I’ve been to Space Camp four times. Yes, I’m sure you are all madly jealous. Space Camp was awesome. Among other important and useful things, I learned that the goals of the goals of Project Mercury (America’s first manned venture into outer space) were as follows: 1) To orbit a manned spacecraft around Earth; 2) To investigate man's ability to function in space; and 3) To recover both man and spacecraft safely. In looking at an issue such as space flight, particularly with consideration to how technologically advanced even the concept of space flight was at the time of the Mercury program, what then, of the human form in space? First off, there is the spacecraft itself. I won’t dwell on the spacecraft as it exists as a mode of transportation because I am sure that those issues will be addressed in next week’s readings on the car. There is however, something to be said on the third goal of the Mercury program. To recover both man and spacecraft safely implies not only the safety of man but the safety of the spacecraft. If the spacecraft can be safe, can it be in danger too? But what about the satellite, that which orbits with no actual acceleration, yet continues to move and function through its attachment to the gravitational pull of the Earth? It is physically separated from all that is human, and also the entire terrestrial world. If there is a question of aliens or extraterrestrial life, then it seems necessary to ask if humanity in itself even means the same thing functioning by the laws of weightlessness as opposed to the ones dictated by the physical environment of the earth.
I don’t buy Marx’s idea of a complete machine or the three parts that would constitute a complete machine if there were such a thing. The question of function arises; does a machine even need to have a function to be deemed a machine? What of incomplete machines then? My thought is that all machines are incomplete. If they were indeed “complete,” they would have no place among humans at all. That makes the human subject part of the “nature” of any machine, not just its operator but its codependent. I do not think we can stop at the idea of machine where it stands right now in this world; equally, the human-machine has not been fully developed.
Being a knitter, I couldn't help but make connections between "On Weaving a Basket" and my craft. Items that are knit, like the woven baskets, are "not 'made' in the sense in which we normally understand the term." (341). A knitter's yarn selection is of the utmost importance to the success or failure of her project, as the fiber content and the structure of the yarn gives that yarn certain characteristics that cannot be altered. The knitted garment, like a basket, "is the result of a play of forces, both internal and external to the material that makes it up. One could say that the form unfolds within a kind of force field, in which the weaver [or knitter] is caught up in a reciprocal and quite muscular dialogue with the material." (342).
In the same way that the basket itself does not come out of the idea of the basket, but out of the relationship the weaver has with the materials, so does any knitted garment. The materials that are used have such a power to them that it is actually impossible to "make do" in some areas. The skill of knitting is also one that can change the way a person views the world. Believe it or not, there is an enormous community of knitters on the internet, including a website for sharing patterns and projects which has over 87,000 members world-wide. For these individuals, the observation by David Guss that "the master craftsman in this society, a person accredited with exceptional wisdom, 'not only weaves the world when making a basket, but in everything he does'" (347) really rings true.
I found this reading to be much more intriguing than our last Ingold piece. I was most struck by his point regarding rotary versus reciprocating motion, explaining that “continuous rotary motion is typical of inorganic matter, whereas reciprocating motion is the sole form of movement found in living things” (303). This seems obvious once it has been pointed out, but I don’t think it is necessarily intuitive. The first thing that came to mind, especially when Ingold mentioned the crank, was those “Make Your Own Souvenir” penny machines you might find at Disneyland or the zoo. For 50 cents (51 if you include the penny), you can turn a crank and change your penny into a snazzy souvenir. The title says it all—the human participant is marketed as a creator of the final item (very different than the Marxist idea of being controlled by the machine). Of course, as Ingold explains, the design is already within the machine—you are limited by the machine’s build. Your “creativity” is further encouraged due to the fact that you can usually pick out which design you want. The human operator may easily forget that their “creative” choice was outlined and created by the manufacturers of the machine. Speaking of which, the final outcome may seem like something the purchaser desired, but it is first and foremost a desired product of the distributor of the machine, and any overlap in the two desires is a happy coincidence (if not due to good marketing). The distributors want people to a) spend their money and b) remember where they had that wonderful crank-turning experience. The turning of the crank is an adorable “throw-back” if you will. No doubt we have machines that can press pennies in seconds. Indeed, turning the crank does not even require much (if any) physical exertion, equalizing the consumer playing field. Still, there is an important reason that there is a crank and not a button—the human desire to have an active part within the machine, to be an active part of the “penny transformation”. Granted, there are probably some machines that have converted to buttons by now, but these don’t seem nearly as fun. ~Samantha
In the chapter "Tools, minds and machines," Ingold writes in regard to volition versus knowledge that "the will that instigates production is not necessarily the will of the producer," referring to the person physically creating something as the "producer." This is interesting to me because I spend most of my free time serving as the "producer" of a college television show, but here the role of producer does not fall into the same category as Ingold's producer, nor does it really fall into the category of artisan/engineer or operative that Ingold discusses earlier in the chapter. In the studio of Columbia's student-run TV station, the person who designed or built the equipment (or machines) is parallel to the artisan, and even the so-called technology staff of the station who understand how the machines function fulfill this role to a certain extent as well. The operatives of the machines would be the crew of the shows who press the buttons on the equipment that effect what is recorded and/or broadcast, but they do this in accordance with the requests of the producer. The producer does not need to build or understand the equipment, nor operate the equipment, but still controls the outcome of what the machine makes and gets credit for "producing" a work even within the title of the role. I think that this is an example, or is at least related, to Ingold's conclusion that machines do not make history but rather people do because human consciousness is a force of production.
