 Good evening. I'm Rukhi Nuhal Ravekumar, the director of education at Cooper Hewitt Smithsonian Design Museum. And I have the pleasure of welcoming you to the Enid and Lester Morse historic design lecture. Thanks to the tremendous support of trustee Deni Morse and her husband Lester, this important program is a series that brings historians, scholars, and designers to Cooper Hewitt to grow our understanding of design as a social and cultural force in the world. This is the 16th program in this series. Cooper Hewitt aims to inspire, educate, and empower people through design. As some of you hopefully got to witness the recent opening of nature, Cooper Hewitt Design Triennial, it's a testament to those values. Nature tracks the efforts of designers to create a more holistic and harmonious relationship with nature. There are over 60 projects that have been realized through a collaborative process of multidisciplinary creativity with designers, engineers, biologists, material scientists, philosophers, and artists working together to find meaningful alternatives for humanity to live in harmony with the natural world. If you didn't get to walk through it, I encourage you to come back and take a view of this fabulous show. You might actually need to plan several trips considering it's 60 plus objects. While the Triennial provides a snapshot of contemporary design, our work as a cultural institution is founded on and enriched by our extensive collection. So what we love about this lecture series is that we really get to take a nice peek into our collection and investigate the many stories it has to offer. Tonight, we're going to take a deep dive with Brittany Cox, who I have an absolute pleasure to welcome soon. She will provide us insight into the alluring topic of designing the sublime. I think something we could all use right now. Brittany has perhaps the most fascinating job title. She is an antiquarian horologist, which really, I think, translates to magician. More specifically, she's a clock and watchmaker who specializes in the conservation and restoration of antique automata and mechanical musical objects. Wouldn't you like to know more about her job? Her original work explores the relationship between time and the sublime and emphasizes the importance of historic craft practices. She owns and operates Memoria Technica, her own independent workshop in Seattle, where she offers a range of services, including conservation and restoration of automata, singing birds, mechanical magic, mechanical musical objects, and complicated clocks and watches. We're thrilled to have her here to share a little bit of that magic. Brittany was here about a year ago, and she was on a panel, and she got to speak for about five minutes. And we did not want her to stop talking, so we're very glad to have her back here because she told us some amazing stories about things in our collection that we had not looked at in that way before. So thank you all for coming tonight, and our sincerest thanks to Denny and Lester for all that you do for Cooper Hewitt and for inspiring us to bring people together to learn more about design and design history. And with that, I welcome Brittany Cox. Thank you so much for having me. So first I want to say thank you so much to the Cooper Hewitt for inviting me to give this talk. Emily Oro was an amazing help to me while I was going through the collection and trying to piece together this huge story using this incredible collection here at Cooper Hewitt in the Smithsonian. I also want to thank Mr. and Mrs. Lester Morse for sponsoring this series and making this possible. So I'm here to tell you a story. It's quite a large story to get through in 45 minutes, but basically, we're looking at our shared story. It's the story of objects that were made to explore our desire to know the sublime, which is a subject of so many artistic and creative philosophical pursuits. Many of the objects we'll be looking at were created to manifest that true feeling of greatness, whether moral, spiritual, physical, or aesthetic or intellectual. It's something that we see as beyond imitation, calculation, or measurement. It's something that takes us beyond ourselves, the sensation we have come to know as the sublime. The context in which these objects were created basically generated an archetypal knowledge, which many different crafts were born from. The ornamental turning of kings led to a derivative style of decoration known as guichet. This particular type of decoration was then employed by craftsmen on a variety of objects, and many of them were horological. The creation of automata by the Greeks for entertainment and the pleasure led to the presentation of automata as a scene of wonder. We had beauty and spectacle, and from here the technology evolved, and we saw the creation of the ancestor of the first programmable computer, as well as mechanical detonators for bombs and timers for space exploration. This history is rich with philosophical context about our vulnerabilities and our nature. As a historian, I want to shed light on this. As a conservator, I want to preserve and protect it. And as an artist, I want to resurrect and share it. Please join me as I walk through a bit of this history and make a case for why these objects, now more than ever, deserve our attention. My journey began with a simple music box. When I was a child, my maternal-grant grandmother gave me a particular box. It was not really as nice as this one in the Cooper Hewitt collection. This one actually plays eight tunes. It's quite a fine Swiss box. Mine was a small movement housed in a kitschy Easter egg, which later I discarded, but treasured underneath my bed. And for me, listening to notes plucked from a resonating steel comb, that conjured the sublime. But where did this music come from? So the recognition of time. It's been with us since the very beginning. Season passing, bringing food, famine, cold, and warmth. We've measured our days and lives by hours and numbers. Our timekeeping devices, a reflection of the cosmos. From the very first nomans, our sundials, to astrolabes, a map of the stars, to the path around the simple dial of a clock. It's an echo of the Earth's orbit. This is one fundamental thing we still have in common with the very first of our kind, born over 100,000 years ago, pre-Homo sapiens. It's the observation of time. This 20th