Articoli di riviste sul tema "Draperies in art"

Purpose of the article is to show the particular features of the model of the universe in the genre portrait-paintings and compositions of the modern Ukrainian artist M. E. Guyda are investigated. Historico-culturalogical, comparative, iconographic and iconological methods are applied. The ideological content and the particular features of the formal solution of figurative compositions are considered in the context of the heritage of world art. The national character of the images and symbols of the house, the clan and the native land are revealed; as is the nature of the manifestation of the relationship of the earthly and the heavenly. It was found that in the center of creation in compositions of M. E. Guyda is a spiritually inspired person from the folk. The depiction of people of different ages in interaction with nature helps to convey a natural course of time. It was clarified that the European aristocratic ceremonial portrait is foundational for the Ukrainian master. Artistic-stylistic analysis revealed that in the portrait-paintings "At the Well" (2013) and "Baba Kilyna" (2016), canonical composition was transformed by the artist through the expansion of space filled with individual symbolic content. The components of the ritual ceremonial portrait (columns, draperies, table-altar) are transformed into the image of a Cossack courtyard with a hedge, a tree of life, a well, a rainbow path. In the painting "Green Festivities" (2004), the house is shown as a temple. In the composition "Chumatsky Way" (2014), the world is presented as a universe – a model of the universe-house, with the architectonics of earth and sky. Scientific novelty is that the transformation of the canonical composition of the ceremonial portrait in the work of the contemporary artist M. E. Guyda is shown. The cultural and historical content of the master’s compositions was studied in connection with the problems of national self-identification and polystylism of the art of the twentieth century.is that the appeal to archetypes and symbols allowed the artist to expand the chamber space of his native Cossack house-yard to the "Model of Guyda’s Universe". The persuasiveness of individual pictorial images and symbols is based on the unity of personal, emotional perception of life with supra-individual mythological thinking. Practical significance. The presented materials, their artistic and stylistic analysis and generalization can be used in scientific research devoted to the art of portrait painting in Ukraine and in the world.

ABSTRACTThe Flemish painter Simón Pereyns travelled to New Spain in 1566 as a member of the viceroyal court. In two important paintings La Virgen del Perdón (1568) and San Cristóbal (1588) we identified wide use of blue smalt pigment, a potassium glass with cobalt oxide. The color of this material depends on its manufacture process, from pale greyish blue to violet or dark blue. The more blue color the more expensive the pigment. On the 16th century market the commerce of smalt was divided into many categories based on the material quality. Historical archive documents testify smalt imports from Seville to New Spain in two different qualities: fine and smalt woody ashes. In Pereyns` paintings the smalt was used in specific parts of the composition as the dark sky in landscapes, shadows of draperies and under layers in order to create a color background for the figures. Nowadays, in these areas, the alteration of the paint layer is evident. The blue has been changed into brown color. Optical microscopy (MO), scanning and transmission electron microscopies were performed in order to characterize the particles of smalt. The degradation of potassium glass was verified, as a consequence of aging and degradation process due to environmental conditions. These phenomena are well known and study on European paintings. In this research our aim is to explore the intentional use of smalt on Pereyns’ compositions and how color change as a consequence of microscopic materials instability can influence the contemporary reception of the paintings. Many paintings from New Spain have a dull, dark and limited palette but the original was very different. The remarks about the color of New Spain's paintings should considered the normal aging of the paint components, studied by materials science and art history.

The article is devoted to the study of the most valuable source at the culture and architecture of Persia and Central Asia during the reign of Timur (late 14th — early 15th centuries) — the diary of the Spanish ambassador to the court of Timur. At this stage in the development of researching on the Persian and Central Asian architecture of the Timurid period, along with the problem of “analysis” of monuments and artistic style, the problem of “synthesis” of image of these architecture is urgent. The authors of this article propose a methodology for restoring the general impression of this architecture, which can serve as a basis for the process of “synthesis”, based on the study of the contemporary written source of the early 15th century — the diary of the Spanish grandee Ruy Gonzalez de Clavijo, who was part of the Spanish embassy, sent by the Castilian king Enrice III to the court of Timur at 1403–1406. Being an educated man and receptive to the new, Clavijo was able to isolate the characteristic features of the worldview of a man of the East, primarily an oriental despot, and the associated features of the art of the East. He and his colleagues in the embassy drew attention to the cunning, treachery, ingenuity, secrecy of the eastern rulers. The Spaniards were struck by the luxury, power and wealth of Timur’s state, which at that time was at the zenith of glory. The Spaniards, accustomed to the stability of architectural images in their native Spain, were amazed at the variability of the artistic images of the East. They drew attention to the love of the representatives of the peoples of the East for free draperies, giving themselves to the will of the wind, in the temporary architecture and in festive women’s clothes, that by their nature were well consistent with the decoration of architectural buildings. The Spanish envoys revealed that subservient to the first and most faithful fresh impression, tenaciously grasping the main difference between the architecture of Timur’s state and contemporary European architecture. This difference consisted in the desire to create an image that is changing, diverse, fluid, mobile, not instantly solved and full of mystery, but at the same time striking the imagination with its luxury and wealth and according to the understanding of their masters, customers and spectators. The conclusion about the specifics of Timurid architecture, made on the basis of a study of the diary of the Spanish ambassador, is supported by the authors of the article turning to the analysis of written and pictorial sources created by representatives of the studied culture itself.

