In ‘Mind in matter: An introduction to material culture theory and method’, art historian and material culture scholar Jules David Prown outlines a three point methodology for analysing objects: description, deduction, and speculation.[1] In this blogpost, I will be applying this method to analyse a personal object – namely, a Swiss pencil sharpening machine – in order to engage with it intellectually, and to consider its value as cultural evidence.
Description: The pencil sharpener is a heavy object made of solid metal whose base is slightly larger than the size of my palm. It is grey and black, with a chuck that opens out, a rotating handle, and an adjusting screw for sharpening points to various different lengths. Contained within the top half, but hidden from view, is a cylindrical cutter or wood shaver made of steel, and in the lower half is a drawer for the shavings. Additionally, it comes with a table clamp to secure the object to a surface – in my case, a wooden desk. It has the name of its maker, ‘Caran d’Ache’, and below it its place of production, ‘Genève’, imprinted onto the front. It looks almost new, with few signs of use.
Deduction: This object is a utilitarian one – a sturdy, compact machine with replaceable parts made for habitual use. Its rotating black plastic handle and the ‘ears’ used to open the chuck are designed for easy use. The pencil sharpener has been used a few times, and only in order to test its capacity. This is why the drawer contains few wood shavings, and the sharpener looks almost intact. It was given to me not long ago as a parting gift by my former supervisor and a former colleague at the Archivist at the European Molecular Biology Laboratory, along with a beautiful matching set of Caran d’Ache graphite pencils. I was excited to get a classic pencil sharpener similar to the ones I had in school as a child (but of much better quality). By bringing it with me to Scotland from Germany and by securing it to the corner of my study desk, keeping it within my peripheral vision, I intended it to be a nice reminder of my former boss and colleague, their kindness and mentorship, and the times that my boss told me that pencils were an archivist’s friend since other writing tools are difficult to change or remove (pens, staples, and metal paper clips were our enemies).
Despite appreciating the gift very much – or perhaps because I appreciate it so much – I have found it difficult to use the pencil sharpener and the pencils regularly. My instinct is to leave pretty gifts intact and use them when I really need to, which defies the purpose of the object and, most likely, the intention of the gift givers.
Speculation: Were this item to be found by someone in the future, I believe the object in its current state would be (accurately) perceived as almost unused and therefore an item that was either cherished and cared for or of little practical use to its owner. Its functionality might not be immediately apparent, especially as the chuck is designed specifically for wooden and graphite writing tools of a certain width, and it must be pulled out with a bit of strength in order to make fine shavings of the exterior by rotating the handle. Unless the person who discovers this object in the future has seen such a machine in action along with its essential partner object, the pencil, and knows how to dismantle it to see its interior, I am not sure it would be intuitive what this tool is for and how it is used. Due to its high quality, it will likely remain intact well into the future.
[1] Jules David Prown, ‘Mind in Matter: An Introduction to Material Culture Theory and Method’, Winterthur Portfolio, 17.1 (1982), 1–19 (p. 7) <https://doi.org/10.1086/496065>.
sIMPly archivists 