century print by artist Joseph Cornell and the Smithsonian American Art Museum depicts an astronomer observing the movement of celestial bodies. Historically, units of time were defined by the movements of astronomical objects. So we had sun-based. This is where the year was the time for the Earth to rotate around the sun. We had moon-based. The month was based on the moon's orbital period around the Earth. Earth-based. The time it took for the Earth to rotate on its own axis as observed on a sundial. And then celestial sphere-based. Basically, sidereal time, where the apparent movement of the stars and constellations across the skies used to calculate the length of a year. The Egyptians divided the day into 12-hour periods and used large obelisks to track the movement of the sun as well as water clocks, which they called klepsidra. This was ancient Greece. So these water-powered escapement mechanisms, which transferred rotational energy into intermittent motions, date all the way back to the third century BC in ancient Greece. So for thousands of years, devices have been used to measure and keep track of time. In addition to creating early clocks and other clever mechanisms, many of which were documented in writings from the period, the people of ancient Greece created what we know as the seven liberal arts and sciences. The first three, grammar, rhetoric, logic, these were known as the trivium. The four subjects dealing with numbers were sacred, as math was seen to be the language of the divine, and infallible knowledge known a priori without experience. Mathematics, above all other disciplines, only deals with certainties. So to study math was to actually study the highest art form as it brought one closer to God. These subjects were known as the quadrivium, and their influence has held strong for centuries. Horology, the study and measurement of time, is a child of astronomy, the study of numbers in space and time. This print from 1543 shows the five platonic solids, the first atoms, if you will. These were born out of geometry. To the Greeks, even the fundamental building blocks of our universe consisted of perfect geometric forms, the tetrahedron, the cube, the octahedron, the icosecahedron, and the dodecahedron. This belief in a geometric system universe was built in the house of Greek philosopher Plato, and was the foundation stone for leading scientists and sovereigns and societies well into the 17th century. Isaac Newton, the English mathematician and physicist, born in 1642, would be the first to discover a new mathematical system since the publication of Euclidean Geometry in 300 BC. The seven liberal arts and sciences, including the quadrivium, the Greeks found its way both east and west, influencing both the Franks and the Islamic theologies, as doctrines were translated from Greek into Latin and Arabic, ensuring their influences for ages to come. This print in the collection at Cooper Hewitt from 1568 is a plate from German master goldsmith and designer, Warnier-Hotsmaner, and its compendium of perspectival geometry, showing two polyhedral variants based on the five platonic solids. This print from a catalog in the Cooper Hewitt Collection dated from 1732, documents turned objects of ivory from an important cabinet of curiosity, which belonged to Nicholas Collier and was devoted entirely to mechanics. In the west, the Greek texts of the seven liberal arts became the foundation of education in noble courts and the idea of God as a geometer, born in the quadrivium and the house of Plato held true. Even the world was made by a God whose language consisted of mathematical and harmonic principles. What was God but a perfect mathematician? Latheturning was invented in the 14th century and nobility were trained to turn beautiful objects on something called a rose engine lathe, where figures unknown to the imagination could be raised from the bones of the earth based on mathematical calculations, creating spiraling springs of ivory and forms rendered from the golden mean, these took anywhere from 12 to 18 months to turn. The practice of princely turning in the Middle Ages led to the transition of God as a geometer to God as a turner in the minds of sovereigns. What is the world but a perfect sphere turned on a lathe? This print shows two methods of ornamental turning. On the left is shown what we would call a puzzle ball, where from one piece of material, a turner can generate multiple enclosed and layered spheres, one inside the other and another and so on. On the right, one can see the true form of the rosette in the work. By varying the phase of a singular waveform, there are a series of repetitious cuts along an axis. One can generate complex structures. Rosettes or cams carry the wave and the operator determines the phase, thus governing the sequence and what forms would appear. These are the types of objects that were being made. If God was a turner, then the act of turning brought one closer to God and therefore closer to being a perfect ruler. To be an accomplished turner held great significance and demonstrated that one was capable of creating objects that served a higher purpose. Objects that could be used as tools to understand the nature of the world with their perfect geometric forms, mirrors the building blocks that created our universe. Here in these towering spires of ivory was God as the geometer and God as the turner. If you can imagine a sovereign sitting in a room lit by candlelight turning a wheel or possibly using a foot pedal to generate these incredible structures. Most of us think of layers as simple metal or wood turning machines, but these ornamental layers were in a realm of their own. These layers were made for the practice of ornamental turning could actually rival their creations in splendor. Many were adorned with the finest decoration, mercury gilded surfaces, pulleys embracing arms with flowers. We had beasts of the wild adorning the corners of the plinths. These machines both conjured and embodied beauty, capable of producing perfect ratios and symmetry symbolized by sine waves. Here the technology of the industrial evolution over 300 years before. By the beginning of the 18th century, at least one example of an automaton rose engine was made. This was possibly for the King of Prussia, Frederick I. This machine was further programmable. It was capable of turning objects automatically