Past readings of Aeschylus’ Agamemnon (458 BC) have spawned numerous theories about the nature and significance of the cloth stage prop central to the ‘Carpet Scene’ (783-974). Kenneth Morrell has pointed out that ‘recent critics at best emphasize the ambiguous nature of the “fabric” ’, which the critics refer to variously as something carpet-like, as rugs or blankets, as garment-like tapestries or loosely-fitting garments, as draperies, and more generally as the household's treasure. But what fabric, if any, would have been versatile enough to function as a tapestry, a robe, and a blanket, and would have inspired outrage when used as a rug?More symbolically significant than the most luxurious carpet, the fabric strewn on the ground before Agamemnon strongly suggests a bridal cloth, an object replete with symbolism, which would have served as both a nuptial robe and a coverlet for the marriage bed. Scholars who discuss Athenian weddings in the context of the Oresteia have overlooked the nuptial nuances of the ‘carpet’.

In 1934, Louis B. Wright wrote, “All the world knows since the publication of studies by Professors Graves, Rollins, and Hotson that . . . [the drama's] light never went out completely.” Yet in a 2001 reference book, a contributor writes, “After an eighteen year hiatus. . . .” No wonder that Dale Randall could legitimately write in 1995, “We are asked to believe that little or nothing happened in English drama for the next eighteen years” beginning in 1642. His Winter Fruit is an important survey of dramatic activity during the Interregnum, and scholars continue to document the varieties of theatrical activities in the period. My essay is a modest contribution to the accumulation of details about a lingering, integral puzzle: how two London companies with experienced actors and new stars came into existence so quickly in 1660. It also shows that the Old City of London was not as inhospitable to drama as it is often portrayed. The piece of this puzzle that I can supply is the picture of John Rhodes and the Drapers' Company. Of Rhodes, John Downes wrote that in the winter of 1659–60 he “fitted up a House then for Acting call'd the Cock-Pit in Drury-Lane, and in a short time Compleated his Company.” Downes supplies a list of plays acted there beginning in February and comments that one of these new actors, Thomas Betterton, then “but 22 Years Old, was highly Applauded for his Acting . . . ; his Voice being then as Audibly strong, full and Articulate, as in the Prime of his Acting.”

The creation of “difficult reputations” is a collective act of disparagement often undertaken to diminish the influence of the target individual or group for political reasons. This process can be observed in efforts to discredit the field of occupational medicine and the American College of Occupational and Environmental Medicine (ACOEM) by revising its history. Examples are given from Draper's The Company Doctor: Risk, Responsibility, and Corporate Professionalism and LaDou, in which new sources of historical information do not support the allegations or impressions conveyed. This tendency is inimical to progress in occupational health in general and may be highly destructive to the field if not recognized and discouraged.

The recent discovery of a large hoard of copper-alloy, pewter and iron vessels in a late 4th to early 5th c. well at Drapers’ Gardens in the City of London highlights the role that wells and shafts played in late antique ritual life. Examination of the well’s contents reveals that these ‘pots and pans’ were not hidden in a time of crisis but were carefully placed alongside ritually killed objects and a dismembered juvenile red deer in a complex ritual act. This paper undertakes a speculative exploration of this act’s significance and its possible meaning.

Rembrandt's Syndics of the Drapers' Guild of 1662 is widely recognized as the crowning achievement of his career. Yet scholars cannot agree on what the five "sample-masters" positioned around a table are doing, or who they are looking at, if anyone. I propose that Rembrandt portrayed the sample-masters looking up from his studies of them in their account book and out at him. His brilliant solution for a specific artistic problem was based on the concrete circumstances of his process of composition and selfconsciously reflects on portraiture as a process in space and time. Rembrandt reveals himself as "hidden master" or invisible viewer, engaging his sitters in a dialectical relation, which we vicariously experience in turn.

