Changing Pictures: Rock Art Traditions and Visions in the Northernmost Europe 1842174053, 9781842174050

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Changing Pictures Rock Art Traditions and Visions in Northern Europe

edited by Joakim Goldhahn, Ingrid Fuglestvedt and Andrew Jones

Oxbow Books Oxford and Oakville

Published by Oxbow Books, Oxford, UK © Oxbow Books and the individual authors, 2010 ISBN 978-1-84217-405-0

This book is available direct from: Oxbow Books, Oxford, UK (Phone: 01865-241249; Fax: 01865-794449) and The David Brown Book Company PO Box 511, Oakville, CT 06779, USA (Phone: 860-945-9329; Fax: 860-945-9468) or from our website www.oxbowbooks.com A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Changing pictures : rock art traditions and visions in Northern Europe / edited by Joakim Goldhahn, Ingrid Fuglestvedt, and Andrew Jones. p. cm. Papers from a workshop held at Linnaeus University, Sweden, in 2008. Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-1-84217-405-0 1. Petroglyphs--Europe, Northern--Congresses. 2. Rock paintings--Europe, Northern--Congresses. 3. Social archaeology--Europe, Northern--Congresses. 4. Excavations (Archaeology)--Europe, Northern--Congresses. 5. Europe, Northern--Antiquities--Congresses. I. Goldhahn, Joakim. II. Fuglestvedt, Ingrid. III. Jones, Andrew, 1967GN799.P4C456 2010 709.01’13--dc22 2010017597

This anthology has been sponsored by the Councils for Research in the Humanities and Social Sciences in the Nordic Countries and the Swedish Research Council.

Front cover: Peder Alfsøn’s documentation of Backa in Brastad, Raä 1 in Brastad parish, Northern Bohuslän in Sweden. Now in the Arnamagnæanske Archive in Copenhagen, Denmark. Published with their kind permission.

Printed in Great Britain by Short Run Press, Exeter

Contents List of Contributors................................................................................................................................................. iv Chapter 1:

Changing Pictures – An Introduction............................................................................................. 1 Joakim Goldhahn, Ingrid Fuglestvedt and Andrew Jones

Chapter 2:

Animals, Churingas and Rock Art in Late Mesolithic Northern Scandinavia ........................ 23 Ingrid Fuglestvedt

Chapter 3:

Concepts of Rock in Late Mesolithic western Norway............................................................... 35 Trond Lødøen

Chapter 4:

Hearing and Touching Rock Art: Finnish rock paintings and the non-visual ....................... 48 Antti Lahelma

Chapter 5:

The Known Yet Unknown Ringing Stones of Sweden .............................................................. 60 Maja Hultman

Chapter 6:

Rock Art as Social Format .............................................................................................................. 73 Per Cornell and Johan Ling

Chapter 7:

Rock Art and the Meaning of Place: some phenomenological reflections ............................ 88 Magnus Ljunge

Chapter 8:

Emplacement and the hau of Rock Art ....................................................................................... 106 Joakim Goldhahn

Chapter 9:

Cosmology and Performance: narrative perspectives on Scandinavian rock art ................ 127 Peter Skoglund

Chapter 10: ‘Should I stay or should I go’: on the meaning of variations among mobile ...................... 139 and stable elk motifs at Nämforsen, Sweden Ylva Sjöstrand Chapter 11: Reused Rock Art: Iron Age activities at Bronze Age rock art sites........................................ 154 Per Nilsson Chapter 12: ‘Cracking’ Landscapes. New documentation – new knowledge? .......................................... 170 Jan Magne Gjerde Chapter 13: Bronze Age Rock Art and Religion in a Maritime Perspective .............................................. 186 Melanie Wrigglesworth Chapter 14: Epilogue: Drawing on Stone ....................................................................................................... 197 Richard Bradley Index....................................................................................................................................................................... 206

Contributors Richard Bradley is a professor in archaeology at the University of Reading (UK). His main research interests are in the prehistory of Northern and North-western Europe and he is a specialist on the prehistory of the British Isles. In recent years his principal concern has been with the archaeological analysis of monuments and landscapes, and with the roles of memory, ritual and art between the Neolithic period and the Iron Age. Recent publications include Image and Audience (2009), The Prehistory of Britain and Ireland (2007) and Ritual and Domestic Life in Prehistoric Europe (2005). Contact: R. B. Department of Archaeology, School of Human and Environmental Sciences, University of Reading, Whiteknights, Reading RG6 6AB. Email: [email protected]

Per Cornell (Ass. Prof., University of Gothenburg) is a researcher and lecturer in archaeology at the Department of Historical Studies. He has mainly worked on settlement archaeology. He has conducted fieldwork in South America and published on theory and method in archaeology, and on the history and politics of archaeology and “cultural heritage”. Cornell is currently working on developing archaeological approaches departing from critical readings of Derrida and Marx. Contact: P. C. Department of Historical Studies, University of Gothenburg, Box 200, 405 30 Göteborg, Sweden. Email: per. [email protected]

Ingrid Fuglestvedt (PhD, University of Bergen) is associate professor in archaeology at the University of Oslo, Norway. Her PhD-thesis concerns the pioneer settlement of southwestern Norway approached from the perspective of phenomenology. Fuglestvedt has published several articles, both nationally and internationally, on the Mesolithic in Norway, theory and gender as well as rock art. Her doctoral thesis will soon be published in an English edition and she is working on a monograph on the hunters’ rock art on the Scandinavian Peninsula. Contact: I. F. University of Oslo. Institute of Archaeology, Postboks 1008 Blindern, 0315 Oslo, Norway. Email: ingrid.fuglestvedt@ iakh.uio.no

Jan Magne Gjerde (MA, University of Reading) is currently working on a PhD at Tromsø University Museum. The topic of the PhD is rock art and landscapes in northern Fennoscandia. He has published papers on rock art and landscapes. During recent years, he has conducted extensive fieldwork in northern Fennoscandia. He has also collaborated on projects with Russian colleagues in Northwest Russia. Contact: J. M. G., Tromsø University Museum, Department of Cultural Sciences, 9037 Tromsø, Norway. Email: jan.magne. [email protected]

Joakim Goldhahn (PhD, University of Umeå) is professor in Archaeology at the Linnaeus University (Sweden). He has published extensively and edited several anthologies on topics such as archaeological theory, North European rock art, Scandinavian Bronze Age and the history of archaeology. He investigates the relationship between rock art, land-, mind- and soundscapes, death rituals, and cosmology. Contact: J. G. Linnaeus University, Department of Archaeology, 391 82 Kalmar, Sweden. Email: [email protected]

Maja Hultman (MA, University of Uppsala) is currently finishing a one-year MA course in archival science at the University of Uppsala in Sweden. She is, however, still intent on pursuing the archaeological career she has begun. Her essays have so far been devoted to archaeoacoustics (the archaeology of sound or acoustics) particularly regarding ringing stones, as well as landscape archaeology and the use of Geographical Information Systems in archaeological science. Her main research orientation is the archaeology of landscape, soundscape and mindscape. Contact: M. H. University of Uppsala, Department of Archaeology and Ancient History, Box 626, 751 26 UPPSALA, Sweden, Email: [email protected]

Andrew Jones (PhD, University of Glasgow) is a reader in prehistoric archaeology at the University of Southampton (UK). He has previously held a fellowship at the McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research, Cambridge (UK) and a lectureship at University College Dublin (Ireland). He

Contributors is the author of Archaeological Theory and Scientific Practice (CUP, 2002) and Memory and Material Culture (CUP, 2007) and editor of Prehistoric Europe: theory and practice (WileyBlackwell 2008) and co-editor (with G. Macgregor) of Colouring the Past (Berg, 2002). He is currently completing a major AHRC-funded project on prehistoric rock art and working on a book on materiality and performance theory for Oxford University Press. Contact: A. J. Archaeology, University of Southampton, Avenue Campus, Highfield, Southampton, SO17 1BF, UK. Email: amj@ soton.ac.uk

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Trond Lødøen (MA, University of Bergen) is employed as a researcher working with contract archaeology at the University Museum of Bergen, Norway. He has co-directed extended archaeological excavations at a number of rock art sites in Norway, and in particular been occupied with the site Vingen, one of the mayor Mesolithic rock art site in northern Europe. Together with Gro Mandt he has also written an extensive introduction to The Rock Art of Norway (Windgather/Oxbow Books, 2009). Beside rock art, his main research interest is the Mesolithic and Neolithic of the northernmost parts of Europe. Contact: T. L. University of Bergen/Bergen Museum, Postboks 7800, 5020 Bergen, Norway. Email: [email protected]

Antti Lahelma (PhD, University of Helsinki) is presently an Academy of Finland post-doctoral fellow in archaeology at the University of Helsinki, carrying out research on FinnoUgric and circumpolar forager rock art. His dissertation on the prehistoric rock paintings of Finland, A touch of red. Archaeological and ethnographic approaches to interpreting Finnish rock paintings, (2008) was the first ever archaeological thesis on the subject. In addition to the dissertation, he has published numerous articles on Finnish rock art, mainly dealing with questions of interpretation. Apart from rock art, his research publications include articles and book chapters on the archaeology of Byzantine Near East and the archaeology of violent conflict.

Per Nilsson (MA, University of Umeå) is an archaeologist at The Swedish National Heritage Board. For a number of years he has been working with contract archaeology within the famous rock art region of Himmelstalund. He is interested in topics concerning the relation between rock art sites, settlements and sea-levels. In recent years he has focused on different aspects of how rock art sites were reused after the tradition of making rock art had come to an end. Besides a large number of excavation reports he has published articles on the above mentioned topics (in both Swedish and English).

Contact: A. L. University of Helsinki, Institute for Cultural Research, Department of Archaeology, P.O. Box 59, 00014 Helsingin yliopisto, Finland. Email: [email protected]

Contact: P. N. Riksantikvarieämbetet, UV Öst (The Swedish National Heritage Board, Archaeological Excavations Dept), S-582 73 Linköping, Sweden. Email: [email protected]

Johan Ling (PhD,University of Gothenburg) is a researcher and lecturer in archaeology at the Department of Historical Studies. Johan has primarily worked with rock art, landscape and shore displacement in Bohuslän, as detailed in his recently published dissertation “Elevated Rock Art, Towards a Maritime Understanding of Rock Art in Bohuslän”. In addition to the dissertation, Ling has published several articles on the topic of rock art and landscape, and excavations of rock art in Bohuslän. Johan is also in charge of the Tanum Project, whose aim is to further our understanding of the prehistoric activity through the rock art in Bohuslän, and to try to show a chronological link between the images and the action through the rocks.

Peter Skoglund (PhD Lund University) is Senior Executive Officer at Sydsvensk Arkeologi AB (Sweden). His PhD-thesis published in 2005 dealt with the regional variations in the material culture of the Scandinavian Bronze Age. He is the co-editor of an anthology concerned with the relationships between archaeology and identity. His research interest further includes rock art and in 2006 he published a study on the rock art of the south Swedish Uplands (all these books are in Swedish). In recent years he has published several papers on ship symbolism in the Bronze Age including articles in World Archaeology and the Journal of Social Archaeology. Currently he is involved in a project synthesising the results from large-scale excavations of Iron Age settlements outside Malmö in southern Sweden.