through a weight-driven mechanism of cams and levers, which would be chosen and set into motion by the operator. One well-known King who was an accomplished turner was Louis XVI. His engine lathe is in the Birmingham Museum of Science and Industry. Lathe turning was so popular. Everyday objects were also made utilizing the art form. A court turner was employed, whose sole job was to make beautiful things for the court. The set of beautiful 18th century turn buttons in the collection of Kipper Hewitt demonstrate how prolific and popular the art form of ornamental turning was. This example on the right jumps ahead a little bit in time, but shows a clear lineage between ornamental turning and horology. This late 18th century automaton watch is unsigned, but the case is highly decorated at what adorns the back, but ornamental turning that's enveloped in a blue, translucent enamel. We will see the style of decoration later via engine turning, which is then called guillochet. But let's return to the Greeks. And the ever-important Antikythera mechanism. This is an early machine named after the island near where it was found. It was pulled from the depths of a shipwreck and is thought of as the first analog computer. It was used to predict astronomical positions and eclipses for calendars. This particular model is part of the Smithsonian Collection in the National Museum of American History. It demonstrates the technology for horological objects and complex geared systems have long dated history, possibly as far back as the first century BC. As the Antikythera mechanism is thought to be from between 87 BC and 205 BC. Though we have no physical remains of early automata, we have records of them in manuscript. And the Antikythera mechanism is proof of what was being made. Automata were found in the palaces and pleasure gardens of the Greeks. And these were common throughout the Byzantine Empire and later in Arabic kingdoms. These were known to incorporate various forms of engineering to produce their synthesis of life, utilizing a combination of mechanical, hydraulic, and pneumatic technology. With the capture of Byzantium by the Ottomans came the treatises and documents on mechanical life that have flourished there. The translation of these Alexandrian texts into both Greek and Latin, or from Greek and Latin into both Arabic, or from Greek into both Arabic and Latin, ensured their survival and utility first in the East and then later in the West. Not only were these manuscripts preserved and studied, but they were also expanded on. In the East, the Greek texts on automata became doctrines of divine knowledge. This page comes from a treatise on fantastic devices from a Muslim scholar, inventor, artisan, and mathematician named Al-Jazari. His elephant clock was especially intricate. Every half hour, the bird on the dome whistled. The man below dropped a ball into the dragon's mouth, and the driver hit the elephant with his goat. The met, says it's dated between 1,000 and 1,400 AD. Other sources have it dated from 1206. Remember this elephant motif and the structure of this clock as we'll see it again. It took 100 years or more for the West to embrace automata. They were originally viewed with suspicion, something exotic that had come from the East. But with the construction of clocks to regulate prayer and the elaborate astronomical clocks with moving figures made by mathematicians of the time, the church began to embrace automata for other purposes. From mechanical grottoes, hells, angels ascending to heaven and bleeding criss on crosses, the church embraced these mechanical marvels in the effect they could elicit from viewers. This monk is a poignant example in the collection of the Smithsonian National Museum of American History from the 16th century, 1500s. This holy Roman emperor, Charles V, called clockmaker, engineer, and mathematician, Juanelo Tarano, to serve in his court and build a fantastic astronomical clock. Successor to the throne, kill up the second, called upon Juanelo again, while praying at the bedside of his dying son, Philip made a deal with God. He promised a miracle for a miracle if his child could be spared. When the child recovered through divine intervention, Philip kept his bargain by having Juanelo construct a miniature penitent monk. This mechanical monk, wind wound, could glance left to right, open and close its mouth, nod its head, eyes gazing at the cross each time it was raised. It beat its breast and with its other hand and it would turn about every 20 inches as it moved forward on a flat surface. We're actually witnessing the act of mechanized prayer. If you have a busy day, just wind this up. You know, as you're praying for you, you've got a busy life. You know, you're a sovereign, you're ruling a kingdom. Can't do everything. After the first portable watches were developed in the 16th century, a descendant of small, driven table clocks, the craft began to flourish and it wasn't long before they were embellished with motif, even appearing in the shape of skulls made from bone known as memento mori watches, a reminder that time flies. This 17th century watch, roughly 100 years after our mechanical monk and the shape of crucifix on the left by Solomon Costa is from the collection at Kewper Hewitt. It's finally made from rock crystal, mercury-grilled brass and steel and has a leather carrying case. I had the privilege of looking at this piece today. It's incredible. On the right, automata and themes of the divine continue to be commemorated through mechanism. This watch depicts an animated scene of Gabriel's message to Mary that she will be impregnated with the Christ child, a very common theme in the church. Likely to be mid 18th century, this would actually be something that you might encounter if you lived in the 1600s and visited a church. We saw the development of pen cylinders beginning in the early part of the 18th century and people began to design automata that actually enacted the tax they were previously appeared to perform. In 1723, we have clockmaker Charles Clay employing the pen cylinder in his organ clocks, also adding a automata to his dials. This clock on the left, like all musical clocks by Clay, was programmed to play tunes by composer George Friedrich Handel. This one was made in 1730. Perhaps the most fascinating aspect of these early clocks by Clay is the thought that