SCIENCE, RELIGION, AND THE PROTESTANT TRADITION: Retracing the Origins of Conflict by James C. Ungureanu. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2019. x + 358 pages. Hardcover; $50.00. ISBN: 9780822945819. *Mythical understandings about historical intersections of Christianity and science have a long history, and persist in our own day. Two American writers are usually cited as the architects of the mythology of inevitable warfare between science and religion: John William Draper (1811-1882) and Andrew Dickson White (1832-1919). Draper was a medical doctor, chemist, and historian. White was an academic (like Draper), a professional historian, and first president of the nonsectarian Cornell University. Ungureanu's objective is to show how Draper and White have been (mis)interpreted and (mis)used by secular critics of Christianity, liberal theists, and historians alike. *Ungureanu opens by critiquing conflict historians as misreading White and Draper. The conflict narrative emerged from arguments within Protestantism from the sixteenth through nineteenth centuries, and, as taken up by Draper and White, was intended not to annihilate religion but to reconcile religion with science. Consequently, the two were not the anti-religious originators of science-versus-religion historiography. Rather, the "warfare thesis" began among sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Protestant historians and theologians attacking both Roman Catholics and each other. By the early nineteenth century, the purpose of conflict polemics was not to crush religion in the name of science but to clear intellectual space for preserving a "purified" and "rational" religion reconciled to science. Widespread beliefs held by liberal Protestant men of science included "progressive" development or evolution in history and nature as found, for example, in books by Lamarck in France and Robert Chambers in Britain. For Draper, English chemist and Unitarian minister Joseph Priestley (1733-1804) was a model of faith without the burden of orthodoxy. *So conflict rhetoric arose not, as we've been taught before, in post-Darwinian controversies, but in contending narratives within generations of earlier Protestant reformers who substituted personal judgment for ecclesial authority. Victorian scientific naturalists and popularizers often rejected Christian theological beliefs in the name of a "natural" undogmatic "religion" (which could slip into varieties of Unitarianism, deism, agnosticism, or pantheism). In effect, the conflict was not between science and religion, but between orthodox Christian faith and progressive or heterodox Christian faith--a conflict between how each saw the relationship between Christian faith and science. Draper, White, and their allies still saw themselves as theists, even Protestant Christians, though as liberal theists calling for a "New Reformation." Given past and present anti-Christian interpretations of these conflict historians with actual religious aims, this is ironic to say the least. *Ungureanu's thesis shouldn't be surprising. In the Introduction to his History of the Warfare, White had written: "My conviction is that Science, though it has evidently conquered Dogmatic Theology based on biblical texts and ancient modes of thought, will go hand in hand with Religion … [i.e.] 'a Power in the universe, not ourselves, which makes for righteousness' [quoting without attribution Matthew Arnold, who had actually written of an 'eternal power']." *As science advanced, so would religion: "the love of God and of our neighbor will steadily grow stronger and stronger" throughout the world. After praising Micah and the Epistle of James, White looked forward "above all" to the growing practice of "the precepts and ideals of the blessed Founder of Christianity himself" (vol. 1, p. xii). Ungureanu quotes White that the "most mistaken of all mistaken ideas" is the "conviction that religion and science are enemies" (p. 71). *This echoed both Draper's belief that "true" religion was consistent with science, and T. H. Huxley's 1859 lecture in which he affirmed that the so-called "antagonism of science and religion" was the "most mischievous" of "miserable superstitions." Indeed, Huxley affirmed that, "true science and true religion are twin-sisters" (p. 191). *Chapter 1 locates Draper in his biographical, religious, and intellectual contexts: for example, the common belief in immutable natural laws; the "new" Protestant historiography expressed in the work of such scientists as Charles Lyell and William Whewell; and various species of evolutionism. Comte de Buffon, Jean Baptiste Lamarck, John Herschel, Thomas Dick, Robert Chambers, and Darwin are some of the many writers whose work Draper used. *Chapter 2 examines White's intellectual development including his quest for "pure and undefiled" religion. He studied Merle d'Aubigné's history of the Reformation (White's personal library on the subject ran to thirty thousand items) and German scholars such as Lessing and Schleiermacher who cast doubt on biblical revelation and theological doctrines, in favor of a "true religion" based on "feeling" and an only-human Jesus. As he worked out his history of religion and science, White also absorbed the liberal theologies of William Ellery Channing, Horace Bushnell, Henry Ward Beecher, and Lyman Abbott, among others. *The resulting histories by Draper and White were providential, progressive, and presentist: providential in that God still "governed" (without interfering in) nature and human history; progressive, even teleological, in that faith was being purified while science grew ever closer to Truth; and presentist in that the superior knowledge of the present could judge the inferiority of the past, without considering historical context. *Chapters 3 and 4 situate Draper and White in wider historiographic/polemical Anglo-American contexts, from the sixteenth-century Reformation to the late nineteenth century. Protestant attacks on Roman Catholic moral and theological corruption were adapted to nineteenth-century histories of religion and science, with science as the solvent that cleansed "true religion" of its irrational accretions. Ungureanu reviews other well-known Christian writers, including Edward Hitchcock, Asa Gray, Joseph Le Conte, and Minot Judson Savage, who sought to accommodate their religious beliefs to evolutionary theories and historical-critical approaches to the Bible. *Chapter 5 offers a fascinating portrait of Edward Livingston Youmans--the American editor with prominent publisher D. Appleton and Popular Science Monthly--and his role in promoting the conflict-reconciliation historiography of Draper and White and the scientific naturalism of Huxley, Herbert Spencer, and John Tyndall. *In chapter 6 and "Conclusions," Ungureanu surveys critics of Draper's and White's work, although he neglects some important Roman Catholic responses. He also carefully analyzes the "liberal Protestant" and "progressive" writers who praised and popularized the Draper-White perspectives. Ungureanu is excellent at showing how later writers--atheists, secularists, and freethinkers--not only blurred distinctions between "religion" and "theology" but also appropriated historical conflict narratives as ideological weapons against any form of Christian belief, indeed any form of religion whatsoever. Ultimately, Ungureanu concludes, the conflict-thesis-leading-to-reconciliation narrative failed. The histories of Draper and White were widely, but wrongly, seen as emphatically demonstrating the triumph of science over theology and religious faith, rather than showing the compatibility of science with a refined and redefined Christianity, as was their actual intention. *Draper's History of the Conflict, from the ancients to the moderns, suggested an impressive historical reading program, as did his publication of A History of the Intellectual Development of Europe (rev. ed., 2 vols., 1875 [1863]). But one looks in vain for footnotes and bibliographies to support his controversial claims. White's two-volume study, however, landed with full scholarly apparatus, including copious footnotes documenting his vivid accounts of science conquering theological belief across the centuries. What Ungureanu doesn't discuss is how shoddy White's scholarship could be: he cherrypicked and misread his primary and secondary sources. His citations were not always accurate, and his accounts were sometimes pure fiction. Despite Ungureanu's recovery of German sources behind White's understanding of history and religion, he does not cite Otto Zöckler's Geschichte der Beziehungen zwischen Theologie und Naturwissenschaft (2 vols., 1877-1879), which, as Bernard Ramm noted in The Christian View of Science and Scripture (1954), served as "a corrective" to White's history. *Ungureanu certainly knows, and refers to some of, the primary sources in the large literature of natural theology. I think he underplays the roles of Victorian natural theologies and theologies of nature in reflecting, mediating, criticizing, and rejecting conflict narratives. Ungureanu seems to assume readers' familiarity with the classic warfare historians. He could have provided more flavor and content by reproducing some of Draper's and White's melodramatic and misleading examples of good scientists supposedly conquering bad theologians. (One of my favorite overwrought quotations is from White, vol. 1, p. 70: "Darwin's Origin of Species had come into the theological world like a plough into an ant-hill. Everywhere those thus rudely awakened … swarmed forth angry and confused.") *Ungureanu's is relevant history. Nineteenth-century myth-laden histories of the "warfare between Christianity and science" provide the intellectual framework for influential twenty-first century "scientific" atheists who have built houses on sand, on misunderstandings of the long, complex and continuing relations between faith/practice/theology and the sciences. *This is fine scholarship, dense, detailed, and documented--with thirty-seven pages of endnotes and a select bibliography of fifty pages. It is also well written, with frequent pauses to review arguments and conclusions, and persuasive. Required reading for historians, this work should also interest nonspecialists curious about the complex origins of the infamous conflict thesis, its ideological uses, and the value of the history of religion for historians of science. *Reviewed by Paul Fayter, who taught the history of Victorian science and theology at the University of Toronto and York University, Toronto. He lives in Hamilton, ON.