Thus far all discussion of machines has been done in terms of useful action carried out by moving arrays of simpler machines... in such a way all machine labor may be reduced to tool use amplified by application of simple machines (pulleys, levers, inclined planes, gears, etc. that redirect and reapportion physical forces). Thus far it is certainly true that there are few if any exceptions to this general definition of machine technology. I find it interesting to consider the failings of this definition that may develop as technology—as independent from machine force-tool aggregates—develops in new direction.
One area of particular promise is that of solid-state computing. In recent years the move has begun from data storage in optical media (i.e. hard disk drives) to solid-state flash drives, which in fact contain no moving parts. The benefits of this move are immediately apparent; if there is no part that actually moves relative to any other, then there is no point at which wear can build up and build towards the decay of the device. HDDs are prone to malfunction in response to even a slight misalignment of the rotating disc, but a solid-state drive can take a beating and maintain function as long as its structural integrity is not compromised.
As such, it is now far from implausible to imagine the day wherein computers contain no moving parts whatsoever, and as such do not suffer the thermodynamic decay that affects all true machines, for the primary difference between human and machine is the latter’s inability to autonomously repair the inevitable decay associated with friction and use. In this case, then, technology (for these computers would certainly constitute technology) would be completely separate from the machine paradigm, as no simple machines would be utilized, even as useful functions are performed at the expenditure of energy.
For me, Ingold’s analysis is useful because I feel it better equips us to cope with the dilemna of technological determinism by allowing us to envision more of a spectrum between ourselves (sometimes instrument) and machines.
In doing so, he rephrases the question of ‘do ‘How and in what ways are technologies entangled with people and history?’
If we shift our perceptions slightly, to see the tool as an object that realizes human intentions, rather than the object alone, the picture becomes a lot clearer.
As Ingold points out, Marx’s “the living mechanism” of manufacture is not just a combination of the human body engaged with a purposive machine, but also the machine which realizes the intentions of the employer.
From the employer's point of view, we can understand how the machine benefits him/her by removing subjectivity (removal of error resulting in increased efficiency) and unpredictability. From the factory worker's point of view, it makes sense how it becomes a blow to a sense of creativity. These conflicting interests paint a clearer picture of the conflict as a whole.
What is most interesting to me is the how the machine functioned to realize the employer's interests by controlling worker’s perceptions. Here, I'm thinking of tools of coercion introduced to us in Ingold's discussion of animals.
Animals were not machines, but unpredictable beings with subjective will (hence capable of making mistakes). For this reason, they required tools of coercions such as spurs and whips, as well as tools like blinders which control their subjective thus fallible mode of perception. The same went for slaves. And for workers.
I think of Paul Virilio's writings on the relationship between film technology and war. He said (something close to) 'the history of the battle is the history of changing fields of perceptions.' His famous example made a case that the 'line of aim' (as inspired by the gun) formed a new mode of perception where the eye was replaced by a new mechanic kind of vision. Instead of seeing the enemy's face in traditional combat, infrared goggles, represented the 'enemy' as a fuzzy ball of light/heat. Virlio argues this distanced the soldier from the human target, and furthered the interests of those at head of command. I can't quite remember, but I think that Virilio emphasized that the problem was in the technology itself (?).