given Handel wrote and arranged the music for these cylinders that allowed Handel to generate music not previously possible due to the limitation of human hands. We have 10 fingers, therefore only 10 notes. If you have a clock with 28 pipes, you have 28 notes. These clocks effectively could provide the first recordings of a musician given that the songs are programmed and therefore repeatable every time. It's like the first synthesizers. Musicians loved writing for new things. ["Pomp and Circumstance"] Moving on. We have this famous saying of French philosopher, scientist and mathematician Descartes. I know no difference between the machines the craftsman makes and the various bodies nature makes on its own. This signaled a shift in philosophical thinking. Nature and craft became almost synonymous. Nature and the artisan was an image used in medieval times to convey nature's role in a three-tiered system of creation. This included the works of God, nature and human beings. She was portrayed as a finely-dressed woman wielding iron and hammer over an anvil, forging her creations, the trade of the blacksmith. In this hierarchy, she was situated between God and man, a bridge between sacred ideal forms and matter. This was an emblem of a new philosophy, symbolizing man's ability to prove on the materials of nature, matter ennobled by the art through the imitation of the great creator. When Jacques de Faulconcente, a French artist and scientist, made these three automata in the 1730s, he was originally both interested in religious studies and clockmaking. He developed these first mechanical devices that mimicked biological vital functions as such as circulation, respiration, and digestion after learning of anatomy from a surgeon. Two were musicians, a tambourine player and a flutist. The flutists had lips that actually flexed in four directions, delicate, jointed fingers, and lungs made of bellows that gave three different blowing pressures. Its hands were also covered in skin to create the correct pressure needed to play the flute well. It was the first automaton musician that could actually play an instrument, rather than being a music box with a decorative figure. It's apparently possible that you could have brought your own flute, so if you went to visit and see this piece, you brought your own flute, you handed it to Veconsani, put it on the flutist, and it would play it. So hundreds of people would actually travel to see these pieces. Veconsani's third automaton was the notorious defecating duck, while it flapped its wings and cavorted duckishly. Its main attraction was that it swallowed bits of corn and grain and then excreted them at the other end in a changed form. It could even flap its wings, drink water, digest grain, and defecate. Although later on, famous magician and clockmaker Robert Houdin would own this piece and reveal it was a fake. Not long after Veconsani gave up making automata, a Swiss clockmaker named Jacquet Dros, also responsible for the invention of singing bird automata, as we know them today, and created three androids, designed in the 1770s. They included a lady, who was a musician, and two little boys, a writer and a draftsman. Like Veconsani's automata, these figures actually perform the acts the automata were previously meant to simulate. Instead of a woman appearing to play the piano, it actually played the piano. The musician was quite complicated, as well as the draftsman. The draftsman actually drew, and the writer could be arranged to write any message up to 40 characters. The writer is considered to be the ancestor of the first programmable computer. This was all done with cams, brass, and steel. The 17th century saw the invention of the magic lantern. This slide from Cooper Hewitt Collection on the left from the 1780s kept up with these fashions in interests of the time. Novelties and toys of this kind were an accessible way to commemorate and disperse popular forms of theater and entertainment. Automata were no exception. This unusual set in the collection animates everything from the Catherine wheels of automata and clocks to fireworks shows and watches. You can see from this print from 1735 by Charles Nicholas Colchon the Younger. It depicts a firework show in Moudin, in which a mechanized firework Catherine wheel is shown adorning the central tower. The Catherine wheel or pinwheel is actually a type of firework, consisting either of a powdered, filled spiral tube or an angled rocket mounted with a pin through its center. When ignited, the energy of the firework not only creates sparks and flame, but cause the wheel to spin, quickly rotate, making this display much more spectacular. The firework is named after St. Catherine of Alexandria, who, according to Christian tradition, was condemned to death by breaking on the wheel. Breaking on the wheel was a method of torture used during public executions from the period of antiquity through the Middle Ages and even into the early modern period. The story is that when St. Catherine touched the wheel, it flew into pieces. Even our fireworks and entertainment were entangled with divine meaning. The triumph of St. Catherine coming to life through a burning wheel miracles born of fire and glitter. My colleague Tristan Bainbridge, who's a furniture conservator, had a previous life as a pyrotechnics engineer. This happened to be an interest of his, and I was quite lucky to actually see one of these shows. He specialized in the recreation of spectacle fireworks, utilizing these early automata. Catherine wheels are a really big part of that. Here is one of the shows on the left, recreated in the style of the 18th century display that's actually shown in the slide from the magic lantern set on the right from Cooper Hewitt. The motifs are classical, and Catherine wheels are used. Continuing the classical style, these 18th century automata clocks by James Cox for the Chinese market utilize imagery of firework displays to produce glittering optical effects. You can also see the obvious similarities in the motifs that have persisted into the 1700s to the piece first conceived by the Islamic scholar Al-Jazari. With animated figures and contra-rotating rods to simulate water, the top is also adorned with an animated variation of the Catherine wheel. As the clock keeps time, there is an elephant at the base whose eyes shift back and forth. The cases