Art-historical partners J. A. Crowe (1851) and G. B. Cavalcaselle (1865) made individual surveys in Denmark. This paper speculates on their interactions with Danish expert N. L. Høyen. It focuses on Cavalcaselle’s Danish sketches (Marciana, Venice). It also offers new perspectives on G. F. Waagen’s stay in Copenhagen (1868). It expounds on the fortuna and conservation history of the Man of Sorrow by Mantegna, the alleged Portrait of Antonio Galli and other – mostly Valenti Gonzaga – paintings now in the Statens Museum for Kunst. It investigates the 19th-century criticism of draperies by Mantegna and Leonardo. It hypothesyses the identification of a Portrait of Thomas Gresham.

ABSTRACTThe decorative polychrome history of a remarkable depiction of the “Guanyin of the Southern Sea” dating to the 11th-12th centuries C.E. (Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City, #34-10) has been studied by integrating the results of Scanning Electron Microscopy with Elemental Analysis by X-ray Spectrometry, Raman Spectroscopy, Fourier Transform Infrared Spectroscopy and Polarized Light Microscopy. This 2.4m by 1.65m sculpture, carved almost entirely from a single Populus tree, has been attributed to Northern China and offers important points of comparison to previously studied works in the Victoria and Albert Museum and Rijksmuseum, with which it differs in certain important respects. Evidence for the original polychrome color scheme and those of at least three successive historical redecorations (two of which have been assigned ages by radiocarbon dating of paper interlayers) was found throughout the figure. By integrating the different forms of information obtainable from the methods cited above, it was possible to more fully describe complex pigment mixtures used to render different parts of the draperies. Both fracture sections and prepared cross sections serve different functions in revealing aspects of the paint preparation and its subsequent alteration. The differentiation of polymorphs of copper trihydroxychloride, made possible by Raman spectroscopy, allowed us to identify manmade botallackite with distinctive particle morphology as an important pigment of the intermediate period decorations, while elemental analysis of tin oxide traces showed that manmade atacamite used in other colors was derived from corroded bronze. Elemental analysis allowed distinctions to be made in the shade of gold leaf applied in different periods from cross sections without divesting the sculpture of later paint applications. The cross sections also provided evidence for the existence of flat gold line-work in areas subsequently redecorated with raised gilt brocades. Several combinations of the organic pigment indigo and inorganic paint constituents such as lead white, azurite, malachite and quartz reveal the means of adjusting shade and optical effects in closely-related paint applications. The results obtained by employing complementary techniques of analysis have served to greatly expand our understanding of the original use of polychrome decoration in the late Liao or Jin periods and its subsequent evolution, while alerting us to important Chinese innovations in the manufacure of pigments.

Abstract Through a case-study of one significant courtyard house owned by the Drapers’ Company and known as ‘The Erber’, this article argues that mercantile livery companies supported London's growing centrality within an expanding network of trade through the use and development of corporate properties. The micro-history at the heart of this article reveals that the ‘everyday’ built environment of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century London was shaped not just by the city elite. Also relevant to that process were the different sorts of tenants of the Drapers’ Company, who benefited from the expansion at all levels of London's mercantile activity. The trickle-down effects of global mercantilism affected spaces small and large. The investigation of the Erber highlights the domestic implications of global commercial expansion.

The combination of melodramatic and art cinematic techniques and influences in AMC’s television series Mad Men (2007¬–) reveals how a melodramatic televisuality can image novel modes of social and intimate relations and an alternative to the archetypal American narrative of the self-made man. Set in 1960s’ America, the series uses a contemporaneous and cosmopolitan California to triangulate the formal and narrative insistence of the past on the present. This triangulation is played out by Don Draper’s relations with his family, women, and his former identities and by the representation of homosexuality throughout the series. The application of Lee Edelman’s concept of “sinthomosexuality” and Richard Rorty’s “liberal ironist” reveal a queer, visual rhetoric to the show’s narrative and formal structures, forming a queer irony that allows the show to straddle the aesthetic extremes of “quality TV” (Jane Feuer) and soap opera, which, in turn, queers the exemplary American heterosexuality of Don Draper.

