central Sweden, at that time populated by Finnish immigrants who were rounded up and transplanted to the Delaware Valley as colonists for New Sweden. Jordan further noted that colonial Finns and Swedes were the first Europeans to build these log structures in the Delaware Valley, some 30 years before the arrival of German, Welsh, and Scotch Irish immigrants who were brought in by the British. Jordan rests his argument by invoking the doctrine of first effective settlement, proposed by the cultural geographer Wilbur Zelinsky, who stated, “the specific characteristics of the first group able to effect a viable, self-perpetuating society are of crucial significance for the later social and cultural geography of the area, no matter how tiny the initial band of settlers may have been.” (Zelinsly in Jordan, p. 94) The Swedes and Finns of New Sweden had lived, farmed, worshiped, and been quite fruitful and multiplied along the Delaware River for 26 years before the British took possession of the area. Scandinavian homes, plantations, and churches were sometimes confiscated and sometimes purchased so the English could wholly subsume New Sweden and remake it as a wholly British colony.
A Side Note
Despite overlooking the cultural contributions of Scandinavian colonists (everyone ignores the Swedes), I liked Glassie’s book so much that I gave into my hard cover book fetish and purchased a good condition, used hardcover version. Then I bought another copy – soft cover without any writing inside – and sent this to my father in Tennessee. Now, my dad (who is in his mid 70’s, does Yoga daily, had a guru in the 1980’s, earned his PhD from the University of Minnesota in Child Psychology yet began his academic career as an engineer, worked for NASA and designed the fenders for the moon rover) has made his living since the 1980’s restoring Victorian homes in Knoxville, Tennessee. He is the only contractor I know of in my hometown who will enter your property and convert his measurements using his engineers slide rule. His tolerance for pattern and detail far exceed my own, and I know he will enjoy this book as much as I did.

Why used booksellers love me (Photo Credit: Laurie Fitzpatrick)
David Pye, “The Workmanship of Certainty and the Workmanship of Risk,” in The Nature and Art of Workmanship (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968).
Pye elaborates on the modernist Man Versus Machine problem as he asks us to consider the difference between workmanship of risk (at the far end of this spectrum: wholly handmade) and workmanship of certainly (at the far end of this spectrum: machine made). Understanding both this difference between these two terms, as well as the reality that nearly everything in our environment is now the product of the workmanship of certainty, leads Pye to ask how this changes the visible quality of our environment. His arguments work toward validating the need for craftsmen who make things by hand – often expensively –in a world where our technologies invent machines that get closer and closer to what the craftsman can achieve while simultaneously training us to lower our expectations and accept inferior goods as our ‘new normal.’
The first problem for our environment Pye identifies is how the workmanship of certainty will reproduce every quality we seek except ‘diversity,’ as defined by Pye as – say – a well made cabinet made of gnarled, knotted wood. A second problem he notes is a decline in workmanship. Pye bemoans this predicament, “it is futile to hope that the process of decline can be reversed … to match the size of the industry.” (Pye, p. 347) The third and forth problems he sees are high cost and a loss of uniqueness.
Pye frequently references high cost of the workmanship of risk without discussing how production choices of the workmanship of certainty are market driven. As we sell our labor to producers, we have little or no control over what is produced, and these decisions are made by what the producer can sell. Later, Pye mentions luxury goods like haute couture, handmade musical instruments, and yachts without examining the alternate, elite economy that supports this manufacture – because clearly in this market, someone is selling their highly skilled labor to produce these paradigms of perfection. Although Pye rather hopefully states, “for if any artist is to do his best it is essential that his work shall not be influenced in the smallest degree by considerations of what is likely to sell profitably.” (Pye, p. 351) He recognizes that “some trades which are dead economically, are all alive in human terms, and still have much to show the world,” then he concludes by pointing to the need for artists to adopt a more holistic approach to the workmanship of risk that goes beyond a monetary transaction towards choices the craftsperson will make to support their chosen lifestyle. (Pye, p. 351)
The problems Pye identifies in environments dominated by the craftsmanship of certainty are a lack of diversity, a lack of craftsmanship, the high cost of craftsmanship, and a lack of uniqueness. These are symptoms of a larger disease he misdiagnoses as a lack of design. His argument didn’t imagine high end merchandise manufactured through the craftsmanship of certainty and sold in, say Nordstroms, or every day Scandinavian design found at Ikea. Pye’s malady caused by a lack of diversity might be better diagnosed as an utter lack of ingenuity in our environments. For example, what will be lost will not so much involve suffering a generically designed, clean environment made of either shiny or textured materials, but rather an environment utterly lacking highly individualized and ingenious technological solutions (modernist folk if you will) that have the power to instruct those who experience them in unique and spontaneous ways of solving problems to meet needs.
