LIKE MAN Y OF US, BRITTAN Y
NICOLE COX SPENDS MUCH OF HER
WORKING DAY WATCHING THE
CLOCK. UNLIKE MAN Y OF US, SHE
ISN’T PROCRASTINATING OR
COUNTING DOWN THE MINUTES
TILL HOME TIME WHEN SHE
DOES THIS: SHE’S WORKING.
..........................................
“I’m an antiquarian horologist,” she explains,
seated amid a jumble of whirring, ringing,
chiming contraptions in her Seattle workshop.
“Horology is the study of time, and I’m a
certified watchmaker who specialises in
restoring antique horological objects.
I keep time ticking.”
Her days are spent pulling clocks and other
mechanical oddities apart, working out
what makes them tick, then putting them
back together. It’s an interest that began in
childhood. “I was always collecting things
that seemed to operate within rules,” she
says. “Magnets, springs, compasses, watches,
musical boxes, and so on.” Soon enough she
began taking these things apart to figure out
what those rules were – though Cox is quick
to point out that this only held true for some
items. “My things were very dear to me, so
I’d only ever take them apart to a point. As
for Dad’s stu, that was a dierent story. I
was always getting in trouble for sneaking
into his garage and pulling his things apart.”
Thankfully for her father, Cox eventually found
something less breakable to deconstruct. As
a young adult she swapped her toolbox for
a library card, began reading vociferously,
and was soon disassembling thought itself.
She studied philosophy at the University
of Texas, where she immersed herself in
epistemology, the branch of philosophy
concerned with the theory of knowledge,
and metaphysics, which deals with the first
principles of abstract concepts, including
time. For Cox, it made sense that something
as intangible as philosophy still had a
grounding in mechanics and logic: that
by pulling the casing o knowledge itself
you could decode how it worked. Trailing
the history of these philosophical schools
took her back to the objects that had so
enraptured her during childhood.“I got really interested in how people were
looking at these philosophical quandaries
hundreds of years ago,” she says. “Cognitively
and technologically, 17th-century Europe
was a really fascinating time.” In previous
eras, societies had looked to religious or
supernatural sources to explain the nature
of reality. By the 1600s, more and more
people were using the rubric of science
to answer those same questions – and
the prevailing scientific innovations of the
time were mechanical. “They were starting
to see the world as a giant machine that
had God as its mechanic,” Cox explains.One of these 17th-century innovations was
a craft called ornamental turning, which
uses geometric principles to cut precise,
circular patterns on surfaces with a lathe.
Initially valued for the finely decorated bowls,
plates and boxes it produced, the hobby
became a favoured pastime of princes and
kings looking to substantiate their fitness
to rule. As the logic went, God was the
perfect ruler because He had created
(and turned) the perfect sphere (Earth).If you, too, could master the art f turning, your
royal self would therefore be more God-like.Slowly, the art of ornamental turning
progressed into the creation of automata:
mechanical devices that used clockwork-
like tech to create facsimiles of living
things. These, Cox says, constituted our
species’ first attempts at creating artificial
intelligence. “People were really challenging
what humanity was capable of. There was
considerable interest in reanimating the
dead.” Not too surprisingly, some of these
attempts ventured into slightly eccentric
territory. Jacques de Vaucanson, a French
artist and inventor from the 18th century,
designed androids that would serve dinner
and clear the tables when politicians dropped
round for dinner. (This particular vision
ended when a government oicial, declaring
Vaucanson’s ambitions “profane”, ordered
his workshop destroyed. Still, Vaucanson went
on to create two of the most sophisticated
automata of the era: the Flute Player, a life-
sized shepherd that could ‘play’ any flute put
into its hands; and the Digesting Duck – a
mechanical waterfowl that flapped its wings,
drank water, ate grain, and defecated.)Cox loved philosophy, but after spending so
long reading about all the cogs and gears
that so intrigued her as a child, she decided
to pursue a more hands-on line of work. She
spent the next six years studying to become
an antiquarian horologist, attaining several
qualifications in watchmaking and clock
conservation, as well as a master’s degree in
museum studies. Fortunately, all the homework
has paid o. Since opening her workshop,
Memoria Technica, in 2015, work has been
steady, and she’s never had to advertise.“IN THE 17TH CENTURY, PEOPLE
STARTED TO SEE THE WORLD
AS A GIANT MACHINE THAT
HAD GOD AS ITS MECHANIC.”
>>