Contact: J. L. Department of Historical Studies, University of Gothenburg, Box 200, 405 30 Göteborg, Sweden. Email: johan. [email protected] Magnus Ljunge (MA, University of Kalmar) is a freelance researcher, writing mainly about the history of archaeology and the presentation of pre-history in museums. He has also been a curator at the Museum of Borås, working with public exhibitions of the museums historical and prehistorical collections. Contact: M.L. Artillerigatan 18B, 415 03 Gothenburg, Sweden. Email: [email protected]

Contact: P. S. Sydsvensk arkeologi AB, 205 80 Malmö, Sweden. Email: [email protected]

Ylva Sjöstrand is a PhD fellow at the University of Stockholm in Sweden. Her PhD thesis deals with northernmost Sweden and focuses on interpreting Neolithic and Early Bronze Age societies and use of the landscape. The main materials are mounds of burnt stone, pit falls and rock art. She has also published a paper on neo modernism in archaeology, and is currently editing an issue of a journal that focuses on how the concept of power is handled within archaeology. Her

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Contributors

research interests include cultural theory, archaeological discourse studies, symbol theory and large scale processes during the Neolithic in northern Sweden. Contact: Y. S. Institution of Archaeology and Ancient history, University of Stockholm, 109 61 Stockholm, Sweden. Email: ylva. [email protected]

Melanie Wrigglesworth is a PhD fellow at the University of Bergen, Norway. She has published papers on Norwegian Bronze Age rock art and landscape, and co-edited an

anthology on Children, identity and the past (CSP, 2008). Her current research focuses on the life world in Bronze Age Hardanger, West-Norway: the distribution and location of rock art, burial cairns, settlement sites and other archaeological material. She has taken part in a number of projects documenting rock art in Norway. Research interests include the Scandinavian and European Bronze Age, rock art, landscape, religion and social memory. Contact: M. W. University of Bergen/Bergen Museum, Postboks 7800, 5020 Bergen, Norway. Email: melanie.wrigglesworth@ bm.uib.no

1 Changing Pictures An Introduction Joakim Goldhahn, Ingrid Fuglestvedt and Andrew Jones

Introduction On the cover of this anthology is a documentation of some rock art images that were made by Peder Alfsøn in 1627. He was a Norwegian clerk travelling and documenting ‘Monuments and peculiar things’ on the behalf of Ole Worm, the State Antiquarian of Denmark. During this time he visited Backa in Brastad parish in Bohuslän, a place nowadays situated within the borders of present day Sweden. Here he was told odd stories about a ‘shoemaker’ that strangely enough had been depicted on a rock panel nearby. Alfsøn was guided to the place and spent some time documenting it, using watercolour, and to this very day this aquarelle is the oldest documentation of a rock art panel from the northernmost parts of Europe (Nordbladh 1981). It is also one of the oldest known rock art documentations in the world (Bahn 1998: 1–29). In the 17th century rock art from the Scandinavian countries were interpreted in the light of folkloristic beliefs. It is hard to find any noticeable dissonances between the interpretations made by peasants and antiquarians. Both groups supposed that the rock art was created by furious giants that had once roamed the landscape or, every so often, by ill-wishing elves that would cause sickness if they were disturbed (Jensen 2002: 321–324). It seems as if figurative images were more frequently linked to the former, while only cup marks were linked to the elves. In the case of the rock art panel at Backa in Brastad, people in the vicinity had no clear answers about who had made ‘the shoemaker’, nor when this was done, but it is still evident that the images were known and discussed among people. Alfsøn thought local stone workers made the images. It is notable that Alfsøn documented the shoemaker as a woman; an interpretation that nowadays seems odd not least since latter antiquarians and archaeologists have noted very prominent male genitalia on the figure (Figure 1.1).

Figure 1.1. The most recent documentation of the ‘Shoemaker’, RAÄ 1 in Brastad parish, Bohuslän. Documentation by Vitlycke Museum (www.hallristning.se).

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Joakim Goldhahn, Ingrid Fuglestvedt and Andrew Jones

Beside the stunning beauty of Alfsøn’s aquarelle we have chosen this image as a metaphor for the objectives of this anthology – Changing pictures. Rock art traditions and visions in northern Europe – that aims to return to traditional interpretative notions regarding the meaning and significance of rock art to investigate if and why any information had been left behind to recover and rethink. The anthology was built out of a workshop held at the University of Kalmar, (nowadays Linnaeus University), Sweden between the 20th–24th of October 2008. The aim of this gathering was to provide a forum for rock art researchers from different parts of northern Europe to discuss traditional as well as current interpretative trends within rock art research. As Melanie Wrigglesworth notes in her contribution to this volume: ‘The history of research is not always linear, old ideas crop up and are reworked’. Therefore, whether we like it or not, the history of research constitutes a vital part of our pre-understanding of the phenomena we wish to explore. Consequently, we argue that these ‘pre-understandings’ should be explicit; otherwise we might re-affirm them implicitly. Having said this, our purpose with this volume has not been to perform any kind of ‘defacement of older images’ (cf. Figure 1.1), or should we say earlier theoretical approaches to rock art, but instead to pay a sincere attention to them with the aim of enlightening contemporary theories about rock art as a meaningful medium to understand past societies. To reuse a wellworn phrase: we wish to keep the baby and throw out the bathwater. Another reason for this anthology is the immense global interest that archaeologists and anthropologists have invested in studying rock art during the last decades. Northern Europe is not an exception. It has not always been like that. One of us can still remember the disappointment in his supervisor’s voice when he declared that rock art would be the topic for his PhD: ‘But Joakim, rock art!? Why? There isn’t any thing left to say about them’! I myself (AJ) can remember the look of shock and disgust on a senior colleague’s face when I revealed that I had shifted from the eminently sensible study of the British Neolithic to study, of all things, Norwegian rock art! Thankfully there is much left to say about rock art and during the last couple of years, rock art research in northern Europe, as elsewhere, has intensely explored a manifold of methodological and theoretical perspectives (Goldhahn 2008a). It is more or less a full time job keeping abreast of all the articles, reports, monographs and anthologies that appear in a constant escalating cycle. Between the years 2000 and 2005 alone more than 500 articles or books were published about

the rock art traditions of northern Europe (Goldhahn 2008b). Most of these studies have been published in languages that seldom reach beyond the native speakers of Norwegian, Danish, and Swedish, not just to mention the research published in Russian or Finnish. Therefore an important motivation for this volume is to try to appraise some of the current movements within this field of research and present it to an international audience. Saying that, nowadays rock art research is a global phenomenon with an international network of researchers who more than ever read and influence each other’s work. Many of the topics explored in this anthology with the purpose of ‘changing the picture’, might therefore ring unexpectedly familiar in the ears of international scholars. Others are perhaps more rooted in interests, discussions and questions that are more specific for rock art researchers working in northern Europe. Nevertheless, this anthology wishes to explore the relevance of older ideas, such as notions about prehistoric religion (Wrigglesworth), ritual performance (Skoglund; Cornell and Ling), sympathetic magic, animism and totemism (Fuglestvedt), the mindscapes of landscapes (Goldhahn), etc., from the present ‘state of the art’, and try to develop a broader and ‘deeper’ understanding of the phenomenon we call rock art. This aspiration can be seen as a common thread linking the different chapters in this book. Saying that, some, if not all, of the articles presented in this volume challenge the notion ‘rock ART’ itself, arguing that sometimes the rock (Lødøen), the ‘canvas’ (Gjerde) and rather intangible but equally important sensual encounters – such as sound (Hultman), echoes and touch (Lahelma) – and temporal phenomenological changes and the perception of decorated rock art panels (Ljunge), should be regarded as at least as important as the ‘art’ itself. Other contributors have explored the iconic order and importance of rock art images, arguing that our readings and interpretations of the images must move beyond the most obvious identification of ‘elks’ (Sjöstrand) and ‘ships’ (Wrigglesworth) to establish wide-ranging cosmological interpretations in which sun symbols, horses and human beings are incorporated (Skoglund). In a related tactic Cornell and Ling argue that rock art primarily acted within a non-linguistic sphere within prehistoric society, beyond the oral dimension of the people who made and used rock art. They argue that there is simply more to the iconic picture than can ever be expressed in words. The medium is the message. Nilsson approaches rock art from another perception of form and tries to explore how rock art

Changing Pictures: An Introduction from the past was perceived in the past. For how long was the meaning of a rock art image readable without it losing its ‘original meaning’? When were the rock art images first re-discovered and how were they perceived? One may claim that rock art used to be concerned with ideology as something primary. We believe it still is, but after rereading the papers in this anthology, our perception of this matter has started to change. On a general basis we may argue that rock art research now has come ‘to the ground’. This is a way of expressing that theories of practice more or less pervade approaches to how rock art was made and used. This is not to say that specific practice theories are necessarily addressed in this volume, but more that the very idea of practice has become a fundamental framework for approaching depicted panels. Thus, rock art is increasingly understood according to the basis of ‘how life was actually lived’, i.e. life as specific types of practice which in turn shapes the way people think, which is ideology. Parallel to this – and perhaps in opposition to this – we are still concerned with narratives and metaphors, which may be regarded as something more rigid, and which may stand in opposition to the idea of practice. Thus, practice is formative and flexible and, as such, is the origin of historical change. Furthermore, practice is also concerned with the functioning of the society, e.g. social formation and power relations. Such topics are, of course, a relevant context from which rock art should be approached. So, if we should dare to offer a critique of the present volume before you even read it, it would perhaps be that these aspects of prehistoric contexts are poorly considered here. Peculiarly enough, the issue of communication is almost exclusively discussed in relation to people, i.e. personal communication with place and/or the immaterial. Highly interesting as this topic is, it still disregards the social dynamics (i.e. communication/ interaction between society members) at the rock art place. We may hope these aspects will be better integrated in future work. Before presenting the papers and organization of this volume in a more comprehensive way, it is wise to introduce the unfamiliar reader to the chronological and cultural settings of the rock art traditions that we are going to discuss.

Rock art in northernmost Europe It is commonly argued that the Post-Palaeolithic rock art traditions found in the northern parts of Europe can be divided and related to two major ways of living, and likewise to two cultural pre-understandings of

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the world (Figure 1.2): One is the Northern rock art tradition (NT) that is associated with the cultures of hunters, fishers and gatherers, and the other is the Southern tradition (ST) that has traditionally been associated with Bronze Age farmers in the southern part of Scandinavia (e.g. Hansen 1904, see Malmer 1981; Bertilsson 2004; Sognnes 2008a). The NT is generally dated from the Early Mesolithic to the Middle Bronze Age (traditionally labelled ‘Early Bronze Age’ in the Nordic countries, approximately 1700–1100 cal BC), from the ninth to the end of the second millennium cal BC. The ST is usually dated from the Middle Bronze Age to the Pre-Roman Iron Age, approximately from 1600 to 300 cal BC. In some areas, such as Western Norway and on the Baltic island of Gotland, rock art ship images belonging to the ST were still being made in the Roman Iron Age, and beyond (Mandt 1991; Sognnes 2001; Skoglund 2008). In reality both these traditions consist of multiple traditions that differ in time and space. The main motifs within the NT consist of animals, often prey species such as large game for example elks, deer, reindeer, whales, Atlantic halibut, etc., but we also find depictions of humans, boats and abstract designs (Figure 1.3). Sites belonging to these traditions are known from all parts of Norway (Lødøen & Mandt 2010), the lake districts of Finland (Lahelma 2008) and the central part of Sweden (Ramqvist 2002). One of the most stunning rock paintings belonging to these traditions is found in the town of Gothenburg on the Swedish West Coast, the Tumlehed site (Figure 1.3d), and there are also rock paintings known in this tradition from Bohuslän, Dalsland and Värmland in the south-western parts of Sweden (Heimann 2005; Nash 2008). From the beginning of the 20th century it has been argued that the NT had its origin in the wellknown Palaeolithic rock art traditions of the European continent (Almgren 1934; Gjessing 1936; Hallström 1938). Following this evolutionary framework, the NT was linked to the ‘Lapps’ (read Saami speaking groups). Large natural depictions of animals were thought to be the oldest while the more abstract rock art images, revealing more ‘abstract and evolved minds’, were thought to be of a recent date (Almgren 1934; Gjessing 1936; Hallström 1938). For some traditionalists, old chronologies built on this perception of form are still considered valid today (e.g. Bertilsson 2004). We think this is peculiar and requires revision. With increased empirical knowledge and a broader theoretical consciousness it has been found to be impossible to trace such an evolution of styles within these or other rock art traditions (cf. Lorblanchet & Bahn 1993; Whitley 2001); we believe that this undermines such a position.

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Joakim Goldhahn, Ingrid Fuglestvedt and Andrew Jones

Figure 1.2. The general distribution of northern hunter/gatherer/fisher rock art (red) and the southern ‘agrarian’ or ‘maritime’ rock art traditions (green) in northern Europe. In grey areas both the NTs and STs occur.

Changing Pictures: An Introduction

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b

a

c

d Figure 1.3. Examples of rock art belonging to the northern traditions: a) human, animals and abstract designs from Ausevik, Norway, b) deer from Vingen, Norway, c) rock paintings from Flatruet, in Sweden, and, d) rock painting from Tumlehed in Gothenburg, depicting a full-size deer and images of boats, nets, fish and abstract designs. All photos by Joakim Goldhahn, except c) photo by Christina Thumé.