Another issue is the implication that artists were somehow less constrained by market forces before the workmanship of certainty came to dominate our culture. The high visual arts, crafts, couture, and architecture from before the Industrial Revolution (I am not referencing folk survivors since Pye isn’t talking about them either) were commissioned and preserved through the agency of some wealthy patron, or government supporting an artist. Pye’s conclusion that artists “work will be done for love more than for money” is a wholly contemporary possibility.
So then, once our creativity and ingenuity is no longer needed to solve technological problems in our environment, where does it go? Morozov might suggest it sits on our desks and follows us around in our pockets as we ‘hack’ and ‘make’ our world as digital dreams realized through 3-D printers. Well, sort-of.
Evgeny Morozov, “Making It: Pick Up a Spot Welder and Join the Revolution,” The New Yorker (January 13, 2014), http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2014/01/13/making-it-2
Morozov draws a clear comparison between today’s Maker movement to the Hacker’s movement of the 1970’s, then he deftly torpedoes and sinks both. According to Morozov, Stewart Brand, publisher of the Whole Earth Catalogue and an early promoter of the personal computer, drew inspiration from the Stanford based Homebrew Computer Club that included Steve Wozniak and Steve Jobs, the founders of Apple Computer. Brand combined Job’s “access to tools” ethos with his own revolutionary zeal to create the ideal of the “hacker,” an empowered and defiant individual who controlled information with their new personal computer.
Just as “hacking” was in itself another middle class fiction (many hacks succeeded not in smashing oppressive economic systems, but rather got people to ‘hack’ these systems so they could do more work, faster), so to “making” is equally fictitious. Making, according to Brand, inherited the ‘hacker’ mantle as it represents a new social movement that – according to Morosov’s definition – represents today’s way of defying authority by doing things your own way.
Makers aspire to merge their wholly self-owned labor (assisted by scanners and 3-D printers, or robot laborers) with their entrepreneurial impulses to engage in meaningful (and hopefully lucrative) self employment. But the movement has weaknesses as scantily regulated corporations target, acquire, then compromise new maker businesses. Additionally, and perhaps terrifyingly, the Department of Defense has now funded ‘makerspaces,’ or vast studios of technology where makers develop their products.
Raising money for production has created a “new kind of immaterial labor [known] as “virtual craftsmanship”; others [describe] as vulgar hustling” online to attract investors to fund the development of their products. (Morosov, “Making it”) It’s a brave new world of Twitter followers and Google search engine optimization that raises the online profile of the maker, and hopefully, raises the cash to fund their ideas.
Another thing the maker movement might not yet acknowledge is that not everyone wants to be the drivers of their own bus. As a matter of fact, despite the persistently abused American myth of the Yeoman Farmer who bravely makes his own way alone in this cold and cruel world, most would rather be passengers on the maker’s bus, and riding in as much comfort at the lowest price possible.
There are an exhausting number of buses to drive and ride, which is a good thing for our economy.
However, it must be acknowledged that there are times in a person’s life when they can only ride the bus, but then they might decide to drive their our own bus for a while. And what if bus driving is unappealing for them. Can they return to being a rider, without shame and regret in a Brave New Maker world?

(Photo Credit: http://www.culturalweekly.com/ken-keseys-mobile-trancendentalism-in-magic-trip-movie/)
References:
Henry Glassie, Pattern in the Material Folk Culture of the Eastern United States, (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1969)
Terry Jordan, “A Reappraisal of Fenno-Scandian Antecedents for Midland American Log Construction,” Geographical Review, Vol. 73, No. 1 (Jan., 1983), pp. 58 – 94.
David Pye, “The Workmanship of Certainty and the Workmanship of Risk,” in The Nature and Art of Workmanship (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968).
Evgeny Morozov, “Making It: Pick Up a Spot Welder and Join the Revolution,” The New Yorker (January 13, 2014), http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2014/01/13/making-it-2
Image of Ken Keysey in an article by Levi Asher, “Ken Kesey Moves in “Magic Trip” Movie” in Cultural Weekley, http://www.culturalweekly.com/ken-keseys-mobile-trancendentalism-in-magic-trip-movie/, accessed on 2/14/16