Lastly, for me it would be really helpful if in class we might be able to discuss the various similarities and differences in perspective of authors we’ve read so far.
Like others, I found this reading much more accessible and much more intriguing... From the start, his explanation of the many dichotomies that have arisen over time through the drift between technology as craftmanship and technology as a means to an end- the end being art or theory. Ingold characterizes the engineer as far separate from the technician. All this is a result of absence of physical engagement in construction... I have always struggled with the concept of technology. Ingold, in trying to define it from the beginning of the apter to moving on to a discussion of complicating it even more... "Beyond stating the obvious, how does it help us to know that EVERYTHING is technological?" (297)
I found Ingold's reference to Reuleaux and his thoughts on 'prime movers' to be useful. To consider humans as a very part of the machine- the notion that "man is a 'force of nature' like any other" (305) is both dehumanizing and empowering at the same time. Even the skilled part of labor IS, in fact a force of nature I guess
Marx's concept of "the human handling of tools and machine performance" in the "Tools, minds and machines" chapter is extremely interesting. His bringing it all down to "skilled constraint" and Mumford's bringing it down to "degree of independence" make a lot of sense.
I was wondering, however, about how toys factor into this equation. It seems like toys are the precursor to what we would consider a transition between tools and machines; toys are handled by children first with "only muscle-power" and, as they get older, with some form of skilled constraint. The specific examples that I'm thinking of are Bob the Builder toys and Legos. Can toys be considered tools and/or machines, a precursor to tools and machines, another category in its own right, or some other option that I'm not thinking of right now?
On weaving a basket was particularly interesting to me as well because I'm also a knitting aficionado. I'm stuck as to whether I agree that knitting is on the same page as Ingold's concept of weaving, however. Ingold stresses the characteristics of the basketry fibers as a critical piece of what distinguishes weaving from flint-knapping or pottery. Because the fibers have a flexibility and a resistance of their own, and those properties are harnessed and combined to create the structure of the basket, "the form of the basket is a result of a play of forces, both internal and external to the material that makes it up" (342). My first thought when reading this article was that knitting is therefore different from weaving, because yarn is floppy and exerts little force; I decided that the stretchiness of knitted material isn't the same as the rigid opposing forces forming the shape of a basket. Stretchiness is sort of incidental, whereas the structure of a basket seems a very intentional harnessing of interlocking forces. But Emily's observations made me rethink my original thesis - yarn IS fundamental to the result. The size and characteristics of the yarn make a huge difference. Now I'm wondering if stretchy counts as "a play of forces" - it's true that yarn is not normally stretchy but that knitted material is. It's true that "the form of [something knitted] emerges through a pattern of skilled movement, and it is the rhythmic repetition of that movement that gives rise to the regularity of form" (342). But are the fibres of a scarf holding each other up the way the fibres of a basket are? I can't tell. Maybe I'm missing the point.
Ingold “weaves” an interesting argument about the connection between knowledge, technologies, humans and machines. He begins in Chapter 15 by claiming that although technology is often associated with developments of the modern age, it is actually embedded in the meaning of “tools.” He mentions the application of mechanics of nature by way of science toward art as the end, defining mechanical quality in terms of a “separability” of constructive work from the context of sensory experiences. He moves into a definition of technology, employing at first science as a key term, but ultimately proposing that “everything is technological” (297).
I am interested in Ingold’s concern with the processes by which things become important to humans, in that he believes that objects must make some psychological impact, or some mental realization must occur in order for a human to deem an object useful. He first explains the process whereby knowledge becomes technology by way of orientation to the practical world. However, though he says that machines are independent, he thinks that humans are not “living appendages” of machines in that they are not self-sufficient. (Interesting: are machines non-living appendages of humans, so much so that we are in danger of losing our self-sufficiency without them?) Overall, Ingold is a believer in the one-way, human use of objects, rather than a follower of Latour’s symmetrical relationship between humans and nonhumans. He uses the term coercion to explain how humans control both animals and objects, explaining how humans favor using objects to meet their goals because machines by definition do slave work for humans. (On the other hand, again, he drives toward a more give-and-take relationship in some smaller points, explaining how the megamachine appears to domesticate humans in factories, etc., just as we do with animals.) Similarly, in chapter 18, he claims that materials found in nature only become socioculturally identifiable and significant objects when introduced to the human mind and its intentions.