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Joakim Goldhahn, Ingrid Fuglestvedt and Andrew Jones

However, according to this thought style, the NT is represented in an Early Mesolithic ‘wave’ of rock art making (Gjessing 1932, 1936; Hesjedal 1990, 1992, 1994). This early phase is characterized and known by its very naturalist styles and sizes. The famous ‘Bøla-reindeer’ (Gjessing 1936: Pl. LIII) of NorthTrøndelag and the great rock art panels of Nordland belong to this Early Mesolithic phase. After a gap of a few millennia (cf. Hesjedal 1994: Tab. 1 & 2), a new and clearly distinguished ‘wave’ of NT in the Late Mesolithic, e.g. the 5th millennium cal BC can be witnessed (e.g. Mikkelsen 1977; Helskog 1984; Sognnes 1995; Ramstad 2000; Lødøen 2001; Klang et al. 2002; Lindgren 2004, cf. Simonsen 1958). Parallel to this development there is a widespread shift to more stable settlement patterns among groups of hunter gatherers across northern Europe (Olsen & Alsaker 1984; Renouf 1989; Olsen 1994; Fuglestvedt 1998, 1999, 2006, 2008; Boaz 1999; Glørstad 1999, 2002, 2004; Larsson 2000; Bergsvik 2001, 2006; Bailey & Spikins 2008; Bjerck 2008). Among other things, this change reinforces a sense of belonging in the world. Archaeologically this is manifested by a handful of regional cultures in northern Europe, such as the Comb Ware Culture in northern and eastern Fennoscandia, the Ertebølle Culture in South Scandinavia and the Lihult and Nøstvet complex in Southwest Sweden and Southern parts of Norway respectively. All over Northern Europe we find a similar investment in rituals that seem to strengthen and reinforce a new sense of place, for instance, in southern Scandinavia we witness the establishment and occurrence of monumental shell middens (e.g. Tilley 1996) and sacred burial grounds (e.g. Larsson 2004), such as Skateholm in Scania (Sweden), Bøgebakken on Zealand (Denmark), Zvejnieki (Latvia) and the Oleni ostrov cemetrey from Lake Onega (Russia). In several regions in northern Europe, this change can be connected to the emergence of more stable sett lements, in the northernmost area even with Stone Age villages – such as the famous Varanger complex (Olsen 1994, see also Boaz 1998; Norberg 2008) – maybe the result of a new set of semi-settled economies and cultures. All these changes indicate a new conceptualization of the world and in some areas rock art mediated this new perception. As an antipode to the NT, the ST was early on linked to settled agrarian German speaking groups (Figures 1.2, 1.4), that were thought to be the ancestors of the modern Swedes, Danes and Norwegians (no figurative rock art from this tradition is known in present day Finland). Rock art from the ST is found in Northern Germany, within the present borders of Denmark (Glob 1969, Kaul 1998), Southern Sweden up to the

Mälar valley (Coles 2000), and along the Norwegian coastline up to Trøndelag (Sognnes 2001); areas that are all suitable for agriculture. Having said this, there are sporadic rock art sites belonging to this tradition all the way up to Helgeland and even Alta in Northern Norway (Helskog 1988, 2000), as well as a handful of known motifs from Nämforsen in central Sweden (cf. Hallström 1960; Malmer 1981; Tilley 1991). The most common rock art motifs within the ST are the cup mark (Table 1.1), followed by depictions of ships, sun symbols, humans, animals (horse, deer, cattle, dog, etc.), weapons (axes, spears, swords, etc.), and ritual paraphernalia (lurs, wagons, ceremonial axes, capes, etc.). More than 21,000 rock art sites are known from present day Sweden associated with the ST (numbers based on registered rock art sites at the Swedish National Heritage Board in Stockholm), in Norway there are less, about 5000 sites (Lødøen & Mandt 2010) and in Denmark there are about 2000 known sites (Glob 1969; Kaul 1998). Approximately 80–90 per cent of these sites consist of cup marks only. Cup marks were produced from at least the Middle Neolithic B, approximately 2800–2350 cal BC, and this tradition continued well into the Early Iron Age. Figurative art seems to develop along with the emergence of metal producing societies in southern Scandinavia; the oldest datable ‘rock art’ image is depicted on a bronze item – the Rørby ship cast on a scimitar deposited in Zealand in Denmark (Figure 1.5), dating to the beginning of the Middle Bronze Age (approximately 16th century cal BC (Vandkilde 1996; Kaul 1998)). Using shore displacement, Ling has shown that this approximate date is commensurate with the emergence of figurative open-air sites in Bohuslän in southwestern Sweden (Ling 2008); here ship images were made at least until the Early Iron Age – about 300 cal BC. This pattern appears to be confirmed in other areas associated with the ST, such as Denmark (Kaul 1998), Uppland in Sweden (Coles 2000) and Rogaland (Nordenborg Myhre 2004) and Trøndelag in Norway (Sognnes 2001). At several places, such as Nämforsen in Ångermanland in Sweden (Hallström 1962), Åmøy in Rogaland (Nordenborg Myhre 2004), Bardal in Nord-Trøndelag (Gjessing 1936) and Alta in Finnmark in Norway (Helskog 1988, 2000), the two major rock art traditions occasionally occur on the same panel. When superimposition can be distinguished and satisfied, established images belonging to the ST are always pecked over Northern ones (Forsberg 1993; Sognnes 2008b). We find it logical and reasonable to suppose that this pattern indicates a succession of time and cultural affiliation (cf. Nash 2008). The NT seems to have ended,

Changing Pictures: An Introduction

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Table 1.1. The relationship between different types of rock art images in areas where the ST is present (numbers are based on Bertilsson 1987 (Bohuslän), Selinge 1989 (Västergötland), Mandt 1991 (Sogn og Fjordane), Coles 2000 (Uppland), Sognnes 2001 (Trøndelag), and Wahlgren 2002 (Östergötland). The numbers of Bornholm and South-East Scania is based on an unpublished survey from 1997 conducted by Goldhahn).

Area Bornholm S-E Scania Östergötland Västergötland Uppland Bohuslän Sogn og Fj. Trøndelag

Cup marks 3523 2762 5619 2060 19000 27338 2484 2475

Ship 78 167 1558 73 1665 7721 165 517

Human 3 51 275 7 190 3556 5 57

or been radically transformed (see Helskog 1987), by the end of the second millennium cal BC. Having said this, there is an increasing amount of rock art from the northern parts of the Scandinavian Peninsula that can be associated with the historically known groups of Saami peoples (e.g. Helskog 1987,1999; Shumkin 2000; Mulk & Bayliss-Smith 2006; Goldhahn 2008a, 2008b), a pattern that demands further consideration and research. It is easy to distinguish several regional rock art traditions that diverge in time and space within these two grand rock art traditions in northern Europe. In present day Finland, only rock paintings belonging to the NT are known (Lahelma 2008, cf. Forsberg & Walderhaug 2004), while a mixture of paintings and engravings are known from the central parts of Sweden and Norway (Sognnes 2001; Ramqvist 2002). In the central part of Sweden engravings belonging to the NT are rather similar in style and technology – with the exception of the Gärde site (Sognnes 1999) – while the rock art found along the western coast of Norway is very diverse; some are naturalistic images, while others are abstract; some are of natural size, others are scale images; some rock engravings are pecked, others carved, some are even polished (Gjessing 1932, 1936; Hallström 1938; Simonsen 1958). Cave paintings, mainly dating to the second and first millennium cal BC, are only known from the Nordland area along the Norwegian coast in an area between Trøndelag and Lofoten (Sognnes 1982; Økland 2000, Ljunge this volume). Painted sites belonging to the NT predominate in areas such as Telemark in present day Norway (Slinning 2002, 2005) and Bohuslän, Dalsland and Värmland in Sweden (Heimann 2005; Nash 2008), while considerable areas in the northernmost part of present day Sweden lack any known rock art sites (see Ramqvist 2002; Walderhaug et al. 2002). We also find several prominent regional differences within the ST (Table 1.1). First and foremost this

Animal 35 544 6 185 1522 4 254

Feet 20 233 334 281 309 533 2 561

Sun/circle 26 60 204 51 128 610 13 316

Other 13 96 394 7 612 1795 21 94

is evident in the spatial distribution of sites with figurative images and sites that are dominated by cup marks, a distributional pattern that differs from region to region (cf. Mandt 1972, 1978; Malmer 1981; Larsson 1986; Bertilsson 1987; Coles 2000; Skoglund 2006; Ling 2008). For instance, in areas where barrows are the most common monumental burial tradition, open-air rock art sites with figurative images are often lacking, but in these areas rock art is made on portable slabs and incorporated in cists, slabs and on the kerb stones of barrows (Glob 1969; Goldhahn 1999; Nordenborg Myhre 2004). In these regions bronze items often show a very intricate use of ‘rock art images’ as ornaments that without doubt are similar to rock art images found in other parts of southern Scandinavia (Glob 1969; Kaul 1998; Fredell 2003; Bradley 2009). Deposits of bronze items are common. In areas where cairns are the main burial monument, open-air rock art sites are common and ornaments on bronze items are not so abundant. In these regions deposits of bronze items are rare (e.g. Almgren 1960, 1962; Malmer 1981, cf. Goldhahn 2007). The reason for these regional patterns still await discussion and exposition but here we suggest they may be the outcome of different, yet related, cosmological beliefs and ritual practices (e.g. Barth 1987; see Goldhahn 2007; Skoglund this volume).

Text versus context – a tentative history of research In general the history of interpretation of the different rock art traditions in northern Europe follow the same theoretical styles, fashions and inclinations as ‘ordinary archaeology’ (whatever that is). A specific or defined body of ‘rock art theory’ cannot be distinguished, and for us, this is not desirable either, as: ‘Rock art research must contribute directly to archaeology if it is to achieve anything of value’

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a b

d Figure 1.4. Examples of rock art belonging to the southern traditions: a) ship and axes from Simris in Scania south Sweden, b) ship and humans from Åmøy in Rogaland, western Norway, c) humans, animals and ships from Fossum, Tanum parish in Bohuslän, and d) section of the famous Vitlycke c panel from Tanum parish, Bohuslän in south-western Sweden. All photos by Joakim Goldhahn. Figure 1.5 (below). The oldest ship depictions from a bronze item, the Rørby scimitar from Zealand, Denmark. Note that the sword profile bears a strong resemblence to a ship (after Aner & Kersten 1973).

Changing Pictures: An Introduction (Bradley 1997: 8). From time to time we find some pronounced differences between theoretical modes within the different Nordic countries, especially during the Cold war period (Hodder 1991; Trigger 2006), but in general the international communication between different research communities has guaranteed parallel interpretations and discussions within this field of knowledge. However, it is possible to detect certain epochs when international trends have been more influential, for instance during the early years of culture-historical and post-processual archaeology. Theoretical and methodological perspectives, however, took an independent pathway within the Nordic countries during the formation of the New Archaeology or processual archaeology in the 1960–1970s (e.g. Myhre 1991). This is also evident during most of the 19th century, a time best described as the ‘Golden Age of Scandinavian Archaeology’, when persons such as Christian Jürgensen Thomsen, Sven Nilsson, Jens Jacob Worsaae, Bror Emil Hildebrand, Oscar Montelius and Sophus Müller made lasting contributions to the creation of the discipline of archaeology (KlindtJensen 1975; Gräslund 1987; Trigger 2006). During the last few decades, Danish and Finnish archaeologists have had a tendency to stick to the bread-and-butter traditional archaeology and discard grand theoretical elaborations, while this kind of archaeology has been more open-mindedly embraced in Norway and Sweden (exceptions of course confirm the rule). In the early 1980s Mats P. Malmer divided rock art research into two categories or styles, ‘absolute’ and ‘relative’ interpretations, which he saw as two polarising scholarships within the present field of rock art research (Malmer 1981: 108): ‘Absolute interpretations look immediately to the central significance of the symbol. […] If a ship represents the actual divinity among Tacitus’ Suebi and also in a carnival in Flanders in the year 1133 AD, the meaning should have been the same in the Scandinavian Bronze Age (Almgren 1962). For absolute interpretations, chronological and chorological facts are secondary. It is believed that a fundamental significance has been discerned, broadly human and universal, valid at least for a large span in time and space. Other possible interpretations […] are rejected as of secondary or negligible importance. Relative interpretations reject the possibility of arriving immediately at an understanding of the central symbolic significance of a motif, either by means of intuition or on the basis of material compiled from the realms of ethnography and religious history. The material available for study according to this persuasion is first of all the variations of a motif, both geographical and chronological. The major characteristics of a motif are illuminated

9

through its variations and enable us to pronounce with some certainty on the object represented […] It is through these variations and the manner in which an object is portrayed that we may learn something of the ideas with which is was associated’ (Malmer 1981: 108–1009, italics in original).