in the decoration were quite lavish. Most of the time they had fire-guilding as well. And here is our elephant, who looks quite suspicious, actually. This rendering of the silver swan automaton made in 1773 also by London clockmaker James Cox and his ingenious Belgian apprentice, John Joseph Merlin, shows the swan presented in the classical style with columns and thrown as the central figure in a temple surrounded by mirrors, producing the effect of multiple swans, a display to conjure an audience. In fact, Cox did invite audiences to experience this marvel, any charge for entry. The swan sits in a bed of contra-rotating twisted glass rods, meant to simulate the movement of water. Tiny silver fish swim through them, darting away from the swan as it lowers its head in anticipation of the catch. Three clockwork mechanisms drive the swan. Each is a product of 18th century clockmaking. The first controls the movement of the swan's neck as it rotates, lowers and preens its feathers followed by the miraculous feet of actually catching and gobbling up the fish. The fish and glass rods are manipulated by the second of the movements and the third controls the music of 12 bells and eight tunes which accompany the swan's 42nd performance. Perhaps one of the most beautiful aspects of this piece is that Cox engineered the reflection of the movement of water. If you watch the base of the swan, light shifts and lingers over the surface of the feathers as if the swan were actually floating. Fewing in the vein of wonder, we have Jean-Yu-Jean Robert Houdin who was born in central France in 1805. After graduating from law school, he returned home to follow in his father's footsteps eventually becoming a watchmaker. Yet, fate had a different mind for young Robert whom after purchasing a set of books on clockmaking returned only to find that the shop had mistakenly give him a package containing a two volume set on magic and things were never the same. He began to perform professionally. At one such event, he met the daughter of a renowned clockmaker and the two quickly fell for each other and were married in July of 1830 with Robert adding her name to his own becoming Robert Houdin from then on. The newly weds moved to Paris where Robert Houdin worked in his father-in-law's shop and he continued his career in horology. In addition to his magic, he produced a series of mechanical devices and clocks shown her two examples of his mystery clocks which he invented containing their movements in the base. Houdin's work inspired many fine craftsmen over the ages, two mystery clocks by the French firm Cartier from an exhibition in the Cooper Hewer shown here. The clock on the left is in the tradition of Houdin's clocks with the mechanism in the base and the hands operated via invisible motion work. The clock on the right is an innovation on Houdin's original design. It has an enameled guillochet dial, a descendant craft of ornamental turning and rotating rose diamond stars indicating the hours and the minutes. The secret is in the operation of the hands which appeared to float over the dial. Houdin is generally considered to have been the originator of conjuring in its modern sense. He was the first magician to make extensive use of electricity in his shows. An idea which stemmed from his background as a clockmaker. Nevertheless, he came under intense official scrutiny and even suspicion on the belief that he might have been performing witchcraft. To prove otherwise, he had to reveal many of a secret to the French government and show them that he was actually a horologist. Later, he was hired by the French government to shut down a rebellion thereby saving France from possible ruin. Not many clockmakers can put that on their CV. One of Houdin's most famous tricks which he toured with throughout Europe was the famous mechanical orange tree. This most famous trick was world-renowned. This clip is actually from the Paul Daniels magic show. I highly recommend watching this all the way through. It aired from 1979 to 1992, but during the course of Houdin's magic show, he would take a small and valuable article from an audience member. Perhaps a watch or a very valuable ring and this he would vanish, leaving the audience wondering and wait while he continued the show. At a certain point, this tree which was situated center stage, it would suddenly begin to bloom. Flowers would appear and then oranges. Houdin would take the oranges from the tree to actually prove that these were real oranges that had grown. He would then cut them up and hand them out to the audience members to enjoy. And eventually, once people had enjoyed the oranges and the show moved on a little bit more, the top orange would open and from that top orange would arise a handkerchief that was carried by two mechanical butterflies and thus revealing the object that had been stolen earlier in the performance. So here we see the orange opening. Paul Daniels, very charming British magician is explaining to us what's happening. Here comes the butterflies. And of course, I'm sure the person who ever lost their valuable item was quite relieved to see it's hanging there on this handkerchief, which is why really this trick was so famous. So not only did Houdin inspire Cartier and other firms, but he also inspired the very famous Russian goldsmith to the Tsar Nicholas II, our loved Peter Karl Faberge. Faberge took much of his inspiration from the masterworks of the past, shown here is his orange tree with the singing bird automaton. This was made in 1911 and is really a homage to both Houdin and singing bird inventor Jacque Dros. In 1864, Peter Karl Faberge received tuition from respected goldsmiths in Germany, France, and England. He also attended a course at Schloss Commercial College in Paris and viewed the objects in the galleries of Europe and leading museums before taking over his father's firm, the House of Faberge. The company was also involved with cataloging and repairing objects in the Hermitage during the 1870s. This led Faberge to become well acquainted with the cultural heritage of many generations of craft. Here we can see Faberge's rendition of the famous silver swan automaton. This was so opulent. The swan was actually made of gold and then plated in silver. So 52 jeweled Easter eggs in total were created by Russian jeweler Faberge for the Tsar, the second who had a standing order