159The textility of making by Tim Ingold, Cambridge Journal of Economics, January 2010, Vol. 34, No. 1, by permission of Oxford University Press.Bibliography:Alberti, L. B. 1988. On the Art of Building in Ten Books, trans. J. Rykwert, Leach N., Tavernor R., Cambridge, MA, MIT PressBilleter, J. F. 1990. The Chinese art of Writing, trans. J.-M. Clarke, Taylor M., New York, Rizzoli InternationalDeleuze, G. and Guattari, F. 2004. A Thousand Plateaus, trans. B. Massumi, London, ContinuumHarvey, J. 1974. Cathedrals of England and Wales, London, B.T. BatsfordIngold, T. 2000A. Making culture and weaving the world, pp. 50-71 in Graves-Brown, P. (ed.), Matter, Materiality and Modern Culture, London, RoutledgeKlee, P. 1961. in Spiller, J. (ed.), Notebooks, Volume 1: The Thinking Eye, London: Lund HumphriesKlee, P. 1973. Noteboooks, Volume 2: The Nature of Nature, trans. H. Norden, edited by J. Spiller, London, Lund HumphriesMitchell, V. 1997. Textiles, text and techne, pp. 324-32 in Harrod, T. (ed.), Obscure Objects of Desire: Reviewing the Crafts in the Twentieth Century, London, Crafts Council Pelegrin, J. 2005. Remarks about archaeological techniques and methods of knapping: elements of a cognitive approach to stone knapping, pp. 23-33 in Roux, V. and Bril, B. (eds), Stone Knapping: the Necessary Conditions for a Uniquely Hominin Behaviour, Cambridge Institute for Archaeological Research問題 ｜ The following passage is an excerpt from an academic journal. Summarize the passage and discuss your own thoughts on the practice of making (drawing, painting, creating, constructing, designing, etc.). Be sure to refer to your own experience and observation as well as to the text below. Write in block letters in three to ■ve answer sheets.The Textility of MakingTim Ingold1. The hylomorphic modelIn his noteboooks [sic.], the painter Paul Klee repeatedly insisted that the processes of genesis and growth that give rise to forms in the world we inhabit are more important than the forms themselves. ʻForm is the end, deathʼ, he wrote. ʻForm-giving is lifeʼ (Klee, 1973, p. 269). This, in turn, lay at the heart of his celebrated Creative Credo of 1920: ʻArt does not reproduce the visible but makes visibleʼ (Klee, 1961, p. 76). It does not, in other words, seek to replicate ■nished forms that are already settled, whether as images in the mind or as objects in the world. It seeks, rather, to join with those very forces that bring form into being. Thus the line grows from a point that has been set in motion, as the plant grows from its seed. Taking their cue from Klee, philosophers Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari argue that the essential relation, in a world of life, is not between matter and form but between materials and forces (Deleuze and Guattari, 2004, p. 377). It is about the materials of all sorts, energised by cosmic forces and with variable properties, mix and meld with one another in the generation of things. And what they seek to overcome in their rhetoric is the lingering in■uence of a way of thinking about things, and about how they are made and used, that has been around in the Western world for the past two millennia and more. It goes back to Aristotle. To create any thing, Aristotle reasoned, you have to bring together form (morphe) and matter (hyle). In the subsequent history of Western thought, this hylomorphic model of creation became ever more deeply embedded. But it also became increasingly unbalanced. Form came to be seen as imposed by an agent with a particular design in mind, while matter, thus rendered passive and inert, became that which was imposed upon. My critical argument in this article is that contemporary discussions of art and technology and of what it means to make things, continue to reproduce the underlying assumptions of the hylomorphic model, even as they seek to restore the balance between its terms. My ultimate aim, however, is more radical: with Deleuze and Guattari it is to overthrow the model itself and to replace it with an ontology that assigns primacy to the process of formation as against their ■nal products, and to the ■ows and transformations of materials as against states of matter. Form, to recall Kleeʼs words, is death; form-giving is life. I want to argue that what Klee said of art is true of skilled practice in general, namely that it is a question not of imposing preconceived forms on inert matter but of intervening in the fields of force and currents of material wherein forms are