Mad Men is often assumed to be “subversive” in the academic literature whereas this investigation interprets the astutely promoted series as questioning capitalism before it ratifies market relations. Alongside convulsive change under capitalism that Mad Men captures, class-striated market societies require narratives that posit class division as compatible with meritocracy. Mad Men delivers such legitimizing narratives through Don Draper's and Peggy Olson's realization of class promotions—whereas Roger Sterling, Jr. and Pete Campbell present the privileges of inherited wealth. Don's performance in advertising illustrates Mad Men's often divided view of capitalism. Don melts down during one pitch and reveals his primordial experiences of capitalism as conditioned by poverty, theft and prostitution. However, by the final episode, Don's Coke ad affirms the market as a vehicle toward transcendental community. While Mad Men interrogates capitalism, it is solidly neoliberal in its disregard for State activity (regulation, implications of elected office). The narratively privileged moment of the series’ extended closing montage doubles-down on capitalism as the flawed but optimal steering mechanism for human aspiration. With the conspicuous exception of Betty Draper Francis who never participated in corporate work, core characters realize wealth and fulfillment by mastering market relations.

Draper, Sharon M. PANIC. New York: Atheneum Books for Young Readers, 2013. Print.Imagine ... waking up, tied to a bed, groggy, naked, and alone. What would you do?PANIC is a gripping tale of two teenage girls and their experience with manipulation, abduction, and abuse. After meeting Thane, the handsome Hollywood movie director, 15-year-old Diamond is easily persuaded to accompany him back to his family's home to audition for an exciting part in upcoming movie. It's a dream come true for the aspiring dancer! Diamond ignores everything she's been taught since she was a little girl, and willingly gets into a car with the stranger. Still unaware of the looming danger, Diamond is lured into Thane's house, accepts a drink, and then pays the unthinkable price for the promise of starring in a Hollywood movie. She is now being held captive and forced to "play her part" in Thane's horrifying production, all while her family and friends, who are desperately waiting for news of her safety, live through their own horrors and traumas. While each girl fights for escape from their own personal prison, they desperately search for an inner strength they hope is there. From the award-winning, New York Times bestselling author, Sharon M. Draper, this is a heart-breaking story that quickly turns into an exhilarating examination of power and loss, and the inspiring fight to take it all back.Sharon M. Draper's PANIC is a heart-pounding saga that will easily appeal to a wide age and range of readers. Defined as hi-lo contemporary fiction, it is a novel originally written for a young adult audience, and is a story that addresses important issues like abduction, sexual abuse, and bullying. It is a book that teaches valuable lessons, and so, may also appeal to parents and caregivers, and act as an important discussion piece for families. While offering insightful symbolism and the opportunity to dig deep into heavy themes (like the objectification of women and abusive teen relationships), it will work well for strong and inquisitive readers, however, with its short chapters, sobering plot, and strong young characters, this novel will attract many reluctant readers who are looking for a quick yet interesting read. Although the action is intense, emotional, and distressing at times the ease of dialogue and growth of the characters draws the reader in and forces them to think about their own risky behaviour, and the potential for resulting danger. Be aware that the trivial language used too often by the young characters can become tedious and annoying, and with a religious element to the book, some readers may feel uncomfortable at certain points. Yet, it is Draper's ability to so vividly capture the mind and heart of the adolescent, and the important and powerful life lessons the story delivers, that makes PANIC a must-have addition to any collection.Highly Recommended: 4 out of 4 StarsReviewer: Kimberley K. MortonKim Morton is a secondary History teacher and Learning Coordinator with the Saskatoon Public School Division. She is currently working toward her Masters of Education, specializing in Teacher-Librarianship, through the University of Alberta. She strives to make research and inquiry meaningful, relevant, and fun for her students, and is looking to gain more experience with current technology, trends, and tools. She enjoys sports, is an avid reader of historical novels, and loves going to the movies.