of two Easter eggs every year, one for his mother and one for his wife. Lucky ladies. This gold egg is covered by a matte lallic enamel with tape lattice which is actually decorated with diamonds. At the top is inscribed diamonds the year 1906. The surprise inside is this beautiful swan which is settled on a large aquamarine that was meant to simulate a lake. Under one wing is the winding aperture for the winding mechanism and when operated the swan spreads its wings and moves its head and neck and moves along the table. A feat of engineering and such a small masterpiece. The swan miniaturized. Okay, well, the last 10 slides were all to get an effort to tie in Faberge so you could see this amazing shampoo bottle. When doing this research I actually came across this product line in the collection at the Smithsonian National Museum of American History. It was made famous by using the name Faberge. Given that the name had created world renowned brands synonymous with luxury it was picked up and turned into an American cosmetic company in 1964. And obviously of such import that it is now part of a world renowned collection the Smithsonian. Today the name has been rightfully returned to the Faberge family and a Faberge Heritage Council was formed in 2007. Just add the name Faberge and apparently you can conjure the sublime in a shampoo bottle. The addition of Farrah Fawcett doesn't hurt either. Okay, so we've covered the beautiful, the wonderful and the enchanting part of the sublime within the thread of horology. What's amazing is that the Smithsonian collection we have examples of both sides of the sublime. This section, while short, has to do with how science has utilized horological innovation to accomplish some incredible things. Automata were not only used by the church but by kings and sovereigns to demonstrate a kingdom's technological and strategic prowess. If two 16th century kingdoms met at a war table can you imagine how you might feel at the prospect of going to war against a king with a miniature mechanical ship that can roll down a table and shoot tiny cannons. This mechanical nef on the left was likely made by Schlotheim of Augsburg in about 1585 and might have belonged to the Holy Roman Emperor Rudolph II who was depicted in miniature on the ship's throne. Within the hull spring driven clockwork mechanisms operated the Atalmitan figures and provided motion for the machine to run along the table while playing music. Wilston motion, the tops of the four mass and mizons actually rotate. The table nef was a popular design for the period and our mechanical galleon was a lavish example of such. On the right is a print from the collection at the Cooper Hewitt entitled Design for a Nef. It was a ship shaped container for a table decorated with strap work in which set various aquatic scenes at the bow of grotesque mask at the stern two-winged mermaids with crossed arms. This is attributed to lean and 30 of Flemish engraver from 1550. Oftentimes clocks, automata, and ornamental turnings would actually be found side by side in the cabinets of curiosities, of kings. These were objects of prized higher learning. As trans-oceanic travel grew in significance throughout the 17th century, so did the importance of accurate and reliable navigation at sea. Scientists and navigators have been working on the problem of measuring longitude for a long time. While determining longitude was relatively or latitude was relatively easy, early ocean navigators had drawn a dead reckoning to find longitude. This particularly inaccurate on long voyages without the sight of land and sometimes led to tragedy as during the Sicilian naval disaster of 1707 which claimed the lives of nearly 2,000 sailors. The Longitude Act or Queen Anne Act was passed in July of 1714. Well, this was actually defined the challenge of finding longitude at sea. This was solved by John Harrison, a cabinet and clock maker with the invention of the first ship's chronometer H4 shown on the left. The term chronometer was coined from the ancient word chronos, meaning time and meter, meaning counter, and the same year. So today, the title of chronometer has actually come to distinguish a timepiece, just a regular timepiece for its exceptional accuracy. On the right is a late 19th century marine chronometer from the Smithsonian Collection of the National Museum of American History. These chronometers are still used on Cajun today but were largely replaced by global navigation satellite systems. At the same time, the artist Goldsmith Fabergé is building his opulent mechanical masterpieces. We have the onset of World War I. We see the horological mechanisms used in the service of destruction by the mechanical fuse detonator, which is based on a watch mechanism. These were manufactured in many of the main watch companies, including Boliva and Timex, which were leading companies in the defense sector. These detonators were used in both World War I and II and later fuses that were used to detonate the first nuclear bombs were born from that lineage. Pictured here is the explosion at Nagasaki in 1945 from the archives of the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum. The detonation of the nuclear bomb is the first manifestation of man-made existential risk. An existential risk is any risk that has the potential to eliminate all of humanity or at the very least, kill large swaths of the global population, leaving survivors without sufficient means to rebuild society to current standards of living. This image from the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum on the right shows Apollo 11 in 1969. The Omega Speedmaster also in the Smithsonian Collection on the left is well known as the first watch on the moon. While it was a precision scientific instrument, it was not instrumental in the moon landing itself. In fact, the electronic timer used on the mission malfunctioned. It was this simple mechanical timer, also in the Smithsonian Collection that was paramount to a successful and safe landing and was made for 60 second and six minute intervals. This timer was later improved upon by Charles Sotter, one of the principal engineers who worked on the Bull of Acutron, the world's first tuning fork watch, a bridge between mechanical and quartz watches. Shown here is the Bull of Acutron space view in its original box in the collection of the Cooper Hewitt. Acutron