Malmer’s distinction can be understood in light of Paul S. Taçon and Chris Chippindale’s (1998) ideas of informed and formal methods, which they describe as two critical pathways for gaining knowledge about rock art and how it was related to past and present beliefs and worldviews. The former uses historical and anthropological sources and the inside information that can be gained from the typically multi-vocal voice of indigenous informants. In areas where this information is lacking, informants are replaced by formal analogies, which are used to fill the gaps. Alongside this, we have the kind of knowledge produced by the ‘shovel’ – simple dirt archaeology – illuminated by outsiders’ perspectives and different kinds of formal methods such as quantitative or spatial analysis (Taçon & Chippindale 1998), but also theoretical interpretative perspectives. David S. Whitley has argued that informed methods are strongest when symbolic interpretations are produced from an emic and synchronic perspective, while formal methods are better situated to study social aspects from an etic and diachronic perspective (Whitley 2005). Another way of looking at these different pathways is to view them as text-based interpretations versus context based interpretations where historical, ethnographic and anthropological sources are distinguishable from the information that can be gained from archaeological methods for studying past and present societies. It will not come as any surprise that informed methods are scanty and sparse concerning the rock art traditions of Northern Europe (although see Lahelma 2008 for an attempt to apply informed methods to the study of Finnish rock art). In most cases there are at least several thousands of years between the available historical or ethnological sources and the rock art traditions studied. A brief glance at the archaeological records of different areas in this part of the world, unambiguously indicates that the societies we associate with the NT and ST have undergone several fundamental changes before informed sources begin to enlighten us about the worldviews of indigenous groups of farmers, fishers, hunters and gatherers (cf. Kivikoski 1967; Edgren 1993; Jensen 1995; Rydving 1995; Burenhult 1999, 2000; Siikala 2002; Lavento 2004; Wickler 2004). Most of the rock art traditions of northernmost Europe are therefore best explored using formal analysis (cf. Mulk & Bayliss-Smith 2006; Kristiansen & Larsson 2005). This does not mean that cautiously structural

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Figure 1.6. Bredarör on Kivik from Scania in Sweden. Documentation by Beckanstedt 1760 based on a drawing made in 1756 by Feldt. Courtesy of ATA/Stockholm.

Figure 1.7. A casting of plaster of a rock art sword images from Ekenberg in Östergötland, Sweden, and, to the right, a real Bronze Age sword dating to period II, approximately 1500–1300 cal BC, that Hildebrand used as argument for his Bronze Age dating of rock art belonging to the ST (reworked after Hildebrand 1869).

Changing Pictures: An Introduction analogies cannot be undertaken from informed sources to broaden our formal analysis (see Lahelma this volume); it just signifies the simple fact that any direct clear cut answers from informed methods about the meaning and significance of the rock art traditions that we are concerned with in this anthology are not within our grasp. Notwithstanding, text, in its widest sense, has been used and is still being used as a means of informing us about the meaning and significance of different rock art traditions in northern Europe. The informed method was introduced under the guiding light of the Enlightenment during the second half of the 18th century in an attempt to replace the Bible as the only true source to the history of past and present people and cultures (Klindt-Jensen 1975; Schnapp 1996; Trigger 2006). One of the leading stars in this process was the famous naturalist Carl von Linné, a man motivated by the great quest of following the hand of his Master in exploring the greatness of His creation. Von Linné unassumingly declared that if man wants to know more about God’s will with the human race, man must study God’s wonder by using his own intellect. By ‘letting the stone speak’ for themselves, man could gain a glimpse of God’s plans in the future to come. Using the free will of the human mind we witness a replacement of folkloristic interpretation of rock art amongst the antiquarians of the second half of the 18th century. Instead, the antiquarians tried to understand them through the written word – text. One of the most informative examples of this process is the famous Bronze Age cairn Bredarör on Kivik from Scania in South-East Sweden (Randsborg 1993). Discovered and looted in 1748 this immense cairn, it once measured 75 metres in diameter and 3–7.5 metres in height, soon triggered interpretations of its origin and meaning. To add to this interest some enigmatic ‘hieroglyphs’ were discovered on the inside of the cist (Figure 1.6). The local peasants were not able to offer any explanation, nor did the Holy Bible, but close reading of historical sources soon pinpointed two possible explanations. One school favoured an indigenous origin and turned to historical sources such as Saxo and Snorre Sturlasson, relating the monument to prominent kings and heroes from early Scandinavian history. Another school favoured a more exotic origin for the rock art claiming Roman or Celtic invaders having raised the monumental cairn (see Goldhahn 2009). Soon thereafter, rock art in the landscape was associated with the Norse Sagas and the brave and glorious days of the Vikings (e.g. Christi 1938; Holmberg 1848). This textual reading was challenged by the formation of modern archaeology during the first half of the 19th

11

century (Gräslund 1987; Trigger 2006). The dating of rock art to the Viking period was soon thereafter contested through comparisons between rock art images and ornaments on different bronze artefacts (Åberg 1839, 1842). The rock art images from Bredarör on Kivik were then re-dated to the Bronze Age, mainly on the basis of comparisons with the zigzag ornaments on the slabs and ornaments on bronze artefacts (e.g. Holmberg 1848; Nilsson 1862; Brunius 1868). But the dates of open-air rock art were still under debate. Some still argued that they belonged to the grand days of the noble Vikings (Holmberg 1848; Nilsson 1862), others argued forcefully that they belonged to the raw and brutish people of the Stone Age (Brunius 1868). In 1868 this debate came to an end when Bror Emil Hildebrand compared the sword motifs from Ekenberg in Östergötland with real bronze swords found in the vicinity (Figure 1.7), which lead him to be convinced that all of the open-air rock art belonging to the ST was dated to the Bronze Age (Hildebrand 1869). In general this date has since become the orthodox interpretation. The dating and interpretation of the NT was more problematic. In his introduction to Scandinavian prehistory from the 1840s to the 1860s, Sven Nilsson argued that the different prehistoric ‘ages’, could be linked to different economic and cultural understandings of the world. The emergence of humanity was linked to these economic and cultural stages and the immigration of ‘new races’ (Nilsson 1843, 1864). The savages of the Stone Age were identified as Lapps (read Saami peoples) living as hunters and gatherers, the Bronze Age with noble nomadic Celtic people that possessed some grain of culture, or even Phoenician settlers, and the Iron Age with German speaking farmers. This was the first time that the prehistory of Northern Europe was presented as an economic, social and cultural evolution (Gräslund 1987). In this scenario the rock art belonging to the NT was identified as artwork made by hunter-gatherers from the Stone Age, e.g. the Saami people (Wetterberg 1845, see Olofsson 2004), but there was no clear consensus on this issue. In many instances it was the intuitive understanding of the ‘brutishness’ or ‘nobleness’ of the images that determined their chronological and cultural affiliation. Holmberg saw the depiction of ploughing scenes from Bohuslän in Sweden as proof that they were made by ‘people with a distinct sense of culture’ (Holmberg 1848, our translation), while Brunius used the same images and their well-defined male genitalia to attribute them to a ‘raw and brutish Stone Age people’ (Brunius 1868, our translation). Nilsson’s fascinating interpretation, which was mainly based on textual sources and comparative

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analogies with contemporary indigenous groups from different parts of the world, was celebrated to begin with. It did, however, soon come under fire from archaeologists working with formal methods – e.g. context based interpretations. Using simple dirt archaeology it was shown over and over again that farming and domestic animals were already present during the Stone Age, and it was soon suggested that the ancestors of the contemporary Swedes, Danes and Norwegians already inhabited the Scandinavian Peninsula before the Iron Age. The Stone Age savages were transformed into ‘our ancestors’. The Saami people in the north, that were considered to be unable to evolve culturally, were simply left without a prehistory of their own (Olsen 2007). The significance of informed methods was highlighted by Oscar Montelius who designed a research paradigm that later has been known under the name ‘Seidlungsarchäeologie’ and associated with the German linguist Gustaf Kossinna (Jones 1997; Trigger 2006). The idea was clear and simple. By using the location of known groups of people from historical sources and relating them to the distribution of some contemporary material culture, their prehistory could be revealed by following their settlement history and the distribution of their material culture back into prehistory (Jones 1997). Text gained power over context. Montelius formulated this settlement archaeology for the first time in a short paperback in 1884, entitled On our ancestors migration to northern Europe (our translation). The German-speaking ancestors of the present days Swedes were identified through runic inscriptions from the Roman Iron Age; approximately dated to the first and second century AD (Montelius 1984). The question then was how to follow them into the fog of prehistory? This was not solved archaeologically until the early 20th century when Oscar Almgren was sent to Bohuslän to map and check the extensive rock art documentation made by the fine artist Lauritz Baltzer (Nordbladh 1995). From the early 1880s Baltzer had devoted himself to the discovery and documentation of the Bronze Age rock art from Bohuslän, the first systematic survey and documentation project of rock art in northern Europe. Baltzer’s documentations were published year-by-year in a large (A3) series of booklets until 1908 (Baltzer 1881–1908). Almgren was interested in Baltzer’s work because of the huge number of rock art sites that he believed could be linked to Bronze Age settlements. By using the research paradigm formulated by Montelius, he argued for the compilation of a spatial analysis of the rock art and the settlement history of the Bronze Age in Bohuslän (Ling 2008: 15–33). After the Bronze Age settlers had

been interpreted as ancestors of the Swedes, Almgren forcefully argued that the meaning of the rock images could best be understood using written sources such as Tacitus’ descriptions of the Suebi and more recent folkloristic beliefs known through informed methods. This absolute interpretation was manifested in Almgren’s seminal work ‘Hällristningar och kultbruk’ (Rock art and cult practice, our transl.) from 1927, published in German seven years later (Almgren 1934). The ST was then correlated to German speaking groups in prehistory, and as a consequence rock art belonging to the NT was (sometimes) attributed to the Saami people (Sognnes 2008a). Both rock art traditions were considered to be the outcome of sympathetic magic, the ST to appease certain weather gods or to produce rain or sunshine, the NT as a mean of ensuring hunting success, or gaining control over the souls of game animals. Soon thereafter the Norwegian archaeologist Gutorm Gjessing labelled the ST ‘agrarian rock art’ and the latter became ‘Vejderistningar’ or ‘Arctic rock art’ (Gjessing 1936, 1939), in reality meaning ‘archaic’ rock art (Goldhahn this volume). The evolutionary perception of form was evident and the different rock art traditions were simply formulated using a contemporary mirror to fit the interpreter’s world view:

Northern traditions

Southern traditions

Stone Age Arctic hunters Nature Natural images Concrete thinking Sensorial Magical purpose Archaic Materialistic

Bronze Age Scandinavian farmers Culture Stylized images Abstract thinking Imaginative Religious purpose Dynamic Idealistic

This perception had its counterparts in the evolutionary thinking of international scholars such as Salomon Reinach (1903), Herbert Kühn (1922) and Abbé Breuil (1952), leading to a cultural understanding of the prehistory of Northern Europe that is to a large extent mirrored in the political maps of the 19th and early 20th century AD: German speaking groups in the south and Saami speaking groups in the north (Figure 1.8). There is neither the time nor place to discuss these issues in great detail here, but it is wise to underline the evolutionary thinking on which this interpretation was and is built (e.g. Jones 1997; Olsen 2007; Cassel 2008). We argue that our interpretations of prehistory must not be based on nationalistic or evolutionary models whose purpose is to politically validate the present; instead archaeological analysis

Changing Pictures: An Introduction

13

Figure 1.8. Cultural dualism during the first millennium cal BC in northern Europe? Filled circle = mould associated with the ST; open circle = find of artefact associated with the ST; filled triangles = mould associated with the NT; open triangles = find associated with the NT; marked areas indicates settled areas associated with the STs (after Bakka 1976).

could and should help us all to reflect upon and challenge such chauvinistic tendencies. During the culture-historical paradigm, text was given precedence over context in the search for absolute interpretations. Folklore beliefs from the 19th century were once again used to interpret rock art traditions that were at least 2000 years older (ST), sometimes even more (NT). The question of the extent to which both the appearance of the Norse religion in the early first millennia AD and the introduction of Christianity c. 1000 years thereafter had altered and changed these beliefs, was simply overlooked. The known was given precedence over the unknown, text over context. Johan Ling (2008) has labelled this perspective ‘the terrestrial paradigm’ and as with all paradigms its impact has been immense. This paradigm has been appropriately described as an ‘intellectual straight jacket’ by Knut Helskog (1993). Contextual finds of rock art were then treated as ‘portable artefacts’ and mainly used in building

chronologies (Marstrander 1963; Glob 1969; Malmer 1981). Alternative interpretations were dismissed. An archaeological reaction was badly needed but was not formulated until the 1960s (Myhre 1991). The first attempt to challenge the Almgrenian-cultpractice-paradigm was formulated in the late 1960s by scholars such as Mats P. Malmer (1971, 1981), Gro Mandt (1972, 1978, 1991) and Jarl Nordbladh (1979, 1980). The former used positivism to formulate logical and chorological rock art chronologies, mainly from his desk (Malmer 1981); the latter researchers explored the spatial distributions of rock art in the landscape and its relationship to other prehistoric remains (see Goldhahn this volume). In short all three challenged the absolute text-based interpretations by arguing for either chorological analysis or spatial and structural analysis of rock art from the ST. Both Mandt and Nordbladh argued for an explicit use of theory within this research field.

