What would Chinese history look like with things taking the center stage? Our present understanding of this history is animated primarily by literate people in pursuit of examination degrees and sons, and often filtered through such modern social science categories as culture, ethnicity, and gender. In this introduction, I put the set of five articles in the special issue in conversation with recent research to identify new analytic categories and research strategies that accord agency to things, remap the parameters of Chinese history, and ponder the new directions afforded by the study of material cultures.

This article provides a contextual analysis of an enigmatic object—dubbed the “Confucius Dressing Mirror” (Kongzi yijing 孔子衣鏡)—recently unearthed from the tomb of Liu He 劉賀 (Marquis of Haihun 海昏侯, d. 59 BCE) in 2015. I raise questions about the prevailing identification of this object as a “dressing mirror” and a “lived object,” used by Liu He for moral self-cultivation or political self-preservation in his volatile life as the deposed ninth emperor of Han. Instead, I treat the object as an assemblage and analyze its complete material composition and physical placement in Liu He's tomb in the broader context of funerary material culture and burial practice in early imperial China. I propose that the entombed object can be considered as a composite talisman to protect the deceased against baleful and harmful influences in the tomb and in his afterlife. Methodologically, this article stresses the importance of contextual analysis in shedding light on the traditional conceptual categories such as “lived object” (shengqi 生器) and “funerary objects” (mingqi 明器) in actual funerary ritual processes.

The names of dozens of artists from the tenth century have come down to us, for the most part with very little information about their lives and scarcely more about their art. Fortunately, the life and professional career of Guo Zhongshu 郭忠恕 (928–977) can be reconstructed in enough detail to give a sense of the personality of the artist and the world that he experienced. Indeed, we are doubly fortunate because Guo, it turns out, had no ordinary life. Known to art historians today primarily as one of the great painters of architectural subjects in Chinese history, Guo entered adult life in a different guise, as a brilliant young paleographer and calligrapher. This aspect of his career, no less important than his painting, is the subject of the present study. Although specialists have recognized his scholarly and calligraphic achievements, we still lack a contextualized account that incorporates what can be known of his biography and social circumstances. More important for the theme of this special issue, the material dimension of Guo's paleographic and calligraphic activities also remains to be explored. Any discussion can only be very partial, however, since no manuscripts or autograph calligraphies survive, only stone steles; fortunately, Guo's engagement with stele production is in itself of the highest historical interest. The chronologically organized text that follows tells a biographical story, with as much detail as the available sources allow, which eventually opens out onto the material world of steles, before returning to biography to recount the last chapter of Guo Zongshu's life. Rather than offering a conclusion, I end with a reflection on the materialities of transmission of paleographic and calligraphic knowledge. For the purposes of this article I have not thought it necessary to choose between the very different lenses of biography and material culture, since my goal is not to prove a thesis but to reconstruct an unfamiliar world. As I hope to show, the understanding of one person's life can enrich the understanding of artifacts associated directly and indirectly with the person, and vice versa.

Fang Yongbin’s (1542–1608) cache of paper-based ephemera—733 notes, invoices, and 190 name cards—now held in the Harvard-Yenching library, discloses the multidimensional expertise of the stationery dealer in late Ming China. This article explores how businessmen from Huizhou prefecture turned to the trade in writing materials to improvise with new forms of cultural entrepreneurship in the late sixteenth century. Introducing the diverse contents of the cache, I demonstrate how Fang’s involvement in the sale of desktop tools drew from, and creatively combined literary endeavors, shop-keeping, and artisanal labor. Unsettling discrete conceptions of “scholar,” “merchant,” and “craftsman,” Fang’s career reveals how stationery dealers vied to usurp custodianship over the material culture of calligraphy. The Harvard-Yenching cache registers the increasingly powerful influence exerted over the business of culture by those skilled in the making and marketing of writing materials: largely forgotten salesmen whose services made the art of writing possible in the first place.

This essay explores the non-luxury materialities through which most people experienced the world, argues for the possibilities of a geographically based view of Ming and Qing material history, and demonstrates some methods for approaching hard-to-find sources. It is my contention that not only will learning about and paying attention to such regional materialities open up new areas of research, but historians will also become better equipped to assess what we think we know about “China.” Here, I will concentrate on the geologically homogeneous region of the Greater North China Plain and focus on temple buildings, ritual vessels, and images of gods.

How is the craft history of ordinary woodcarvers different from the political and economic history of elites and literati? This article tells a transnational history of Ningbo miniature whitewood figurines that were first collected by Western travelers as souvenirs from the 1870s to 1940s and then shipped to the West as export craft from the 1950s to 1980s. The examination of the makers, buyers, and collectors of these figurines reveals a dialectic process between carving and collecting. Focusing on both the making and circulation of these figurines, the article uncovers a new layer in modern Chinese history: with the political regime changing from the imperial state to socialist state, the carving and business practices of local artisans continued at its own rhythm. Less than three and a half inches tall, Ningbo whitewood figurines represent a miniature China carved and consumed on a global scale during the long twentieth century.