wrist watches were given to world leaders as presidential gifts and in 1964, President Lyndon Johnson declared the Acutron to be the official gift of state. By 1967, the only clocks aboard Air Force One and many instrument panel Acutrons were used in military ships and aircrafts. In 1960, NASA asked Bull of it to incorporate Acutron technology into its equipment for the space program. During the early years, Acutron timing mechanisms were used in 46 US space program missions and Acutron watch movement sits on the moon Sea of Tranquility today, an instrument placed there in 1969 by Apollo 11 astronauts, the first man on the moon. Horeological mechanisms once used to detonate bombs are now the fail-safe views in our nuclear devices. The National Nuclear Security Administration in 2011 announced the completion of a larger safety initiative which incorporated fine mechanical instrument into their safety protocol. The mechanical safe army detonator is an extremely intricate nuclear safety component that prevents accidental or unintended detonation of a warhead. Conceived in 2015 and still in the design process, a clockwork rover for Venus was suggested by Jonathan Sotter, a mechatronics engineer at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, California. He was inspired by mechanical computers which use levers and gears to make calculations rather than electronics, specifically the Charles Babbage Difference Machine, a model in the Smithsonian American History Museum is on the left. He also was inspired by the Jacque Adreau's writer automaton and the Antikythera mechanism. This is truly an example of rocket science drawing directly from horological mechanisms of centuries ago to solve modern problems. According to Sotter, by avoiding electronics, a rover might be able to better explore Venus that could last up to a year under extreme conditions that would normally fry electronics. Daytime surface temperatures on Venus reached 864 degrees Fahrenheit, hot enough to melt lead. And the surface pressure is 90 times that of it is on Earth's atmosphere at sea level. This is enough to crush most rovers like a tin can. So moving on to the preservation of horology and heritage, human connection and empathy play a significant role in my work since I believe objects can help facilitate empathy. If we can empathize with an object, we can empathize with the person that made it in the past. This act will help build empathy across time. The preservation of cultural heritage is now directly linked to our success as stewards in the future. This is a late 19th century or very early 20th century singing bird box from the Cooper Hewitt Collection, an ancestor of the miniature ivory mechanical singing bird by Jacque Dros. These pieces are incredibly unique. Even though they were mass produced, they were not mass produced the way that we think of mass production today. Their parts are not interchangeable. Housed inside this tortoise case is a small mechanical singing bird. It has lungs and a voice and a story to tell. It is covered in individual feathers, each one painstakingly applied by hand. They're meant to make it sparkle like jewels. Here's another from the Museum of American History. Both of these boxes are exceptionally different in decoration and the birds have their own personality. This one resembling a robin or a scarlet tannager. Taking care of these objects is a challenge and this is where my work as a conservator comes in. So often they are not properly cared for. Today, the skills in resurrecting these relics are just as rare if not rarer than the objects themselves. And we are in a critical time for these pieces. We're facing issues of degradation and whereas the earliest singing birds are over 200 years old. My belief is that the automata should be working. Whether or not they are operated is not the issue, but if you take away the potential for them to run, they lose many of the intangible qualities that make them exemplary creations of human endeavor. That ability to invoke the sublime through wonder and awe to tell their 200 year old message. The mechanisms are quite complicated with over 100 components. Each has its own personality worthy of attention to detail. These birds have real character and countenance. The hands that feathered them shows them how bright those feathers should be, how grand the eyes, how large the pupils. The beak even gives a nod to a certain temperament. I have seen suspicious birds, confused birds, disheveled birds, anxious birds, apathetic birds, joyful birds, and blissful birds. I call that one panic attack. This is an early 20th century unmarked box and it's actually like the one in the Cooper Hewitt Collection. It's in a case of tortoise. And here's another. This one is about 100 years earlier by the Charles Brugier firm in an engine turned and engraved gold case. This one's my favorite. I think that little bird can hold its own next to that pipe organ we listened to earlier. Here we have two examples of engine turning or guilloché on two pieces in the Cooper Hewitt Collection, both by our favorite goldsmith or my favorite goldsmith, Faberge. Many believe that engine turning reaches eight specks with Faberge. The cigarette case on the left is a variation on a basket weave and the pendant on the right is decorated with sun rays. What is interesting about these pieces is the primary purpose of the enamel, while incredibly beautiful and part of the decorative lure is actually to protect the delicate surface of the guilloché. Guilloché is best known for the optical properties it elicits. This is the result of fine, precise cuts in metal of a highly reflective quality. As the surface oxidizes, the guilloché loses this property and it begins to develop a patina. The only way to properly protect it is to seal it from oxygen. Faberge used an incredible array of colorful enamels which made him famous to achieve this. As part of my personal artistic practice and to preserve the skills associated with this part of our cultural heritage, I practice engine turning and teach it in my workshop. Until recently, my workshop was the only place in the world where one could take a course in engine turning. It's currently the only place in North America. This little clip demonstrates how the overlapping cuts actually generate those optical patterns associated with guilloché. In the first instance, a