In “On Weaving a Basket,” he explains a metaphysical or psychological need to determine between the mind and nature, in other words, objects are, to humans, and from a truly human subjective perspective, our conceptions, or physical manifestations of an idea (or goal, in terms of an object as a means to a human end, as stated in chapter 15). In thinking about these chapters, it occurred to me that when I knit, I barely think about what I’m doing as an intricate process. Yes, I’m amazed and pleased with the transformation that occurs (from strings of yarn to scarf—because that’s all I can make), but I mostly just use the activity to keep my hands busy while I’m doing other things. Is this a comment on the human inclination to create art, the human obsession with manipulating objects like a slave-master (even subconsciously), or both?
What Ingold labels the most all-encompassing definition of technology yet, is, McGinn writes, “a form of activity that is fabricative, material product-making or object-transforming, purposive (with the general purpose of expanding the realm of the humanly possible), knowledge-based, resource-employing, methodical, embedded in a sociocultural-environmental influence field, and informed by its practitioners’ mental sets”. This includes many areas that technology covers for sure, object, creation, subject, process, purpose, etc. But to be more fully decided on what Ingold means when he chooses this definition, we should look to the Figure 15.1 which shows the difference in the old vs. modern idea of the technical. Ingold claims a separation has been made between the older processes of technology that include design and execution to get to a result, and the new technology that masks these processes and instead the technology and the devices and further separated from their creator and processes of creation. This is a common probably in growing globalization, for example with food, another arm of technology and labor. This separation ties in which his discussion of the difference between making and growing. Ingold explores this more in Chapter 18 looking into form and strength. In concluding Ingold feels that things grow into their form through the working of each material, becoming weaved and growing into a product or different object. To grow and to make are intertwined when you include human involvement.
----again really late, and a little scattered since I read it a while ago, but thought it was worth a comment anyway.
12 comments:
I’ve been to Space Camp four times. Yes, I’m sure you are all madly jealous. Space Camp was awesome. Among other important and useful things, I learned that the goals of the goals of Project Mercury (America’s first manned venture into outer space) were as follows: 1) To orbit a manned spacecraft around Earth; 2) To investigate man's ability to function in space; and 3) To recover both man and spacecraft safely. In looking at an issue such as space flight, particularly with consideration to how technologically advanced even the concept of space flight was at the time of the Mercury program, what then, of the human form in space? First off, there is the spacecraft itself. I won’t dwell on the spacecraft as it exists as a mode of transportation because I am sure that those issues will be addressed in next week’s readings on the car. There is however, something to be said on the third goal of the Mercury program. To recover both man and spacecraft safely implies not only the safety of man but the safety of the spacecraft. If the spacecraft can be safe, can it be in danger too? But what about the satellite, that which orbits with no actual acceleration, yet continues to move and function through its attachment to the gravitational pull of the Earth? It is physically separated from all that is human, and also the entire terrestrial world. If there is a question of aliens or extraterrestrial life, then it seems necessary to ask if humanity in itself even means the same thing functioning by the laws of weightlessness as opposed to the ones dictated by the physical environment of the earth.
I don’t buy Marx’s idea of a complete machine or the three parts that would constitute a complete machine if there were such a thing. The question of function arises; does a machine even need to have a function to be deemed a machine? What of incomplete machines then? My thought is that all machines are incomplete. If they were indeed “complete,” they would have no place among humans at all. That makes the human subject part of the “nature” of any machine, not just its operator but its codependent. I do not think we can stop at the idea of machine where it stands right now in this world; equally, the human-machine has not been fully developed.
Being a knitter, I couldn't help but make connections between "On Weaving a Basket" and my craft. Items that are knit, like the woven baskets, are "not 'made' in the sense in which we normally understand the term." (341). A knitter's yarn selection is of the utmost importance to the success or failure of her project, as the fiber content and the structure of the yarn gives that yarn certain characteristics that cannot be altered. The knitted garment, like a basket, "is the result of a play of forces, both internal and external to the material that makes it up. One could say that the form unfolds within a kind of force field, in which the weaver [or knitter] is caught up in a reciprocal and quite muscular dialogue with the material." (342).