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The works of Malmer appear very old fashioned today (Yates 1993), while the work of Mandt and Nordbladh could be described as forerunners of the post-processual framework. For instance, during the late 1970s Mandt introduced gender-critical perspectives within rock art research (Mandt 1987) and Nordbladh wrote a structuralistic prolegomena that latterly, to a large extent, has been adopted and reformulated by Chris Tilley (cf. Nordbladh 1978, 1980 with Tilley 1991, 1999). Despite this, during the 1980s rock art research was not mature enough to challenge the processual agenda, with the result that rock art was used to study settlement pattern or related spatial analyses during the 1980s (e.g. Larsson 1986; Bertilsson 1987; Sognnes 1987, 2001). During the early 1990s the post-processual umbrella was fully unfurled and a multitude of theoretical perspectives were defined and debated (e.g. Helskog & Olsen 1995; Helskog 2001). Notably Chris Tilley’s study of the rock art from Nämforsen is a line of demarcation and has had a lasting impact (Tilley 1991, 1999), not least among contemporary PhD students, and has led to the rock art research of Scandinavia being given a prominent place among post-processualists in Northern Europe (e.g. Helskog & Olsen 1995; Helskog 2001; Goldhahn 2002b, 2005, 2006, 2008b). During the 21st century rock art has been one of the most intensively researched fields in northern Europe resulting in numerous articles, reports, anthologies and monographs (Goldhahn 2008a). The reason for this vast interest is seldom discussed, but here we wish to underline the following points: •

•

•

•

Rock art is easily linked to ideology and concepts such as cosmology, religion, ritual and ritualisation, which have all been embraced by post-processualists; Rock art is by its nature fixed in landscape and can then be spatially contextualised, this aspect has led to it being embraced by processual and post-processual scholars alike; Compared to ordinary excavations, rock art research is relatively low-budget and easy to conduct, and; The information relating to rock art changes less rapidly than the constantly changing picture of ‘ordinary’ archaeology offered by contract archaeology.

Another point worthy of emphasis here is the fact that, apart from the few exceptions mentioned above, most of the rock art research undertaken before the 1990s was very traditional. In general the terrestrial paradigm was nurtured and maintained. This meant that the non-productive deviation between processual

and non-processual camps was less sharply defined, which means that this research field was not associated with the polemic tone of the theoretical debate of the 1980s. Rock art was a kind of ‘no-man’s-land’ where the processualists could emphasise spatial distribution and landscape context while the post-processualists could (attempt to) apply their high-flying theories on concrete, well contextualised material. Both of these paths of development led to the formation of a more mature and advanced interpretative archaeology. The textual emphasis is still very much evident both with the post-processual passion for structuralist and post-structuralist theories (e.g. Nordbladh 1980; Tilley 1991, 1999; Yates 1993), but also with the recent interest in the diachronic historical sources that have been applied, with various outcome and success, as informed methods (cf. Prescott & Walderhaug 1995; Kaul 1998, 2004; Helskog 1999; Odner 2000, 2006; Fredell 2003; Kristiansen 2005, 2009; Kaliff 2007; Kristiansen & Larsson 2004; Lahelma 2008).

Themes and organization of this volume In general, the contributions to this anthology are more interested and concerned with contexts based interpretations than those built predominately on text. A series of themes emerged over the course of the workshop and we will discuss these below. Major themes were animism, the agency of the rock, picturing as performance and finally the significance of narrative.

Animacy The title of the workshop was of course ‘Changing Pictures’, which leads one to consider not only how pictures are changed by people in the past, but also how pictures changed or affected people in the past. Here we might pose the same question as that posed by the American art historian and visual scholar Timothy Mitchell ‘What do Pictures really want?’ In a wide-ranging study Mitchell (2005) argues that we need to consider images not only as inert objects, but as animated beings with desires of their own. He suggests that the phenomenon of the living image or animated icon is an anthropological universal, part of the fundamental ontology of images (Mitchell 2005, 11). The animacy of images is also highlighted in Alfred Gell’s discussion of the anthropology of art (Gell 1998), although Gell situates this animacy in the web of relations between art objects and their human producers. The notion of animacy, and the wider concept of animism are brought to the fore by recent enquiries concerning the materiality of the archaeological record (e.g. Olsen 2003; Miller 2005; Ingold 2007; Glørstad & Hedeager 2008), and more

Changing Pictures: An Introduction general concerns relating to the ontological status of the material world (see Henare et. al. 2007; Alberti & Bray 2009). Given this, we might argue that the seminar was distinguished between those who emphasized ontology and materiality over those who emphasized the representational or symbolic character of rock art. We will draw out these distinctions below. As we note above, the concepts of animism and animacy are historically well worn, and accounted for early interpretations of Scandinavian rock art in the NT and ST. It appears from the workshop that animism is being reappraised in rock art studies. Ingrid Fuglestvedt discusses the history of the concepts of animism and totemism and reworks Ingold’s recent discussion of these concepts in order to clearly and convincingly differentiate between rock art produced by totemic and animic cultural groups in the NT of Norway. Her article – Animals, ‘Churingas’ and rock art in Late Mesolithic Northern Scandinavia (Ch. 2) – aims to relate these concepts to the style of the depicted animals, e.g. the naturalistic and stylised styles of expression. In naturalistic images, form is given precedence over content and the animals are depicted in a realistic sense. The stylised forms of animals are depicted so the content is given precedence over form, and the natural organs of the animal are often included in the composition (hearts, abomasums, ‘lifelines’), sometimes by filling the pictured bodies of animal as well as human bodies with abstract design. Fuglestvedt links these different styles to the world views and social systems of the Late Mesolithic societies in large areas of Scandinavia, and interprets the shift between either of the forms as a shift from animism, e.g. the naturalist style, to totemism, the stylized form. She argues that ‘totemism’ is based on an original ‘animism’ from which it developed into an ideology centered on an ancestor cult and the celebration of the collective identity and its origin in the landscape. Joakim Goldhahn also introduces the concept of animism and sympathetic magic in his discussion of gift giving in rock art production and resource extraction. He relates this to the concept of the hau, the ‘spirit of the gift’, the animic force that motivates the gift, highlighted by Mauss in his classic work. Here the rock surface enters into a dynamic relationship with human beings. This dynamic relationship is also discussed by Antti Lahelma in his discussion of the echoing properties of Finnish rock painting sites, as he argues that such echoes were understood in terms of the sound of the spirits. In a more literal sense Jan Magne Gjerde touches on animation and animacy in his discussion of the dynamic movement of the swan image bobbing on water at Leiknes; here the image is in a dynamic relationship with both the rock – which

15

makes up part of the image – and the observer, who ‘animates’ the image as they move. However we explain this image in a contemporary setting, it is likely that the rock and image were understood by past peoples to be moving or animated. This sense of animacy was also highlighted by Cornell and Ling in quite a different sense in their evocation of Derrida’s discussion of the play of signifiers.

Agency of rock The notion of animacy is also embedded in another clear theme that emerged from the seminar: the agency of rock. Trond Lødøen explores the often undiscussed attributes of ‘rock’ arguing that rocks were sometimes as good as the images themselves to think with; not least when we are discussing the animistic world-views of hunter gatherers. In Lødøen’s article, Concepts of Rock in Late Mesolithic Western Norway (Ch. 3), both the canvas and the reciprocal dialogue between different realms are combined. He forcefully argues that the importance of rock in rock art contexts, has been neglected, and he urges us to broaden our perception to include tool production, quarrying activity, and the like, in our analysis. The goal with such analysis must be to highlight the concept of rock in prehistoric societies, which will help us to understand the rock art media through a different perspective. While many rock art researchers have drawn on research from South Africa to discuss the treatment of the rock surface, Lødøen’s paper introduces us to a variety of different approaches to the rock surface at Vingen, Norway. Importantly this understanding of the rock is derived from formal methods; the close engagement between rock art researcher and rock art site rather than a reliance on informed methods. The significance of the agency of the rock is also underlined by Antti Lahelma in his paper Hearing and touching rock art – Finnish rock paintings and the non-visual (Ch. 4). Lahelma argues that visual media and perception have been the focus of a long lasting tradition within rock art research. From informed methods we know that other sensory experiences such as dancing, singing, hearing and touching have been, and sometimes still are, an equally important phenomenon associated with rock art as a ritual and cosmological medium. Lahelma shows that the rock art, usually located on steep cliffs rising out of lakeshores, sometimes produces exceptional echoes. He suggests that these sounding places were intentionally chosen so that a dialectic dialogue between different realms (e.g. the worldly and the spiritual) could take place. Another sensual encounter that he discusses is touching, which evidently took place as we find several handprints added to figurative rock art images within

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this tradition. Lahelma argues that this was done in order to contact different immaterial powers and empower agents with spiritual forces. Ethnographic parallels from different parts of the world, including South Africa and Canada and the Saamis of northern Fennoscandia, are discussed to show how these sensual encounters could be associated with rock art and how other sensory registers could be used to interpret rock art sites. Maja Hultman’s contribution to this volume – The known yet unknown ringing stones from Bronze Age Sweden (Ch. 5) – also deals with some of the most intangible aspects of rock art, sound and soundscapes. She also argues that archaeologists have often been preoccupied with targeting the visible, touchable and measurable aspects of prehistoric material culture. According to such a paradigm, prehistoric remains such as ringing stones, the topic of her article, have little to offer. Even though rock art images remain silent today, we know that both the production of rock art and the rituals and ceremonies that we think surrounded this phenomena in the past, was noisy business. For instance, there are a lot of images depicting sounding equipment from both the NT as well as the ST; drums, lurs, processions and dancing sticks. The bronze lurs from Långelöt on Öland in Sweden (Lund 1986) and from Revheim in Rogaland (Nordenborg Myhre 2004: 178–182) have even been deposited within sight – or perhaps more correctly: hearing distance – of prominent rock art places; the former within short distance of a ringing stone. According to informed methods, we also know that the spells, chants and songs sung during the act of emplacing and creating the art were often as important as the images themselves (Whitley 2001). In her paper, Hultman uses the spatial analysis of prehistoric remains, which offer her a novel path towards understanding how we might interpret such an intangible phenomena as sound within an interpretative archaeology. Again we begin to understand the dynamic interrelationship between rock and person in prehistory.