scion wave is phased by 180 degrees and in the second, the wave is actually cut into the surface without phasing, producing an exact image of the wave in an unchanged form. The mystery actually lies in the final design as far as the illusion created by altering the orientation of repetitive cuts of the singular wave form. Ornamental engine turning is a critically endangered craft. In an effort to preservation, I completed a coloring book of 88 unique engine turn patterns in collaboration with ornamental turner Al Collins. Here, instead of cutting the wave form into metal, a pen and paper are used. I completed this work in 2018. It's part of a series of 10 pieces based on the illustrations found in illuminated manuscripts and medieval bestiaries. There are over 100 pieces in Coach Leia, name of this piece, which is made based on an eight-day watch mechanism. I worked with my colleague, Master Goldsmith Philip Peck, to produce this piece in the vein of traditional craft practice. The shell is made of sterling silver and was cast from carved wax and mold. It is operated by a spring. The mechanism is made just from brass and steel. So this piece is actually a homage to this lineage I've been describing. The shell is out of a snail, a creature whose body embodies a perfect mathematical ratio, the golden mean, a manifestation of mathematics, divine knowledge in nature. God is a geometer. It demonstrates the shift in thinking which eventually saw nature as a machine, a mechanical snail. God is a mechanic. The base is ornamentally turned with a figure eight pattern, the practice of sovereigns, and it uses cams to move in a figure eight pattern, a symbol of resurrection associated with snail during medieval times. This is God as a Turner. The pairing of the rabbit and the snail is actually a nod to our dual nature as human beings. Both the rabbit and the snail were seen as sacred animals, both associated with resurrection. At the same time, the snail was seen as a slimy and cowardly creature, the rabbit, lustful and filthy. So the dichotomies of these two creatures, also completely put on these creatures by us, is a symbol of basically their dichotomy and their meaning of being a representation of our dual nature as human beings. You know, the fact that the rabbit is fast and the snail is slow is another representation of our duality. I'd like to leave you with two inspiring pieces in the collection at Cooper Hewitt. The first is this lamp designed by Issey Miyake. The Midori lamp is one of nine collapsible table floor and hanging lamps created by Miyake and his reality lab research and development team. It was created using mathematical principles and algorithmic design utilizing 3D geometric principles. According to Miyake, the project comes from the intersection of creativity and mathematics. The Cooper Hewitt acquired it in 2013. This revolutionary watch in the collection at Cooper Hewitt, known as the Dot Watch, has a dynamic Braille pin display and is the world's first Braille smartwatch. Traditionally, watches with a visually impaired, utilized or movable crystal so one could feel where the hands were on a dial. If you know as much about watches as I do, you know that is not a good idea for a long-term solution. The Dot Watch has two modes, Braille with the traditional Braille numbers and the tactile for non-Braille readers. Shown here is the timer function in tactile mode. The Dot Watch also receives text messages from a smartphone. I don't know about you, but this watch gives me hope for the horological innovation in the future for the good of mankind. Where would you get these things we've had? That's my job. I know, but you're in Seattle. A lot of my clients send these things to me, so I travel back and forth quite a lot. I hand courier things or people send them. Yeah, because I... See me after the talk. Okay, thank you. Any other questions? Are there other people throughout the world doing this work or are you the end of the line? Well, I hope I'm not the end of the line because that would be really sad. You know, it is a little bit of a lonely field, I guess. There are people that do work on these types of objects. I am the only person that's actually studied watchmaking, clockmaking, and conservation, so I'm the world's only horological conservator that's done training both clock and watchmaking. I also specialize in automata and mechanical music objects. Certainly, there are craftsmen and clockmakers. I have a lovely group of colleagues that I work with on a regular basis that do lots of different types of work. But I would say as far as this particular niche of objects there, you could count them on one hand. I'm just wondering if young people, kids, teenagers, early 20s, are they interested in this whole field or at least learning about objects like this? Well, I was quite happy that I have two young students. I have a 10-year-old boy who I tutor in engine turning. He comes in and boy, he's good. He could really go on to work for a watch firm or something doing geisha decoration on dials. I have another student who recently started doing watchmaking, and I found that what's interesting is I think kids today do not have the experience of working with their hands. They're losing the ability to actually understand materials, so they don't really know how to use tweezers to pick up a tiny screw. They're having to develop these skills since they're not used to doing it in school maybe anymore. But I would say certainly people are interested, I think what's challenging about this field is that for a 10th, maybe not even a 10th of the time that you would put into learning this craft, you could go to school and go into engineering. You could go into video games. You would make so much more money doing that kind of thing than I do. I've spent my entire life. I've spent over 10 years devoted to this craft. I was in school for nine years. I don't take a huge paycheck at the end of the month, like somebody that might design video games, but I find my work so rewarding. There is something so precious about making something and have it be a tactile object that I can say, I made this. It's not something that exists in a digital space. It's something that's there after I'm gone. I'm contributing to a much bigger story that way, and I'm carrying on a lineage that I know connects me and people hundreds and hundreds of years ago.