In the same way that the basket itself does not come out of the idea of the basket, but out of the relationship the weaver has with the materials, so does any knitted garment. The materials that are used have such a power to them that it is actually impossible to "make do" in some areas. The skill of knitting is also one that can change the way a person views the world. Believe it or not, there is an enormous community of knitters on the internet, including a website for sharing patterns and projects which has over 87,000 members world-wide. For these individuals, the observation by David Guss that "the master craftsman in this society, a person accredited with exceptional wisdom, 'not only weaves the world when making a basket, but in everything he does'" (347) really rings true.
I found this reading to be much more intriguing than our last Ingold piece. I was most struck by his point regarding rotary versus reciprocating motion, explaining that “continuous rotary motion is typical of inorganic matter, whereas reciprocating motion is the sole form of movement found in living things” (303). This seems obvious once it has been pointed out, but I don’t think it is necessarily intuitive.
The first thing that came to mind, especially when Ingold mentioned the crank, was those “Make Your Own Souvenir” penny machines you might find at Disneyland or the zoo. For 50 cents (51 if you include the penny), you can turn a crank and change your penny into a snazzy souvenir. The title says it all—the human participant is marketed as a creator of the final item (very different than the Marxist idea of being controlled by the machine). Of course, as Ingold explains, the design is already within the machine—you are limited by the machine’s build. Your “creativity” is further encouraged due to the fact that you can usually pick out which design you want. The human operator may easily forget that their “creative” choice was outlined and created by the manufacturers of the machine. Speaking of which, the final outcome may seem like something the purchaser desired, but it is first and foremost a desired product of the distributor of the machine, and any overlap in the two desires is a happy coincidence (if not due to good marketing). The distributors want people to a) spend their money and b) remember where they had that wonderful crank-turning experience.
The turning of the crank is an adorable “throw-back” if you will. No doubt we have machines that can press pennies in seconds. Indeed, turning the crank does not even require much (if any) physical exertion, equalizing the consumer playing field. Still, there is an important reason that there is a crank and not a button—the human desire to have an active part within the machine, to be an active part of the “penny transformation”. Granted, there are probably some machines that have converted to buttons by now, but these don’t seem nearly as fun.
~Samantha
In the chapter "Tools, minds and machines," Ingold writes in regard to volition versus knowledge that "the will that instigates production is not necessarily the will of the producer," referring to the person physically creating something as the "producer." This is interesting to me because I spend most of my free time serving as the "producer" of a college television show, but here the role of producer does not fall into the same category as Ingold's producer, nor does it really fall into the category of artisan/engineer or operative that Ingold discusses earlier in the chapter. In the studio of Columbia's student-run TV station, the person who designed or built the equipment (or machines) is parallel to the artisan, and even the so-called technology staff of the station who understand how the machines function fulfill this role to a certain extent as well. The operatives of the machines would be the crew of the shows who press the buttons on the equipment that effect what is recorded and/or broadcast, but they do this in accordance with the requests of the producer. The producer does not need to build or understand the equipment, nor operate the equipment, but still controls the outcome of what the machine makes and gets credit for "producing" a work even within the title of the role. I think that this is an example, or is at least related, to Ingold's conclusion that machines do not make history but rather people do because human consciousness is a force of production.
Thus far all discussion of machines has been done in terms of useful action carried out by moving arrays of simpler machines... in such a way all machine labor may be reduced to tool use amplified by application of simple machines (pulleys, levers, inclined planes, gears, etc. that redirect and reapportion physical forces). Thus far it is certainly true that there are few if any exceptions to this general definition of machine technology. I find it interesting to consider the failings of this definition that may develop as technology—as independent from machine force-tool aggregates—develops in new direction.
One area of particular promise is that of solid-state computing. In recent years the move has begun from data storage in optical media (i.e. hard disk drives) to solid-state flash drives, which in fact contain no moving parts. The benefits of this move are immediately apparent; if there is no part that actually moves relative to any other, then there is no point at which wear can build up and build towards the decay of the device. HDDs are prone to malfunction in response to even a slight misalignment of the rotating disc, but a solid-state drive can take a beating and maintain function as long as its structural integrity is not compromised.
