Craft and Curiosity: A Dedication to Laura Bridgman
- November 18, 2021
By Claire Penketh
Histories of art education reflect and reproduce normative assumptions that making and appreciating art is dependent on sight. Such beliefs are founded on ocularnormativity, defined as an ableist predisposition towards the visual that renders us incapable of imagining or valuing a world without vision. In essence, ocularnormativity is an epistemological position that delimits the parameters of human value and worth (Bolt 2014: 14). This key concept has been employed to support my reading of histories of art, craft and design in the nineteenth century, alongside two texts: Pioneers and Perseverance, Michael Roydenโs history of the Royal School for the Blind (1991) and Perkins School for the Blind by Kimberley French (2004). This short piece centres of the creation of a craft response to some of the themes emerging from this work.
Craft from the earlier form โcrรฆftโ suggests a form of power and skill (McDonald 1970: 306) present perhaps in its resistance to ocularnormativity in early institutions such as the Royal School for the Blind in Liverpool and Perkins School. However, whilst histories of institutions chart the role of non-disabled teachers and pioneers there is little acknowledgement of the role disabled people may have played in teaching craft in early institutions. For example, John Pringle, a teacher who was blind, was employed to teach crafts at Perkins School in 1832, yet there is little information available regarding his life, role or teaching methods. Similarly, the so-called โPerkins miracleโ Laura Bridgman is reported to have assisted with teaching knitting and sewing at the school, yet it is her achievements as a student and her ability to learn to read, write and use language that are emphasised.
Craft and Curiosity
The work has taken me to an exploration of the collection available at Perkins School and more particularly the Laura Bridgman Archive. As the first deaf-blind pupil to learn to read and write, Bridgman came to exemplify the successful methods of Samuel Gridley Howe, the first director of the school. Much has been written about Bridgman, although there are contrasting perspectives on the extent of the value Perkins School brought to her life (see Gitter, 2001 as an example). She became a celebrated example of the schoolโs success. In a history of Perkins School, author Kimberly French describes Bridgman at seven years of age, incapable of communication and unable to learn. She appears as an isolated and tragic child prior to her experiences of the benefits of Howeโs methods. Less well explored is the example of her early lacework, evidence that Bridgman entered the school already able to knit and sew; crafts most likely learned from her mother. Although there is significant attention given to Howeโs contributions to her literacy development there is a distinct lack of curiosity in the familial learning that had already taken place. As the trophy of Perkins, Bridgman became a shining example of the schoolโs worth, not as a result of her fine craft work but because of her ability to read, write and communicate through sign. The narrative of Bridgman as isolated and ignorant and the dismissal of material forms of learning are central to the construction of Howeโs reputation as saviour and pioneer.
The fact of Bridgmanโs prior learning is only made present through the inclusion of a photograph of some of her lacework, with little underpinning narrative, yet early examples of her craft contradict the assertion that she was isolated and uneducable. These artefacts clearly evidence Bridgmanโs educability and signify a form of pedagogic relationship with her mother who must have employed a range of approaches to demonstrate and model craft techniques to her daughter. The mother/teacher and daughter/learner are too easily dismissed, reinforcing the low status of craft and female, familial learning. Whilst Bridgmanโs lacework creates an aesthetically pleasing illustration for the book, there is a distinct lack of curiosity in its making.
The Perkinsโ digital archive offers a significant number of examples of Bridgmanโs craft including tatting, crocheting and needlework. What is disconcerting, however, is the inclusion of two images of a cast made of her brain after her death in 1889. These are included in a range of images including lacework collars and dolls clothes and seem incongruous and macabre additions. An extensive report, Anatomical Observations on the Brain and Several Sense-Organs of the Blind Deaf-Mute Laura Dewey Bridgman (Donaldson, 1890) describes the dimensions of Bridgmanโs brain in an attempt to discern any distinctiveness caused by her impairments. The contemporary preoccupation with phrenology had driven a very particular kind of interest in reporting scientific investigation of Bridgmanโs brain, described in the report as โthe materialโ. This preoccupation extends to a note in the biographical details in the report which noted that her father had a small head and that her mothersโ head โwas not largeโ (ibid.: 2).
My initial shock at stumbling across the images of the brain cast turned to sadness and incomprehension but also wonder at the levels of curiosity that her literacy had generated. I continue to reflect on the contrast between the interest in her ability to read, write and communicate via signing and her ability as a maker. The need to know and observe Bridgman from the inside out seems a macabre reminder of the dominance of observation in the scientific method and the occlusion of the arts by literacy. Donaldsonโs extensive report reflects the clinical gaze in all its glory.
Curiosity (I, II and III)
Reading about Bridgman and reflecting on the occlusion of craft from representations of learning and teaching brought me back to arts practice to explore the sensation of making. I canโt help but think that such limited curiosity in her ability to sew, knit and crochet would have left her safe from medical intrusion.