Picturing as performance – places that resonate Several papers already discussed above analyze the way in which the performance of rock art production created a dynamic relationship between rock and person; rock art sites were places that resonated with significance, and their significance was effectively performed into being by the act of making rock art. In the case of Lahelma’s and Hultman’s work these were literally places that resonated as the significance of place was both seen and heard. The performative power of rock art, less the agency of the rock than the agency of the images themselves, is discussed by Johan Ling and Per Cornell. Ling and

Cornell challenge interpretations of rock art focusing on oral and narrative accounts. Instead they argue that the medium of rock art created its own practice and logic, as with all ritual mediums (e.g. Bell 1992), and drew much of its inspiration from this medium. They argue that this is also the reason that it alters and changes over time. A key to understanding this practice – rock art as social format (Ch. 6) – is the fact that the rock art formats vary in different landscape settings. As rock art first and foremost is a ritual medium, it is important to highlight that rock art panels differ; some seem to illustrate more concrete social information, while others present a more suggestive message which is reflected in the emplacement of rock art in different landscape settings. Using a phenomenological inspired perspective and Merleau-Ponty’s concept of intersubjectivity, Magnus Ljunge re-experiences rock art sites at Lofoten in northern Norway and around the city of Norrköping in south-east Sweden discussing how the placing of rock art accentuated different meanings of both social, pragmatic, ritual and symbolic character (see also Nilsson below). In his article – Rock art and the meaning of place – some phenomenological reflections (Ch. 7) – Ljunge argues that both the place itself as well as the relationship between different rock art places were in constant motion. Places were incorporated in social, ritual and cosmological landscapes through an interpretative process, a process that could be described as an interaction based on the ability to bodily inhabit these places. Ljunge argues that the placing of rock art reinforced and/or transformed the meaning of specific places and by recognizing this we can initiate a discussion about the ambiguous nature of the rock art phenomena in both time and space. Ljunge’s contribution is important as he stresses the significant dynamic that exists between place and image. Likewise, this relationship is demonstrated in a series of empirical examples by Jan Magne Gjerde, who argues for the inseparability of rock surface, rock art and place. In a related way, Joakim Goldhahn explores the Emplacement and the hau of rock art (Ch. 8). He views rock art from different cultural settings through the universal phenomena of gift and gift giving in general and discusses special cases where rock art has been made at quarries from different parts of northern Europe, where quartzite, red ochre, asbestos, quartz and soapstone have been extracted. He interpreted this pattern as a result of a relational, animistic relationship between different realms of reality, and in a Maussian way, argues that gifts and countergifts are essential for traditional societies and that they are best understood as a component of a total

Changing Pictures: An Introduction social phenomenon. In different ways, Goldhahn and Ljunge argue that the pre-conceptualisation of the world is crucial to consider when we approach the emplacement of rock art in the land- and mindscape of prehistoric people. Rather than considering the landscape as a passive backdrop, Goldhahn argues that we have to rethink the act of emplacement, while Ljunge explores the phenomenology of the place itself as an interpretative tool.

Narratives Cornell and Ling highlight the performativity of images. As such their contribution importantly bridges the distinctions between approaches with a more ontological emphasis and those with a more representational emphasis noted above. While Cornell and Ling’s contribution eschews representationalist logic – that images can simply be treated as representations of something – they simultaneously argue that images possess an imperative or agency of their own, while noting that images reflect the place and lifeworld’s of prehistoric societies. The concept of narratives is most clearly articulated by Peter Skoglund’s contribution – Cosmology and performance – narrative perspectives on Scandinavian rock art (Ch. 9) – Peter Skoglund wishes to explore the narrative content of rock art images. To accomplish such an analysis it is vital to know if the images are related to each other and if they were made and used in connection to each other (cf. Fredell 2003). For this reason he turns to five rock art contexts in south-east Sweden that have all been found in Bronze Age burials and explores their narrative perspective. Skoglund argues that the narratives that have been expressed in these contexts were modified to fit into the needs of different kinds of public and social settings. Some place emphasis on cosmological principles while others emphasise the heroic deeds of the deceased. In addition, the emplacement of rock art in different landscapes is reflected in this scenario according to Skoglund, most notably in the fact that ship images do not seem to have played any role in the interior of southern Sweden, while they are enhanced in the coastal areas. This points to a rather pragmatic worldview during the Bronze Age that was rooted in a contextualised this-worldly perception and understanding of the landscape, and Skoglund’s paper suggests that rock art played a vital role in expressing this conceptualisation. In Ylva Sjöstrand’s paper – ‘Should I stay or should I go’ – on the meaning of variations among mobile and stable elk motifs at Nämforsen, Sweden (Ch. 10) – rock art images are also interpreted as components of a society’s unconscious memory. Sjöstrand’s paper is

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centred around one of the key symbols of the Late Mesolithic and Neolithic in northern Fennoscandia, the elk (alces alces). She is particularly concerned with the angle of the leg of the depicted animals. Elks with straight legs appear in organised compositions in which depictions of humans are a vital part of the composition, while elks with angled legs tend to be depicted in chaotic compositions, sometimes with abstract motifs. She discusses several reasons for these differences and argues that the elk as a key symbol was used in both a conscious and unconscious way to contemplate and express ideals and cultural values among the contemporary societies of hunter-gatherers. Sjöstrand neatly articulates the relationship between the representation of images and the wider narrative of settlement, mobility and movement amongst prehistoric societies in northern Sweden. Images do not simply represent the thing in themselves – in this case, the elk – instead they are representative of wider currents of change. Narrative is also discussed by Per Nilsson, as he examines how rock art images are re-used in later periods. His paper poses an important question: how long did rock art narratives endure? Do some of the narratives and meanings discussed by Skoglund and Sjöstrand have relatively brief lives? He begins his paper – Reused rock art: Iron Age activities at Bronze Age rock art sites (Ch. 11) – with an account of the interesting and thought-provoking excavations that have been conducted at rock art sites in southern Scandinavia in general, and especially his own excavations at Himmelstalund in Östergötland, Sweden. There is a general consensus among researchers that the rock art from this region is mainly dated to the Bronze Age, but astonishingly most of the finds and features found at these excavations have been dated to the Iron Age, a pattern that also goes for other rock art sites belonging to the ST. Unlike other researchers Nilsson embraces this paradox and asks us: How did people during the Iron Age relate to Bronze Age rock art sites? Were they regarded as pictures from an ancestral past; were they abandoned or perhaps simply forgotten? He proposes that the finds and features found in close connection to rock art sites can be seen as the material remains of a ‘dialogue with the past’. Narratives of various scales are discussed in papers by Jan Magne Gjerde and Melanie Wrigglesworth. Jan Magne Gjerde’s paper – entitled ‘Cracking’ landscapes. New documentation – new knowledge? (Ch. 12) – discusses the relationship between the art and the ‘canvas’ of the rock, arguing that when it comes to rock art the ‘canvas’ is inseparable from the art. Gjerde argues that rock art interacts with landscapes at different levels and that rock art images sometimes acted as micro-

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Joakim Goldhahn, Ingrid Fuglestvedt and Andrew Jones

landscapes of the surrounding macro-landscapes. Natural features such as cracks, veins of quartz, pools of water, different bedrocks, etc., constituted a vital part of the narratives that surrounded the making and remaking of rock art. He interprets these natural features in the microscape as geographical references to the landscape on a macro scale, and this was done to visualize a place specific narrative, a memoryscape. His example is gathered from the NT in northernmost Europe, including rock art sites from Norway (Leiknes, Slettnes, Alta), Sweden (Landverk, Nämforsen), and Russia (Zalavruga, Vyg, Onega). The narratives of particular events taking place in the wider landscape are literally embedded in the rock surface and are drawn out by rock art depictions. In Melanie Wrigglesworth’s contribution – Bronze Age rock art and religion from a maritime perspective (Ch. 13) – she discusses the use of the notion of ‘religion’ amongst rock art scholars during the 20th century, in particular Oscar Almgren’s innovative and seminal work that introduced the idea of fertility cults and sun worship (Almgren [1927] 1934). This soon became an established ‘truth’ as far as Bronze Age rock art belonging to the ST is concerned – doxa. In her paper she traces the history of research on rock art in terms of religion, ritual and ritualisation, and discusses to what degree recent theoretical approaches have altered up to the present day. Wrigglesworth ends her paper by pointing out some different ways of exploring these notions in the future. Like Cornell and Ling’s contribution she highlights the maritime significance of rock art. In this sense ship images act as material metaphors, narratives of the significance of maritime lifeways. Lastly, as an epilogue, Richard Bradley presents some thoughts from his reading of this anthology: Drawing on stone (Ch. 14).

Concluding remarks As we discussed above the seminar contributions were intended to reassess traditional approaches to Scandinavian rock art – keeping the baby, but discarding the bathwater. The papers reflect upon earlier approaches, especially the symbolic or structuralist analysis of rock art and animist conceptions of rock art. In approaching these topics these papers do not simply slavishly reproduce these idioms of thought; instead they creatively rework these ideas. While old ideas are given a fresh lease of life, significant new concepts are also addressed, such as the agency of rock and the performativity of rock art. Arguably these new concepts have also arisen from earlier developments; agency being based upon animist ontologies, while

questions of performativity have arisen from textual and post-structuralist analysis. As such, we believe that this anthology of papers offers not only a snapshot of current debates, but also reflects pivotal changes in the study of rock art.

Acknowledgments The workshop Changing Pictures was supported by the Councils for research in the humanities and social sciences in the Nordic countries (NOS-HS) and we hereby want to express our thanks. The printing of the book was sustained by generous grants from the Swedish Research Council (Swe. Vetenskapsrådet). We also have had a pleasant experience working with Oxbow books, especially the editors Clare Litt and Emma Sutton who deserve our special appreciation. Furthermore we want to express our gratitude to Professor Richard Bradley for taking his time reading all the chapters and comment on the volume as such – thanks! Last, but not least, all our appreciation that is left goes to the participants at the workshop for all the thoughtprovoking discussions that could not have taken place without their open minds and hearts! Without them this anthology would not have materialized.

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2 Animals, Churingas and Rock Art in Late Mesolithic Northern Scandinavia Ingrid Fuglestvedt

During the course of the Late Mesolithic a development in styles of depicted animals in rock art can be documented at several sites on the Scandinavian Peninsula. This, in short, represents the development from naturalised to stylized styles of expression. Within the last category, i.e. the stylized forms – which vary from animals depicted with natural organs (hearts, abomasums, ‘lifelines’) through to total stylization in terms of patterned grid designs – fill the pictured bodies of animal as well as human bodies. The stylized grids are interpreted as expressions of an emerging totemism: a label that in my opinion ‘captures’ the world view and social systems of the Late Mesolithic societies in large areas of Scandinavia. This ‘totemism’ is based on an original ‘animism’ from which it developed into an ideology increasingly directed towards ancestor cults and the celebration of the group as a collective organism originating in the landscape. By analogy with the classic ethnographic category – churingas – this ancestral cult can be understood in relation to depicted bodies that are filled with stylized designs and their relation to phenomena like ‘essence’, origin and totemism. Keywords: Rock art, animism, totemism, churingas, Late Mesolithic, Scandinavia

‘[T]he churingas are kept…where the cult is celebrated’ (Durkheim 2002 [1912]: 135).

Introduction Throughout early research history on Scandinavian rock art the concept of sympathetic magic initially made the key concept for comprehending depicted big game as symbols, and not as mere reproductions. Up until the eighties, one could say that this concept was the main approach in understanding the meaning of socalled hunters’ rock art. Sympathetic magic refers to the possibility of manipulating, or rather communicating a wish for killing the game from the part of the hunter to powers he is not in control of. The depiction of animals was seen as a means of communication with, or manipulating of, the environment. Sympathetic magic, in different respects, both connotes concepts like animism and totemism. Both animism and totemism refer to a certain relationship between hunter-gatherer

groups and what to them stand out as significant animals of their milieu. These old concepts, however, are so much used that their actual contents may be blurred. What do animism and totemism really involve? In this contribution to our discussion on ‘changing pictures’ I will present what I see as a relevant way of using ‘old’ concepts in understanding hunters’ rock art. I will be predominately concerned with the old concepts of animism and totemism and new definitions and discussions of these terms. ‘Animism’ and ‘totemism’ both represent categories which may provoke associations with outdated, evolutionist approaches within the history of religion, sociology and anthropology/archaeology. Animism and totemism were originally key terms in great theories explaining the phenomena of religion and society and can be attributed to Edward Burnett Tylor (1832–1917) and to Émile Durkheim (1858–1917) respectively. Whilst Tylor sought to understand the origin of religion via his belief in the religious nature

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of humans, i.e. an approach from within, Durkheim looked upon society as extra-individual and something that could be objectified as a phenomenon by itself, i.e. from outside. In Tylor’s system, animism represents the first and original stage of human religiosity, from which all religions evolve. In Durkheim’s system, totemism is the phenomenon through which primordial social solidarity is lived and expressed. Even if totemism does represent something religious, the origin and effects were understood by Durkheim as overtly societal. The two theories were created with little mutual influence, but are to be understood as parallel theories that came about within a common 19thcentury evolutionist frame of reference. By introducing these great theories, i.e. understanding religion and society, Tylor is regarded as among the founders of anthropology, whereas Durkheim unquestionably is the founder of sociology. Seen in retrospect and with religion or ‘world view’ considered in isolation, the bottom line would appear to be that Tylor regards animism as the original religion and Durkheim regards totemism as the genesis of socio-religious life. So, if these evolutionist and general theories are taken at face value, Stone Age people all over the world could initially be categorized as either animic or totemic societies, or both. In this paper I investigate the possibilities of tracing animism and totemism in Mesolithic societies on the Scandinavian Peninsula. My aim is to distinguish between ‘animic’ and ‘totemic’ rock art motifs. My overall goal is to outline a cultural history of the Mesolithic, told by way of contexts in which neither one is the dominating belief system. I will contend that while the early Mesolithic societies were typically animic, great parts of today’s Norway and Sweden were subjected to a ‘totemic wave’ towards the end of the Late Mesolithic. Animism and totemism were not originally discussed together as a ‘continuation’ or in a kind of opposition to each other. Lately, however, the two systems have been given a renewed breath of life, especially by the contributions of Philippe Descola and Tim Ingold. Their contributions are thought-provoking and highly interesting for further investigation with a general approach as well as applied to a specific cultural-historical context. In the case discussed here, an approach indicating a degree of prehistoric development is the more relevant. Even so, I believe the context-specific theory of ‘animism versus totemism’ presented could include elements that may have a more general validity.