As such, it is now far from implausible to imagine the day wherein computers contain no moving parts whatsoever, and as such do not suffer the thermodynamic decay that affects all true machines, for the primary difference between human and machine is the latter’s inability to autonomously repair the inevitable decay associated with friction and use. In this case, then, technology (for these computers would certainly constitute technology) would be completely separate from the machine paradigm, as no simple machines would be utilized, even as useful functions are performed at the expenditure of energy.
ryder
For me, Ingold’s analysis is useful because I feel it better equips us to cope with the dilemna of technological determinism by allowing us to envision more of a spectrum between ourselves (sometimes instrument) and machines.
In doing so, he rephrases the question of ‘do ‘How and in what ways are technologies entangled with people and history?’
If we shift our perceptions slightly, to see the tool as an object that realizes human intentions, rather than the object alone, the picture becomes a lot clearer.
As Ingold points out, Marx’s “the living mechanism” of manufacture is not just a combination of the human body engaged with a purposive machine, but also the machine which realizes the intentions of the employer.
From the employer's point of view, we can understand how the machine benefits him/her by removing subjectivity (removal of error resulting in increased efficiency) and unpredictability. From the factory worker's point of view, it makes sense how it becomes a blow to a sense of creativity. These conflicting interests paint a clearer picture of the conflict as a whole.
What is most interesting to me is the how the machine functioned to realize the employer's interests by controlling worker’s perceptions. Here, I'm thinking of tools of coercion introduced to us in Ingold's discussion of animals.
Animals were not machines, but unpredictable beings with subjective will (hence capable of making mistakes). For this reason, they required tools of coercions such as spurs and whips, as well as tools like blinders which control their subjective thus fallible mode of perception. The same went for slaves. And for workers.
I think of Paul Virilio's writings on the relationship between film technology and war. He said (something close to) 'the history of the battle is the history of changing fields of perceptions.' His famous example made a case that the 'line of aim' (as inspired by the gun) formed a new mode of perception where the eye was replaced by a new mechanic kind of vision. Instead of seeing the enemy's face in traditional combat, infrared goggles, represented the 'enemy' as a fuzzy ball of light/heat. Virlio argues this distanced the soldier from the human target, and furthered the interests of those at head of command. I can't quite remember, but I think that Virilio emphasized that the problem was in the technology itself (?).
Lastly, for me it would be really helpful if in class we might be able to discuss the various similarities and differences in perspective of authors we’ve read so far.
Like others, I found this reading much more accessible and much more intriguing...
From the start, his explanation of the many dichotomies that have arisen over time through the drift between technology as craftmanship and technology as a means to an end- the end being art or theory. Ingold characterizes the engineer as far separate from the technician. All this is a result of absence of physical engagement in construction...
I have always struggled with the concept of technology. Ingold, in trying to define it from the beginning of the apter to moving on to a discussion of complicating it even more...
"Beyond stating the obvious, how does it help us to know that EVERYTHING is technological?" (297)
I found Ingold's reference to Reuleaux and his thoughts on 'prime movers' to be useful. To consider humans as a very part of the machine- the notion that "man is a 'force of nature' like any other" (305) is both dehumanizing and empowering at the same time. Even the skilled part of labor IS, in fact a force of nature I guess
MEGAN!
It's early and I'm tired, so this'll be brief.
Marx's concept of "the human handling of tools and machine performance" in the "Tools, minds and machines" chapter is extremely interesting. His bringing it all down to "skilled constraint" and Mumford's bringing it down to "degree of independence" make a lot of sense.
I was wondering, however, about how toys factor into this equation. It seems like toys are the precursor to what we would consider a transition between tools and machines; toys are handled by children first with "only muscle-power" and, as they get older, with some form of skilled constraint. The specific examples that I'm thinking of are Bob the Builder toys and Legos. Can toys be considered tools and/or machines, a precursor to tools and machines, another category in its own right, or some other option that I'm not thinking of right now?
