One year ago on Round and Square (1 July 2011)—Flowers Bloom: "Growing Up History"
Click here for the Bricolage Bibliothèque Resource Center
Click here for the Bricolage Bibliothèque Resource Center
Bricolage? What's that?
There is plenty of stuff for you to review here, but let's get to the heart of the matter. A French anthropologist named Claude Lévi-Strauss made a point five decades ago about how we craft culture. Let's simplify it down to its key roots: we take stuff from the world around us and we fashion or craft solutions. Let me go even further. You see a problem in "your world." Let's say that your favorite coffee cup has a broken handle. Think about that. You love the cup, and you want to drink your coffee in it. The problem is that you have always used the handle, and don't want to burn your fingers. So what do you do? Do you stay with your coffee cup and try to find a way to "handle" it or do you find a different cup?
The bricoleur finds a way to fashion or craft a solution.
The bricoleur finds a way to fashion or craft a solution.
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| [b] Opposable RF |
This series will take real world issues and try to understand how we fashion solutions to those little problems that bother us every single day. What happens if your bike seat gets stolen, but you still need to ride five miles home? What happens if the cover of your paperback (these existed regularly before 2005) gets ripped off of the book you're reading? And what happens if your tailpipe just falls out from under your car?
Although I am serious, there is more to discuss here. We "do" bricolage all of the time. The only thing difficult about it is thinking about it. You can't help but fall right into the human condition of fashioning solutions to low-level engineering problems, though. That big ol' football of a brain and those opposable thumbs make it just too tempting (and natural). Ever since that day, long ago, when Grog decided to mix a little water and ochre together and discovered cave painting, humans have crafted the world around them. Grog took it a step further. He found himself a mastodon tail, stuck it on a twig, and called it "brush." Then he painted the world around him and left technicalities—such as gathering herbs and finding new sources of protein—to his kinsmen.
Today we call it "art."
That's bricolage, and so is that antenna you made out of a coat hanger for your television back in 1965. Bricolage is also at work when you sit down to read your iPad at Starbucks and notice that the table has already come close to wobbling your decaf skim triple-shot latté all over the Apple logo. What do you do? Maybe you move to another table, but let's just say that you got the last one. One remedy known to generations of avid reader-drinkers is to grab a wad of napkins and stuff them under the "low point" of the tabular dynamic. Some of us have learned not to waste paper in that manner, and the lesson has been made easier with the realization that napkins never work. I have tried just about everything from business cards and CD holders to newspapers and even a plastic tray.
It's all bricolage. Success rates vary widely.
Years ago, on a long mountain bike ride, I punctured my front tube and did not have any more spares. I could walk, or I could try to fashion a solution (are you noticing that I like that phrase?) to the problem. There was no compressed air—and no rubber tubes—around. The patch kit had gone dry (in a time when this was relevant). I had heard once of a cyclist who had stuffed leaves into the space where the inner tube goes. I had always loved the idea of riding home with wads of terroir jammed between rim and tire. I gathered wet leaves, small bits of bark, and prairie grasses, pressing them into the tire as best I could. It held...sort of. As long as I rode slowly on the flat parts of the trail, it was acceptable. Uphill was a challenge, and I got scared on the downhills. I walked most of the way home.
It's all bricolage. Success rates vary widely.
My wife just told me about various uses of pantyhose. They make a great gunk catcher on old washing machines, and serve as formidable lint traps in dryers. She said that she once used them to tie up tomato plants in her mom's garden in Texas. Mom wasn't amused. Distance runners (and one quarterback) of a certain age know well that pantyhose provided warmth on winter workouts in an age before Spandex®. And, on top of it all, pantyhose will always provide a nasty-looking Halloween mask in a pinch. Just don't stop off at your local bank branch for extra cash before the party. There might be misunderstandings.
It's all bricolage. Success rates vary widely.
So, welcome to the Round and Square series I am calling "Bricolage Bibliothèqe." It's the Library of Fashion(ing) or the Makeshift Media Center. We will look at the many ways that we craft our culture—often imperfectly—from things that are at hand. I hope that you are already thinking about ways you have repaired a suitcase mid-journey or reminiscing about that overloaded trailer you dragged fifty miles between apartments before you had "proper" transportation. And we won't even begin to speak of that heaping "one trip only" plate of lettuce, cucumbers, garbanzo beans, and bacon bits you brought back from the salad bar last week.
It's all bricolage. Success rates vary wildly. Come join us.
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| [c] Plastic RF |
That's bricolage, and so is that antenna you made out of a coat hanger for your television back in 1965. Bricolage is also at work when you sit down to read your iPad at Starbucks and notice that the table has already come close to wobbling your decaf skim triple-shot latté all over the Apple logo. What do you do? Maybe you move to another table, but let's just say that you got the last one. One remedy known to generations of avid reader-drinkers is to grab a wad of napkins and stuff them under the "low point" of the tabular dynamic. Some of us have learned not to waste paper in that manner, and the lesson has been made easier with the realization that napkins never work. I have tried just about everything from business cards and CD holders to newspapers and even a plastic tray.
It's all bricolage. Success rates vary widely.
Years ago, on a long mountain bike ride, I punctured my front tube and did not have any more spares. I could walk, or I could try to fashion a solution (are you noticing that I like that phrase?) to the problem. There was no compressed air—and no rubber tubes—around. The patch kit had gone dry (in a time when this was relevant). I had heard once of a cyclist who had stuffed leaves into the space where the inner tube goes. I had always loved the idea of riding home with wads of terroir jammed between rim and tire. I gathered wet leaves, small bits of bark, and prairie grasses, pressing them into the tire as best I could. It held...sort of. As long as I rode slowly on the flat parts of the trail, it was acceptable. Uphill was a challenge, and I got scared on the downhills. I walked most of the way home.
It's all bricolage. Success rates vary widely.
My wife just told me about various uses of pantyhose. They make a great gunk catcher on old washing machines, and serve as formidable lint traps in dryers. She said that she once used them to tie up tomato plants in her mom's garden in Texas. Mom wasn't amused. Distance runners (and one quarterback) of a certain age know well that pantyhose provided warmth on winter workouts in an age before Spandex®. And, on top of it all, pantyhose will always provide a nasty-looking Halloween mask in a pinch. Just don't stop off at your local bank branch for extra cash before the party. There might be misunderstandings.
 |
| [d] Fashion(ing) RF |
So, welcome to the Round and Square series I am calling "Bricolage Bibliothèqe." It's the Library of Fashion(ing) or the Makeshift Media Center. We will look at the many ways that we craft our culture—often imperfectly—from things that are at hand. I hope that you are already thinking about ways you have repaired a suitcase mid-journey or reminiscing about that overloaded trailer you dragged fifty miles between apartments before you had "proper" transportation. And we won't even begin to speak of that heaping "one trip only" plate of lettuce, cucumbers, garbanzo beans, and bacon bits you brought back from the salad bar last week.
It's all bricolage. Success rates vary wildly. Come join us.
 |
| [e] Crafted RF |
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