Animism: old and new The concept of animism was reintroduced by Tylor in his Primitive Culture of 1858 (renamed Religion in Primitive culture in later editions, from which I am quoting here). Until then the word owed etymological connotations to the spirit inherent in animals. In Tylor’s application, animism came to mean ‘the general belief in spiritual beings’. The notion that everything material had or potentially could inhere a soul served as a psychological explanation to natural phenomena like death, at which occasion the typical human experience would be that ‘something’ disappears from the body. Other natural phenomena were explained by ‘the lower races’, as phenomena like out of body experiences, dreams, ghosts and/or shadows. As Tylor states: ‘…every man has two things belonging to him, namely a life and a phantom. These two are evidently in close connexion with the body, the life as enabling it to feel and think and act, the phantom as being its image or second self; both, also, are perceived to be things separable from the body, the life as able to go away and leave it insensible or dead, the phantom as appearing to people at a distance from it […] continuing to exist and appear to men after the death of that body; able to enter into, possess, and act in the bodies of other men, of animals, and even of things’ (Tylor 1970 [1858]: 12).

Animism thus refers to the belief that every living unit has a spirit, and potentially every solid thing may be animated by a spirit. Animism, at a little more advanced stage, involves human endeavours to control and manipulate the spirits in favour of their own will. According to Tylor, the more evolved classes of religion, i.e. polytheistic and monotheistic belief systems have developed from and are resting on animism. Tylor’s successor, James George Frazer (1854–1941) in his main work, The Golden Bough (first published 1890), refined this teleological line and defined the evolutionary stages in human cognition as arising from an original condition of magic, to religion and finally to science. Here, Frazer (1996 [1890]: 14) introduces his concept of sympathetic magic. Frazer regarded this as the practice of acting upon an image or object that represents what you want to control or achieve. A central example in this connection, of such an understanding, is the practice in rock art historical research of interpreting literally, carved or painted depictions of game animals as a wish from the hunter to catch precisely this beast. The ‘sympathetic magic’ approach laid the theoretical foundation for the dominant ways of interpreting Scandinavian rock art during the mid part of the 20th century, and thus characterizes interpretations put forward by Gutorm

Animals, ‘churingas’ and Rock Art in Late Mesolithic Northern Scandinavia Gjessing (1932; 1936), Gustaf Hallström (1938; 1960; 1967: 50, 52) and Eivind S. Engelstad (1934: 92). Both Tylor and Frazer viewed the primordial stages like animism and magic as belonging to a phase in human history characterized by irrational cognitive abilities. Animism and the magic state were placed within the framework of unwitting human beings; it provided him/her with simple explanations for natural phenomena, and in the case of magic, the native did not have any idea of why the magic would work, but was supposedly aware of its effects. Tylor and Frazer shared this strong notion of a pre-rational human stage with Lucien Lévy-Bruhl. As we know, this position is totally at odds with today’s approach and knowledge. As Michael Lambek puts it in the editor’s introduction to his reader in the anthropology of religion: ‘Both Tylor and Lévy-Bruhl present one-sided and therefore impoverished pictures. Members of small-scale societies are far more sophisticated thinkers than either gave them credit for. They have far more sophisticated knowledge of the human condition and far richer, more variegated, and complex religious lives than Tylor recognized. They are also capable of much greater critical distance and abstract reasoning than Lévy-Bruhl imagined. Moreover, it is a mistake to generalize about small-scale societies; there are great differences among them and over time’ (Lambek 2002: 22).

The theoretical foundations of Tylor, Frazer and Lévy-Bruhl are truly far from compatible with today’s knowledge of the human being. Criticism can especially be directed at the ‘pre-rational’ approach to human belief systems of deep history. It also invites attack because of the extreme generality that seems to be advocated by these pioneering anthropologists. Thus, I subscribe to the words of Lambek quoted above. Animism and sympathetic magic are indeed very general theories, yet one cannot deny that Tylor and Frazer did reveal some important traits of existing practices in small scale societies. The concept of animism has survived in anthropological studies and the contents of the theory have been extended and modified (Descola 1992; 1996; Ingold 2000), whereas sympathetic magic – when regarding rock art studies within archaeology – seems to be regarded as outdated (cf. Goldhahn 2004: 126; 2005: 73; Hesjedal 1990: 12; 1992: 27; 1994: 3; Lahelma 2008: 45; Tilley 1991: 12, 49–53). Let us now look at the contents of the ‘new animism’ and afterwards, see if sympathetic magic in some way could still have some relevance. Groups that can be classified as representing an animic belief system exist on various continents, and are typical of hunter-gatherers and reindeer herders in the northern hemisphere. In the circumpolar area I would suggest that the Sami group, as we know it

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from recent history, should be classified as typically animic. Other examples are the Khanty group of Siberia (Jordan 2003) and the Mistassini Cree (Tanner 1979) of North America. Furthermore, as I understand the works of David Lewis-Williams (e.g. 1981; 1991; 1997; Lewis-Williams & Dowson 1988), the !Kung of the Kalahari are also to be classified as animic. The groups mentioned here, and several others (see Descola 1996: 94 for more references), are societies in which big game animals are given prominent status within their belief systems and survival, and where religiosity is largely expressed through shamanistic practices. Within the new concept of animism, the ‘animated animal’ plays a central role. Animals have souls and this involves being allocated status as true persons who bear intention and will. Consequently animism regards animals as social persons. From the human point of view the animal community is perceived through analogy to their own human community. Societies mainly dominated by egalitarian structures are characterized by cooperation in hunting and by sharing of meat from big game. This cooperation is not, however, perceived as exclusively a human enterprise; when game animals are caught, this is part of the actual agency of a social person, which is the animal. In other words, the animal has chosen to give itself to the human community out of its own will and interest. Thus, within animic belief systems there is a strong belief that the life-enduring forces are finite, and that joint cooperation between animals and humans are vital if these life forces are to be sustained and maintained. The generative life forces are retained as a consequence of successful processes of constant ‘giving’ and ‘taking’ of matter and spirit between the two communities. On the human side of this reciprocity, lies the proper conduct of sacrifice after a successful hunt. This involves correct treatment of the animal bones in order to please the animal spirit and secure good will from future animal agents. Part and parcel of the ritual act is the sharing of meat among human individuals. In other words, the strong obligation to share wards off the risk of not getting anything back from the animal community. Indeed, societies that can be classified as animic believe that the material world may be imbued by a person, or spirit – at least potentially. This includes stones, land formations and natural forces like wind and waves – and as with all other impersonated beings, there are possibilities of getting to know these persons in an open-minded way. This is allowing the world to unfold as it is, by listening to the northern wind and hearing what it has to tell you. These is the potential possibility of becoming a friend to this personified worldly will. Even if such aspects of animism are not central issues here, it is worth mentioning as it

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exemplifies a typically ‘ecological life attitude’. This is a world which is potentially transformative and therefore in constant flux. This world is a place where matter changes and transforms from one condition or shape into another. Furthermore, this ‘transformative ethos’ of the animic attitude is clearly expressed in dreams and through the shamanistic trance, and it is via these media that shamans and other beings involved go through processes of change. These changes, however, do not require the shaman or animal helper to change their personalities. They are still their own person: what is changed is their outer dress. This is the case when the shaman appears in the costume of an elk, or when the bear visits the human world disguised as a man. Animism, as perceived by anthropologists today, is clearly related to the old concept, but now it includes a greater universe, making it less general and more specific. Among the aspects of animism elaborated on by Ingold (2000: 125), is the importance given to the act of ‘thinking about’ the animal. This is a way of keeping on good terms with the animal friend and social partner. Depictions of animals, figures and portable ‘art’ could thus be interpreted as devices for keeping the animal uppermost in one’s mind. This is interesting in relation to our understanding of rock art. Indeed, this inclination to keep the mind focused on the animal shares some aspects of Frazer’s sympathetic magic. However, within the new context of animism, it is possible to regard this ‘thinking about the animal’ as a fully intellectual exercise which can be viewed as, if not the same, still vaguely similar to Claude Lévi-Strauss’ famous phrase that ‘animals are good to think with’. Thus, on this basis, I dare to contend that the early anthropologists by way of ‘animism’ and ‘sympathetic magic’ – and even with a flawed and intimidating approach to people of the Stone Age – still ‘captured’ important aspects of their lives. In his book on the rock carvings at Nämforsen, mid Sweden, Christopher Tilley puts forward a very relevant critic of Hallström’s (1960) seemingly poor level of interpretation. To Hallström, interpretation was intimately related to his pioneering work on the site, in which documentation and interpretation were two sides of the same coin – ‘[i]nterpretation becomes a process of identification… [a]n elk, is an elk is an elk’ (Tilley 1991: 11, 12). Yet, I would contend, that in some sense, a depiction of an elk may be precisely ‘only’ this – an elk, i.e. the depicted appearance of an elk person that one is to keep at the upper level of one’s consciousness. In another sense, an elk can never be only an elk; to claim this would be to deny basic human ontology, i.e. human life as an interpreting practice in which nothing is perceived as ‘raw data’

but as something which provides the being or object to be perceived with a surplus of meaning. To conclude so far, the new concept of animism involves some core issues that I will focus on here; that is, the animal as a social person and the transformative state of the world and its persons. Later on, this will be a point of departure for categorizing animic rock art on the Scandinavian peninsula, and how it differs from depictions I regard as totemic rock art within the same study area.

