Dimensions: diameter 5.9 cm, height 7.5 cm, width 5.9 cm, depth 3.7 cm
Copyright: Rijks Museum: Open Domain
Curator: Oh, this is charming! A silver gentleman's watch, crafted around 1680 by Jean Carré. Something about its face reminds me of a sun dial, always fixed at noon, no matter the hour. What are your first thoughts? Editor: The very first thing I see is not the romance of timekeeping but a tangible history etched in metal, in this instance, silver. I see the scratches and wear on its surface, and I wonder about the hands that held this watch, the lives it silently measured. Curator: Precisely. It’s like a small, personal monument. Knowing Carré, it would be painstakingly made, by hand. There's an intimacy to the Roman numerals arranged around the dial and I sense the hours ticked by so very differently back then. Editor: I completely agree. The labor involved speaks volumes, really. The silver had to be mined, processed, then meticulously shaped, fitted, engraved. And don't forget the assembly! It reminds me of how reliant pre-industrial societies were on craftspeople. Curator: Yes, time itself was, in a way, handmade. Which is, of course, ironic when one considers how much of modern production we lose ourselves, and our sense of time, within... Don't you think that that handmade nature allows its history to touch us even today? Editor: Without question. A connection forged in material, labor, and the simple human desire to quantify our existence. These were the early attempts at time standardization. The control over your day this gave you. This tiny metal circle whispers so many details. Curator: It's a beautiful point. Thinking about it now, the watch has a silent way of uniting us. An attempt to shape life to our purposes and bring the abstract idea of “time” down to this beautiful, practical object, and remind ourselves who we truly are. Editor: Yes, even today in our time-obsessed world, this watch insists on materiality and serves as a powerful reminder that production has consequence and objects have an echo, an enduring significance far beyond their initial function. Curator: Yes. Thank you! I will reflect on that!
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