“...children’s play seems to become more and more a product of the educational and cultural orientation of parents...” — Stephen Kline, The Making of Children’s Culture We live in a world saturated by design and through design artefacts, one can glean unique insights into a culture's values and norms. In fact, some academics, such as British media and film theorist Ben Highmore, see the two areas so inextricably intertwined as to suggest a wholesale “re-branding of the cultural sciences as design studies” (14). Too often, however, everyday objects are marginalised or overlooked as objects of scholarly attention. The field of material culture studies seeks to change that by focussing on the quotidian object and its ability to reveal much about the time, place, and culture in which it was designed and used. This article takes on one such object, a mid-century children's toy tea set, whose humble journey from 1968 Sears catalogue to 2014 thrift shop—and subsequently this author’s basement—reveals complex rhetorical messages communicated both visually and verbally. As material culture studies theorist Jules Prown notes, the field’s foundation is laid upon the understanding “that objects made ... by man reflect, consciously or unconsciously, directly or indirectly, the beliefs of individuals who made, commissioned, purchased or used them, and by extension the beliefs of the larger society to which they belonged” (1-2). In this case, the objects’ material and aesthetic characteristics can be shown to reflect some of the pervasive stereotypes and gender roles of the mid-century and trace some of the prevailing tastes of the American middle class of that era, or perhaps more accurately the type of design that came to represent good taste and a modern aesthetic for that audience. A wealth of research exists on the function of toys and play in learning about the world and even the role of toy selection in early sex-typing, socialisation, and personal identity of children (Teglasi). This particular research area isn’t the focus of this article; however, one aspect that is directly relevant and will be addressed is the notion of adult role-playing among children and the role of toys in communicating certain adult practices or values to the child—what sociologist David Oswell calls “the dedifferentiation of childhood and adulthood” (200). Neither is the focus of this article the practice nor indeed the ethicality of marketing to children. Relevant to this particular example I suggest, is as a product utilising messaging aimed not at children but at adults, appealing to certain parents’ interest in nurturing within their child a perceived era and class-appropriate sense of taste. This was fuelled in large part by the curatorial pursuits of the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York, coupled with an interest and investment in raising their children in a design-forward household and a desire for toys that reflected that priority; in essence, parents wishing to raise modern children. Following Prown’s model of material culture analysis, the tea set is examined in three stages, through description, deduction and speculation with each stage building on the previous one. Figure 1: Porcelain Toy Tea Set. Description The tea set consists of twenty-six pieces that allows service for six. Six cups, saucers, and plates; a tall carafe with spout, handle and lid; a smaller vessel with a spout and handle; a small round bowl with a lid; a larger oval bowl with a lid, and a coordinated oval platter. The cups are just under two inches tall and two inches in diameter. The largest piece, the platter is roughly six inches by four inches. The pieces are made of a ceramic material white in colour and glossy in texture and are very lightweight. The rim or edge of each piece is decorated with a motif of three straight lines in two different shades of blue and in different thicknesses, interspersed with a set of three black wiggly lines. Figure 2: Porcelain Toy Tea Set Box. The set is packaged for retail purposes and the original box appears to be fully intact. The packaging of an object carries artefactual evidence just as important as what it contains that falls into the category of a “‘para-artefact’ … paraphernalia that accompanies the product (labels, packaging, instructions etc.), all of which contribute to a product’s discourse” (Folkmann and Jensen 83). The graphics on the box are colourful, featuring similar shades of teal blue as found on the objects, with the addition of orange and a silver sticker featuring the logo of the American retailer Sears. The cover features an illustration of the objects on an orange tabletop. The most prominent text that confirms that the toy is a “Porcelain Toy Tea Set” is in an organic, almost psychedelic style that mimics both popular graphics of this era—especially album art and concert posters—as well as the organic curves of steam that emanate from the illustrated teapot’s spout. Additional messages appear on the box, in particular “Contemporary DESIGN” and “handsome, clean-line styling for modern little hostesses”. Along the edges of the box lid, a detail of the decorative motif is reproduced somewhat abstracted from what actually appears on the ceramic objects. Figure 3: Sears’s Christmas Wishbook Catalogue, page 574 (1968). Sears, Roebuck and Co. (Sears) is well-known for its over one-hundred-year history of producing printed merchandise catalogues. The catalogue is another important para-artefact to consider in analysing the objects. The tea set first appeared in the 1968 Sears Christmas Wishbook. There is no date or copyright on the box, so only its inclusion in the catalogue allows the set to be accurately dated. It also allows us to understand how the set was originally marketed. Deduction In the deduction phase, we focus on the sensory aesthetic and functional interactive qualities of the various components of the set. In terms of its function, it is critical that we situate the objects in their original use context, play. The light weight of the objects and thinness of the ceramic material lends the objects a delicate, if not fragile, feeling which indicates that this set is not for rough use. Toy historian Lorraine May Punchard differentiates between toy tea sets “meant to be used by little girls, having parties for their friends and practising the social graces of the times” and smaller sets or doll dishes “made for little girls to have parties with their dolls, or for their dolls to have parties among themselves” (7). Similar sets sold by Sears feature images of girls using the sets with both human playmates and dolls. The quantity allowing service for six invites multiple users to join the party. The packaging makes clear that these toy tea sets were intended for imaginary play only, rendering them non-functional through an all-capitals caution declaiming “IMPORTANT: Do not use near heat”. The walls and handles of the cups are so thin one can imagine that they would quickly become dangerous if filled with a hot liquid. Nevertheless, the lid of the oval bowl has a tan stain or watermark which suggests actual use. The box is broken up by pink cardboard partitions dividing it into segments sized for each item in the set. Interestingly even the small squares of unfinished corrugated cardboard used as cushioning between each stacked plate have survived. The evidence of careful re-packing indicates that great care was taken in keeping the objects safe. It may