Touchstones

Museums exist, of course, to tell stories with objects. The study of objects made and used by people is called material culture. Objects are seen as raw evidence from which we can make hypotheses about past people, events and societies.

Material culture study has developed and grown hand in hand with museums themselves, focussed as they both are on things. Though its roots are in the elitist connoisseurship of the decorative arts, its principles have been democratized. We now realize that almost any object -- a paperboard coffee cup, a shoelace, a cookbook, a Barbie doll -- can reveal information about the people who created and used it. It's only in recent years that this method has taken a place near in importance to that of traditional history, which emphasizes understanding of the past based on documentary (written) evidence. We are now reaching agreement that understanding of the past can be developed using a variety of strategies, including the scientific methods used in archaeological and natural history research, field observation, oral history collection, and material culture study.

(I know, I've got such a terrible history bias. Sorry, other museums. Natural history and science museums have long viewed objects as evidence, and material culture strategies have been deeply influenced by a scientific approach to objects).

With so many new tools in the toolbox, museums are in an excellent position to expand public understandings of the world. We can amass both documentary and artifact evidence, conduct archaeological research and develop conservation knowledge, serve as community centers for collecting oral history and folklore, and become centers for scholarship and the sharing of ideas. But in many ways, it's the things that remain the most important to the role of museums in the modern world. Yes, we are meccas for ideas and we exist to educate; but it's our large collections of things, our stacks and racks and shelves and drawers of stuff, that set museums apart from education institutions and learning centers. Museums are keepers of the evidence of the existence of this planet and the experiences of its people; rather a sacred trust, when you think about it.

Literally, touchstones are hard, dark peices of basalt, slate or jasper rock. They were invented to help test the actual content of metals being presented as precious; for example, detecting any cheaper alloy that might have been used to dilute and extend a quantity pure gold or silver. A tester makes a mark with the questionable metal on the touchstone, and compares it to a similar mark made with a metal whose true content is known. The touchstone is the backdrop against which relative value is revealed. The real thing emerges as the highest standard.

Touchstones, then, will serve as an excellent name for Mu*zine posts about truly remarkable objects hekd by museums. Objects which speak volumes, which hold the eyes for minutes, which startle up bursts of wonder, sadness, fascination, or joy. Objects which you must stare at for several minutes while you try to comprehend their meanings; objects which make their surroundings disappear as you imagine the hands that created and held and used them, the hopes embedded in them, or the unexpected truths they reveal.

Touchstones test for value and attest to authenticity; touchstone objects test our values and assert their authenticity. There is a physical thrill sometimes when coming across a touchstone object, especially if the encounter was unexpected. I began pondering this at the Smithsonian Museum of American History last week, when on a tour of America on the Move my group passed a case in which was resting Abraham Lincoln's stovepipe hat. That small shock of authenticity stopped me in the midst of a brisk walking stride. This was not, as so often you find, a hat of the time period of Abraham Lincoln; not a hat similar to that worn by Abraham Lincoln; not a hat said to have been Abraham Lincoln's: this was, with reasonable verifiability, the hat worn by the man who presided over a sadly sundered Union, the man to whose unwavering vision we must largely credit the preservation of the United States as a cohesive entity. The hat he was wearing the night he was assasinated. His hat! He was real. He had a head to cover up and an important mind inside it. He was important enough that somebody saved his hat. It's evidence - evidence that he was, and that he meant something to people.

I'll add other recent encounters with touchstones to Mu*zine - single objects, not always blockbusters and not always iconic, that can help us tell false from true, that say something strongly and clearly. Please add your own.