generated. Practitioners, I contend, are wanderers, wayfarers, whose skill lies in their ability to ■nd the grain of the worldʼs becoming and to follow its course while bending it to their evolving purpose.Consider, for example, the operation of splitting timber with an axe. The practised woodsman brings down the axe so that its blade enters the grain and follows a line already incorporated into the timber through its previous history of growth, when it was part of a living tree. ʻIt is a questionʼ, write Deleuze and Guattari, ʻof surrendering to the wood, and following where it leadsʼ (2004, p. 451). Perhaps it is no accident that the word used in Greek antiquity to describe the skill of the practitioner, tekhne, is derived from the Sanskrit words for axe, tasha, and the carpenter, taksan. The carpenter is ʻone who fashionsʼ (Sanskrit, taksati), a shaper or maker. Yet the Latin verb for ʻto weaveʼ, texere, comes from precisely the same root (Mitchell, 1997, p. 330). The carpenter, it seems, was as much a weaver as a maker. Or more precisely, his making was itself a practice of weaving: not the imposition of form on pliant substance but the slicing and binding of ■brous material (Ingold, 2000A, pp. 64–5). His axe, as it ■nds its way through the wood, splitting as it goes, is guided̶as Deleuze and Guattari say̶by ʻthe variable undulations and torsions of the ■bresʼ (2004, p. 450). As for the axe itself, let us suppose that the blade has been knapped from stone. The skilled knapper works by detaching long thin ■akes from a core, exploiting the property of conchoidal fracture taken on by the lithic material through its history of geological compression (Pelegrin, 2005, p. 25). Before each blow of the hammer, he locates or prepares a suitable striking platform, whence, on impact, the line of fracture ripples through the material like a wave. The wrought surface of knapped stone, at least until it has been ground smooth, bears the scars of multiple, interleaved fractures. In the history of the Western world, however, the tactile and sensuous knowledge of line and surface that had guided practitioners through their varied and heterogeneous materials, like wayfarers through the terrain, gave way to an eye for geometrical form, conceived in the abstract in advance of its realisation in a now homogenised material medium. What we could call the textility of making has been progressively devalued, while the hylomorphic model has gained in strength. The architectural writings of Leon Battista Alberti, in the mid-■fteenth century, mark a turning point in this development. Until then, as David Turnbull has shown in the case of the great medieval cathedral of Chartres, the architect was literally a master among builders, who worked on site, coordinating teams of masons whose task was to cut stones by following the curves of wooden templates and to lay the blocks along lines marked out with string. There was no plan, and the outcome̶far from conforming to the dictates of a prior design̶better resembled a patchwork quilt (Harvey, 1974, p. 33). For Alberti, however, architecture was a concern of the mind. ʻIt is quite possibleʼ, he wrote, ʻto project whole forms in the mind without any recourse to the material, by designating and determining a ■xed orientation and conjunction for the various lines and anglesʼ (Alberti, 1988, p. 7). Such lines and angles together comprise what Alberti called the ʻlineamentsʼ of the building. These lineaments have a quite different status from the lines that masons cut from templates or laid with string. They comprise a precise and complete speci■cation for the form and appearance of the building, as conceived by the intellect, independently and in advance of the work of construction. On paper, the lineaments would have been inscribed as drawn lines, which could be either straight or curved. Indeed, Albertiʼs lines have their source in the formal geometry of Euclid. ʻThe straight lineʼ, he explains, ʻis the shortest possible line that may be drawn between two pointsʼ, whereas ʻthe curved line is part of a circleʼ (Alberti, 1988, p. 19). What art historian Jean-François Billeter writes of the line of Euclidean geometry applies with equal force to the Albertian lineament: it ʻhas neither body nor colour nor texture, nor any other tangible quality: its nature is abstract, conceptual, rationalʼ (Billeter, 1990, p. 47).著作権保護のため掲載を控えております2022年1月20日（木）実施語学／英語 ［90分］ 【選択：外国人留学生】
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