suggest that even though the set was used, the children or perhaps the parents, considered the set as something to care for and conserve for the future. Flaws in the glaze and applique of the design motif can be found on several pieces in the set and offer some insight as to the technique used in producing these items. Errors such as the design being perfectly evenly spaced but crooked in its alignment to the rim, or pieces of the design becoming detached or accidentally folded over and overlapping itself could only be the result of a print transfer technique popularised with decorative china of the Victorian era, a technique which lends itself to mass production and lower cost when compared to hand decoration. Speculation In the speculation stage, we can consider the external evidence and begin a more rigorous investigation of the messaging, iconography, and possible meanings of the material artefact. Aspects of the set allow a number of useful observations about the role of such an object in its own time and context. Sociologists observe the role of toys as embodiments of particular types of parental messages and values (Cross 292) and note how particularly in the twentieth century “children’s play seems to become more and more a product of the educational and cultural orientation of parents” (Kline 96). Throughout history children’s toys often reflected a miniaturised version of the adult world allowing children to role-play as imagined adult-selves. Kristina Ranalli explored parallels between the practice of drinking tea and the play-acting of the child’s tea party, particularly in the nineteenth century, as a gendered ritual of gentility; a method of socialisation and education, and an opportunity for exploratory and even transgressive play by “spontaneously creating mini-societies with rules of their own” (20). Such toys and objects were available through the Sears mail-order catalogue from the very beginning at the end of the nineteenth century (McGuire). Propelled by the post-war boom of suburban development and homeownership—that generation’s manifestation of the American Dream—concern with home décor and design was elevated among the American mainstream to a degree never before seen. There was a hunger for new, streamlined, efficient, modernist living. In his essay titled “Domesticating Modernity”, historian Jeffrey L. Meikle notes that many early modernist designers found that perhaps the most potent way to “‘domesticate’ modernism and make it more familiar was to miniaturise it; for example, to shrink the skyscraper and put it into the home as furniture or tableware” (143). Dr Timothy Blade, curator of the 1985 exhibition of girls’ toys at the University of Minnesota’s Goldstein Gallery—now the Goldstein Museum of Design—described in his introduction “a miniaturised world with little props which duplicate, however rudely, the larger world of adults” (5). Noting the power of such toys to reflect adult values of their time, Blade continues: “the microcosm of the child’s world, remarkably furnished by the miniaturised props of their parents’ world, holds many direct and implied messages about the society which brought it into being” (9). In large part, the mid-century Sears catalogues capture the spirit of an era when, as collector Thomas Holland observes, “little girls were still primarily being offered only the options of glamour, beauty and parenthood as the stuff of their fantasies” (175). Holland notes that “the Wishbooks of the fifties [and, I would add, the sixties] assumed most girls would follow in their mother’s footsteps to become full-time housewives and mommies” (1). Blade grouped toys into three categories: cooking, cleaning, and sewing. A tea set could arguably be considered part of the cooking category, but closer examination of the language used in marketing this object—“little hostesses”, et cetera—suggests an emphasis not on cooking but on serving or entertaining. This particular category was not prevalent in the era examined by Blade, but the cultural shifts of the mid-twentieth century, particularly the rapid popularisation of a suburban lifestyle, may have led to the use of entertaining as an additional distinct category of role play in the process of learning to become a “proper” homemaker. Sears and other retailers offered a wide variety of styles of toy tea sets during this era. Blade and numerous other sources observe that children’s toy furniture and appliances tended to reflect the style and aesthetic qualities of their contemporary parallels in the adult world, the better to associate the child’s objects to its adult equivalent. The toy tea set’s packaging trumpets messages intended to appeal to modernist values and identity including “Contemporary Design” and “handsome, clean-line styling for modern little hostesses”. The use of this coded marketing language, aimed particularly at parents, can be traced back several decades. In 1928 a group of American industrial and textile designers established the American Designers' Gallery in New York, in part to encourage American designers to innovate and adopt new styles such as those seen in the L’ Exposition Internationale des Arts Decoratifs et Industriels Modernes (1925) in Paris, the exposition that sparked international interest in the Art Deco or Art Moderne aesthetic. One of the gallery founders, Ilonka Karasz, a Hungarian-American industrial and textile designer who had studied in Austria and was influenced by the Wiener Werkstätte in Vienna, publicised her new style of nursery furnishings as “designed for the very modern American child” (Brown 80). Sears itself was no stranger to the appeal of such language. The term “contemporary design” was ubiquitous in catalogue copy of the nineteen-fifties and sixties, used to describe everything from draperies (1959) and bedspreads (1961) to spice racks (1964) and the Lady Kenmore portable dishwasher (1961). An emphasis on the role of design in one’s life and surroundings can be traced back to efforts by MoMA. The museum’s interest in modern design hearkens back almost to the institution’s inception, particularly in relation to industrial design and the aestheticisation of everyday objects (Marshall). Through exhibitions and in partnership with mass-market magazines, department stores and manufacturer showrooms, MoMA curators evangelised the importance of “good design” a term that can be found in use as early as 1942. What Is Good Design? followed the pattern of prior exhibitions such as What Is Modern Painting? and situated modern design at the centre of exhibitions that toured the United States in the first half of the nineteen-fifties. To MoMA and its partners, “good design” signified the narrow identification of proper taste in furniture, home decor and accessories; effectively, the establishment of a design canon. The viewpoints enshrined in these exhibitions and partnerships were highly influential on the nation’s perception of taste for decades to come, as the trickle-down effect reached a much broader segment of consumers than those that directly experienced the museum or its exhibitions (Lawrence.) This was evident not only at high-end shops such as Bloomingdale’s and Macy’s. Even mass-market retailers sought out well-known figures of modernist design to contribute to their offerings. Sears, for example, commissioned noted modernist designer and ceramicist Russel Wright to produce a variety of serving ware and decor items exclusively for the company. Notably