On weaving a basket was particularly interesting to me as well because I'm also a knitting aficionado. I'm stuck as to whether I agree that knitting is on the same page as Ingold's concept of weaving, however. Ingold stresses the characteristics of the basketry fibers as a critical piece of what distinguishes weaving from flint-knapping or pottery. Because the fibers have a flexibility and a resistance of their own, and those properties are harnessed and combined to create the structure of the basket, "the form of the basket is a result of a play of forces, both internal and external to the material that makes it up" (342). My first thought when reading this article was that knitting is therefore different from weaving, because yarn is floppy and exerts little force; I decided that the stretchiness of knitted material isn't the same as the rigid opposing forces forming the shape of a basket. Stretchiness is sort of incidental, whereas the structure of a basket seems a very intentional harnessing of interlocking forces. But Emily's observations made me rethink my original thesis - yarn IS fundamental to the result. The size and characteristics of the yarn make a huge difference. Now I'm wondering if stretchy counts as "a play of forces" - it's true that yarn is not normally stretchy but that knitted material is. It's true that "the form of [something knitted] emerges through a pattern of skilled movement, and it is the rhythmic repetition of that movement that gives rise to the regularity of form" (342). But are the fibres of a scarf holding each other up the way the fibres of a basket are? I can't tell. Maybe I'm missing the point.
(p.s.) - hannah schmidt
Ingold “weaves” an interesting argument about the connection between knowledge, technologies, humans and machines. He begins in Chapter 15 by claiming that although technology is often associated with developments of the modern age, it is actually embedded in the meaning of “tools.” He mentions the application of mechanics of nature by way of science toward art as the end, defining mechanical quality in terms of a “separability” of constructive work from the context of sensory experiences. He moves into a definition of technology, employing at first science as a key term, but ultimately proposing that “everything is technological” (297).
I am interested in Ingold’s concern with the processes by which things become important to humans, in that he believes that objects must make some psychological impact, or some mental realization must occur in order for a human to deem an object useful. He first explains the process whereby knowledge becomes technology by way of orientation to the practical world. However, though he says that machines are independent, he thinks that humans are not “living appendages” of machines in that they are not self-sufficient. (Interesting: are machines non-living appendages of humans, so much so that we are in danger of losing our self-sufficiency without them?) Overall, Ingold is a believer in the one-way, human use of objects, rather than a follower of Latour’s symmetrical relationship between humans and nonhumans. He uses the term coercion to explain how humans control both animals and objects, explaining how humans favor using objects to meet their goals because machines by definition do slave work for humans. (On the other hand, again, he drives toward a more give-and-take relationship in some smaller points, explaining how the megamachine appears to domesticate humans in factories, etc., just as we do with animals.) Similarly, in chapter 18, he claims that materials found in nature only become socioculturally identifiable and significant objects when introduced to the human mind and its intentions.
In “On Weaving a Basket,” he explains a metaphysical or psychological need to determine between the mind and nature, in other words, objects are, to humans, and from a truly human subjective perspective, our conceptions, or physical manifestations of an idea (or goal, in terms of an object as a means to a human end, as stated in chapter 15). In thinking about these chapters, it occurred to me that when I knit, I barely think about what I’m doing as an intricate process. Yes, I’m amazed and pleased with the transformation that occurs (from strings of yarn to scarf—because that’s all I can make), but I mostly just use the activity to keep my hands busy while I’m doing other things. Is this a comment on the human inclination to create art, the human obsession with manipulating objects like a slave-master (even subconsciously), or both?
What Ingold labels the most all-encompassing definition of technology yet, is, McGinn writes, “a form of activity that is fabricative, material product-making or object-transforming, purposive (with the general purpose of expanding the realm of the humanly possible), knowledge-based, resource-employing, methodical, embedded in a sociocultural-environmental influence field, and informed by its practitioners’ mental sets”. This includes many areas that technology covers for sure, object, creation, subject, process, purpose, etc. But to be more fully decided on what Ingold means when he chooses this definition, we should look to the Figure 15.1 which shows the difference in the old vs. modern idea of the technical. Ingold claims a separation has been made between the older processes of technology that include design and execution to get to a result, and the new technology that masks these processes and instead the technology and the devices and further separated from their creator and processes of creation. This is a common probably in growing globalization, for example with food, another arm of technology and labor. This separation ties in which his discussion of the difference between making and growing. Ingold explores this more in Chapter 18 looking into form and strength. In concluding Ingold feels that things grow into their form through the working of each material, becoming weaved and growing into a product or different object. To grow and to make are intertwined when you include human involvement.
----again really late, and a little scattered since I read it a while ago, but thought it was worth a comment anyway.
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