for this study, he was also commissioned to create a toy tea set for children. The 1957 Wishbook touts the set as “especially created to delight modern little misses”. Within its Good Design series, MoMA exhibitions celebrated numerous prominent Nordic designers who were exploring simplified forms and new material technologies. In the 1968 Wishbook, the retailer describes the Porcelain Toy Tea Set as “Danish-inspired china for young moderns”. The reference to Danish design is certainly compatible with the modernist appeal; after the explosion in popularity of Danish furniture design, the term “Danish Modern” was commonly used in the nineteen-fifties and sixties as shorthand for pan-Scandinavian or Nordic design, or more broadly for any modern furniture design regardless of origin that exhibited similar characteristics. In subsequent decades the notion of a monolithic Scandinavian-Nordic design aesthetic or movement has been debunked as primarily an economically motivated marketing ploy (Olivarez et al.; Fallan). In the United States, the term “Danish Modern” became so commonly misused that the Danish Society for Arts and Crafts called upon the American Federal Trade Commission (FTC) to legally restrict the use of the labels “Danish” and “Danish Modern” to companies genuinely originating in Denmark. Coincidentally the FTC ruled on this in 1968, noting “that ‘Danish Modern’ carries certain meanings, and... that consumers might prefer goods that are identified with a foreign culture” (Hansen 451). In the case of the Porcelain Toy Tea Set examined here, Sears was not claiming that the design was “Danish” but rather “Danish-inspired”. One must wonder, was this another coded marketing ploy to communicate a sense of “Good Design” to potential customers? An examination of the formal qualities of the set’s components, particularly the simplified geometric forms and the handle style of the cups, confirms that it is unlike a traditional—say, Victorian-style—tea set. Punchard observes that during this era some American tea sets were actually being modelled on coffee services rather than traditional tea services (148). A visual comparison of other sets sold by Sears in the same year reveals a variety of cup and pot shapes—with some similar to the set in question—while others exhibit more traditional teapot and cup shapes. Coffee culture was historically prominent in Nordic cultures so there is at least a passing reference to that aspect of Nordic—if not specifically Danish—influence in the design. But what of the decorative motif? Simple curved lines were certainly prominent in Danish furniture and architecture of this era, and occasionally found in combination with straight lines, but no connection back to any specific Danish motif could be found even after consultation with experts in the field from the Museum of Danish America and the Vesterheim National Norwegian-American Museum (personal correspondence). However, knowing that the average American consumer of this era—even the design-savvy among them—consumed Scandinavian design without distinguishing between the various nations, a possible explanation could be contained in the promotion of Finnish textiles at the time. In the decade prior to the manufacture of the tea set a major design tendency began to emerge in the United States, triggered by the geometric design motifs of the Finnish textile and apparel company Marimekko. Marimekko products were introduced to the American market in 1959 via the Cambridge, Massachusetts-based retailer Design Research (DR) and quickly exploded in popularity particularly after would-be First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy appeared in national media wearing Marimekko dresses during the 1960 presidential campaign and on the cover of Sports Illustrated magazine. (Thompson and Lange). The company’s styling soon came to epitomise a new youth aesthetic of the early nineteen sixties in the United States, a softer and more casual predecessor to the London “mod” influence. During this time multiple patterns were released that brought a sense of whimsy and a more human touch to classic mechanical patterns and stripes. The patterns Piccolo (1953), Helmipitsi (1959), and Varvunraita (1959), all designed by Vuokko Eskolin-Nurmesniemi offered varying motifs of parallel straight lines. Maija Isola's Silkkikuikka (1961) pattern—said to be inspired by the plumage of the Great Crested Grebe—combined parallel serpentine lines with straight and angled lines, available in a variety of colours. These and other geometrically inspired patterns quickly inundated apparel and decor markets. DR built a vastly expanded Cambridge flagship store and opened new locations in New York in 1961 and 1964, and in San Francisco in 1965 fuelled in no small part by the fact that they remained the exclusive outlet for Marimekko in the United States. It is clear that Marimekko’s approach to pattern influenced designers and manufacturers across industries. Design historian Lesley Jackson demonstrates that Marimekko designs influenced or were emulated by numerous other companies across Scandinavia and beyond (72-78). The company’s influence grew to such an extent that some described it as a “conquest of the international market” (Hedqvist and Tarschys 150). Subsequent design-forward retailers such as IKEA and Crate and Barrel continue to look to Marimekko even today for modern design inspiration. In 2016 the mass-market retailer Target formed a design partnership with Marimekko to offer an expansive limited-edition line in their stores, numbering over two hundred items. So, despite the “Danish” misnomer, it is quite conceivable that designers working for or commissioned by Sears in 1968 may have taken their aesthetic cues from Marimekko’s booming work, demonstrating a clear understanding of the contemporary high design aesthetic of the time and coding the marketing rhetoric accordingly even if incorrectly. Conclusion The Sears catalogue plays a unique role in capturing cross-sections of American culture not only as a sales tool but also in Holland’s words as “a beautifully illustrated diary of America, it’s [sic] people and the way we thought about things” (1). Applying a rhetorical and material culture analysis to the catalogue and the objects within it provides a unique glimpse into the roles these objects played in mediating relationships, transmitting values and embodying social practices, tastes and beliefs of mid-century American consumers. Adult consumers familiar with the characteristics of the culture of “Good Design” potentially could have made a connection between the simplified geometric forms of the components of the toy tea set and say the work of modernist tableware designers such as Kaj Franck, or between the set’s graphic pattern and the modernist motifs of Marimekko and its imitators. But for a much broader segment of the population with a less direct understanding of modernist aesthetics, those connections may not have been immediately apparent. The rhetorical messaging behind the objects’ packaging and marketing used class and taste signifiers such as modern, contemporary and “Danish” to reinforce this connection to effect an emotional and aspirational appeal. These messages were coded to position the set as an effective transmitter of modernist values and to target parents with the ambition to create “appropriately modern” environments for their children. 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