Totemism: old, new and newer Totemism, like animism, also existed as a concept before Durkheim. Totemism is a core issue in his main work The Elementary Forms of Religious Life (2001 [1912]). Differing from earlier approaches, however, was his focus on totemic beliefs as social in origin. Durkheim pursued the idea that society was a fact existing superindividually and therefore could be studied like an object. The contents of this ‘super-individual thing’ were the moral bonds that integrated groups of people into what we call a society. This solidarity was described as being maintained through religious practice. In small scale societies this mechanic solidarity was expressed and conducted by way of totemism, which Durkheim suggested, as part of his evolutionist frame of reference, was the original religion. Stone Age societies were sustained as integrated wholes because solidarity was constantly renewed through society members’ common praising of what they regarded as their origin, i.e. often an animal of great symbolic significance to the group in question. This animal served as an emblem of the (totemic) clan, and worshipping it by way of rituals would effectuate renewal of solitary bonds. As such, Durkheim’s theory in many ways forms the foundation for what could be described as the ‘common’ or most rudimentary understanding of totemism – the animal symbol as insignia of clan and clan membership. This concept of totemism is not wrong per se, but like the original concept of animism, it is too loose and general (cf. critics by Lévi-Strauss 1962; 1966). This having been said, I feel obliged to state that Durkheim’s work in itself, and his full account of totemism regarded as a whole, in most respects stands out as great and meticulously constructed theory. As will be discussed below, his concept of mana and its relation to artefacts categorized as churingas is crucial to the categorizing of ‘totemic rock art’ in Late Mesolithic Scandinavia. Later on Lévi-Strauss’ contributed greatly to an increased understanding of totemism. Based on a large number of ethnographic examples, combined with impressive intellectual reasoning, he built up a theory of

Animals, ‘churingas’ and Rock Art in Late Mesolithic Northern Scandinavia totemism as the grammar of social classification. In his system, differences and oppositions in nature serve as templates for organizing, classifying and categorizing people in a social world. Thus, the natural world gains its ‘continuation’ in the social world, and gives significance to differences, for example, between seals (i.e. seal clan) and eagles (i.e. eagle clan); their individual meaning is mediated by way of their opposition to each other. Lévi-Strauss regards this totemic ordering of the world as originating in the intellectual mind of the bricoleur of so-called ‘cold societies’ (i.e. small-scale societies). Here, Lévi-Strauss differs greatly from Durkheim, whose less sympathetic accounts derive from his notion of the native as not capable of any abstract thinking – along with his suggestion that geometric designs engraved on objects, i.e. on churingas, represent a primitive stage of art (e.g. Durkheim 2001 [1912]: 96–100, 141). Thus, Durkheim, like Tylor and Frazer, operated with some kind of pre-rational or pre-intellectual human being. But even if Lévi-Strauss’ theory distanced itself from Durkheim’s concept of totemism, he simultaneously owed a great debt, both to him as well as to Marcel Mauss. This includes Forms (2001 [1912]), and Mauss’ (1990 [1925]) work on reciprocity and the Gift as well as to their joint essay on Primitive Classification (Durkheim & Mauss 1963). A central issue here is that both within the ‘old’ and the ‘new’ accounts on totemism, reciprocity and classification are accompanied by a strong focus on kinship. The classification of people into lineages and moieties naturally follows the ‘totemic mind’. The ego’s location within the actual system of categories defines his or her origin; this is who you are, and who you are is very much a matter of material origin, in terms of flesh, blood and bones; in other words, the consanguine relationship with the social (and natural) world of which you are a part. Furthermore, this is interrelated with ancestral cult. Ancestors represent the extension of the kin group, and they make the connection to the past – and to origin – more tangible. Therefore, worshipping the ancestors by repeating their actions constitute a prominent part of totemism. This worship is the revitalizing of the world’s original creation. Origins, however, are also connected to the more-or-less confined landscape in which the group live. In this way, the social group and its landscape (‘social territory’) serve as metaphors for each other. The relationship between group and landscape is the core issue of origin myths, and thus totemism is a belief system which is oriented towards origin myths that explain the group’s primordial creation within this specific land. Thus, we are well on the way to describing the ‘newer ’ totemic concept. As stated previously,

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Durkheim’s focus on ancestral power and origin is similar to the accounts of totemism put forward by Descola and Ingold. Their account of totemism is partly based on, and in accordance with, the way in which totemism is explained within current literature on Australian totemism (e.g. Clarke 2003; Morphy 1991; 1992; 1995, but see Descola 1996: 95 and Ingold 2000: 116 for other references). Here, the ‘essential world’ in which humans regard themselves as being of the same substance as their origin – ancestors and land – is central. This is combined with the ideology demanding the ritual recreation of ancestral world creation, and, in ‘Durkheimian’ terms, the social group as an integrated whole. The mythical ancestors of a clan may be represented by the totemic being itself, along with other mythical ancestors and real ancestors, sometimes kept and preserved as mummies by ‘big men’ and/or religious leaders. Both Durkheim and Lévi-Strauss were, however, wrong in their notion of one specific totemic being representative of one specific clan group. As demonstrated, among others, in the works of Howard Morphy, more often than not, several clans share the same totem animal. There are reasons to believe this was also the case in the Late Mesolithic societies of the Scandinavian Peninsula; here the elk must have served this function for groups over vast areas extending from today’s eastern Norway, the mid and northern parts of Sweden as well as Finland. Also, as will become clearer below, the concept of the elk as a divine and / or mythical animal must have been shared by both totemic and animic groups. Thus, totemism should no longer be regarded in this ‘rudimentary’ way – meaning clan group equals one specific species or animal. Rather the current understanding of totemism is about creation and origin in the landscape, in which essence and consequently substance is a highly focused ontological issue. In Morphy’s cited work, differentiation of clans is communicated by way of geometric design. These designs are nothing but the decorations on what Durkheim called churingas, i.e. powerful objects imbued with ancestral power.

The Animism-Totemism Difference and Simultaneousness Shamanism may be present within both animism and totemism, however, the classic Eurasian and Circumpolar shamanism is typical of the former (Ingold 2000: 114). Shamanistic practices may, therefore, have different status within the two systems. As noted by Layton (2000: 170), totem animals in ‘totemic societies’– with almost no exceptions – cannot simultaneously serve as spirit guides in shamanic trance. Animism versus totemism, however, not only concerns religion

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and ideology, but structures the constitution of society. Animic belief systems are typical of hunter-gatherers of more-or-less egalitarian organization, and who practise cognatic descent. Animism may also be the dominating belief system in lineage-based societies. Totemism, however, is always connected to lineagebased societies; this being a prerequisite, as kinship classification and questions of origin are at the heart of totemic thinking (Descola 1996: 88). Therefore, totemism – by its obsession with materiality, substance and essence – is more directed towards consanguinity and thinking in terms of flesh, blood and bones, than are animists, who conceive human (and animal) relations more in terms of friendship and affinity. Animism and totemism are indeed analytical concepts. As such they are merely theoretical tools for ordering sets of practices among hunters and gatherers. I have suggested elsewhere that societies, or traditions, initially appearing to be characterized as mostly animic may transform into the other as part of a process of historical change (cf. Fuglestvedt 2008: 357 & Fuglestvedt in press). Also, totemic systems may develop ‘back’ to being dominated by animic practices. Important to note is that the two systems may exist simultaneously. ‘Pure’ totemic systems are hard to find outside Australia, and as Descola further remarks, ‘they [totemic systems] are often combined with animic systems which allow the expression of a relation of reciprocity with at least a fraction of non-humans’ (Descola 1996: 96). As also stated by the same author: ‘Animic systems are thus a symmetrical inversion of totemic classifications: they do not exploit the differential relations between natural species to confer a conceptual order on society, but rather use the elementary categories structuring social life to organise, in conceptual terms, the relations between human beings and natural species. In totemic systems, non-humans are treated as signs, in animic systems they are treated as the term of a relation. It should be emphasised that these two modes of identification can very well be combined within a single society’ (Descola 1996: 87).

As remarked in the introduction to this paper, Stone Age societies are – referring back to Durkheim, Tylor and Frazer – to be regarded as dominated by what can be classified as either animic or totemic belief systems. Against the background of old and new concepts of animism and totemism I will now pursue the hypothesis that the Mesolithic societies of the Scandinavian Peninsula could be classified as either animic or totemic. I propose that rock art can be categorized according to these two main ‘schemes’ of practice. My overall aim will be to isolate contexts that are either dominated by animic or totemic

structures. Changes from animism to totemism, or from totemism to animism, will be regarded as part of this region’s historical trajectory. In some parts of the Scandinavia peninsula no shift from animism to totemism can be traced, whereas other simultaneous contexts express what is here regarded as a typically totemic ideology. Thus, animic and totemic contexts will be ordered along a time scale as well as being ‘distributed’ in space.

Totemism, churingas and Rock Art As pointed out earlier, the most rudimentary understanding of totemism would be the general idea that group identification is communicated by way of an animal (or other natural phenomenon) of special importance to the group. The problem with this loose but very much used approach is that it is sufficiently non-specific; it easily embraces all kinds of animal identifications, such as the notion of an animal, or spirit master, in groups of typically animic huntergatherers. Thus, such a loose use of totemism does not really explain the specificity of the concept; it only leads to confusion. Rudimentary totemism probably corresponds with what Tilley (1991: 49, 52) describes as ‘animal totemism’, which in turn relates to sympathetic, or hunting magic as well as to earlier archaeologists’ notions of the economic importance of the elk. This functional totemism is set in opposition to structural totemism, which is the theoretical foundation for his interpretations of the Nämforsen carvings. Tilley’s account, like Anders Hesjedal’s (1990; 1992; 1994) work on rock art in Nordland, northern Norway, represent the first use of a truly cultivated ‘Levi-Straussian’ approach to totemism within a Scandinavian research context (it should be noted, however, that these authors’ use of structuralism is conducted within a post-structuralist and hermeneutic frame of reference). These works can be described as highly thought-provoking. A cultivated structural totemism will, however, not be the point of departure here, even if I adhere to the basic structuralist thesis that nature serves as an explanatory device for differences in the social world. The foundation for categorizing totemic rock art will be based on a synthesis of the ‘old, new and newer’ theories of totemism. My first argument concerning totemic rock art will be that I acknowledge some general validity to Morphy’s (1991: 178) recognition that specific geometric designs communicate clan groups and clan membership among totemic groups. Geometric design is used on powerful objects of stone which incorporate, and serve as ‘spirit bones’ or ‘stone bodies’ (Hampton 1999: 302) for ancestral souls (cf. Durkheim 2002 [1912]: 203–218). This ancestral power

Animals, ‘churingas’ and Rock Art in Late Mesolithic Northern Scandinavia

Table 2.1. Suggested clan group markers – and ‘churinga designs’ – of three groups in Late Mesolithic eastern Norway (see Fuglestvedt 2008: fig. 4).

Durkheim called mana. The decorated objects embedded with this power he called churingas (Durkheim 2002 [1912]: 96–108 & 144–147). Durkheim took the designs of the churingas to represent ‘primitive’ depictions of the totem. In this he was wrong and as Morphy (1991: 178) has discovered, different totem clans may share the same totemic animal; what differentiates them are small variations in geometric designs. In other words, each clan group has its own geometric representation of ancestral power. These designs may not only be carved and painted on significant tools, but also on rock panels, wooden objects and trees – as well as the human body. Designs are to be seen as something

painted on powerful objects, so in a way, body tattoos turn the individual into a churinga. Like churingas they incarnate ancestral power, and this imbues the totemic body with a specific intentionality; what they conceive of as ancestral practice. Thus, in ritual, people are their ancestors, as they live the life of the ancestors. Within this ritual context, people incorporate churingas. Simultaneously, churingas of solid matter are used and made. Thus, a group’s full inventory of churingas may be described as the clan’s history as solid matter and objectified history. According to Durkheim’s definition of churingas, this category of objects has become a well-known phenomenon in anthropology. Based on my accounts of totemism so far, I contend that the stylized grid designs found in hunters’ rock art in Scandinavia can be interpreted as churingas. Other find categories can be taken into this category, like the decorated stone hatchets of the Middle and Late Mesolithic Age (cf. Glørstad 1999; 2002; Skår 2003; Solberg 1989). In my so far tentative investigation of hunter’s rock art in eastern Norway (cf. Engelstad 1934; Jacobsen & Larsen 1992; Mikkelsen 1977; 1981) I have defined rock art filled with stylized geometric grid designs as being related to social practice based on a belief system dominated by totemism (Fuglestvedt 2008; in press). Among these geometric designs, it has been possible to distinguish three different designs (Table 2.1). Interestingly, the different designs cluster in more or less distinct geographical areas (Fuglestvedt 2008: fig. 4).

ANIMISM

TOTEMISM

Animic elements = – – – – –

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Totemic elements =

“open” / outline figures head ‘lifeline’ totally pecked (scooped) figures ambiguous figures

– – – –

classification / categorization stylization geometric grid designs same design, different species

Focal points in animism

Focal points in totemism

Animal depiction as: – (social) person – outer parts – personal soul – ‘lifeline’ – guise – outer parts – disguised – markings of head – transformations – e.g. “elk-boat continuum” pregnant animals

Depiction representing: – flesh blood and bones – inner parts – material origin / landscape – substance – origin – essence – churingas – essence, ancestral power – churingas – clan markers

Table 2.2. Focal points of animic vs. totemic rock art.

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Totemism, Animism and Rock Art In his essay on Totemism, Animism and the Depiction of Animals, Ingold (2000: 111–131) suggested drawing a dividing line between art in animic and totemic systems. As he regards animist systems as more directed towards persons, and transformations – for instance from human being to animal, and of stone tools being ‘born’ from the piece of raw material – animists will be inclined to carve figures of animals, that is portable art. Contrary to this, people of totemic belief systems, with their focus on the group’s landscape origins, would be inclined to make their depictions on landscapes. In this way, the materiality and origin of the landscape as a principle is enfolded within the animal being that is imprinted on the land surface.

Figure 2.1. ‘Development’ from ‘open’ to stylized styles? (cf. Fuglestvedt 2008: fig. 2).

Ingold’s division, i.e. that rock art expresses totemism whereas animism expresses portable animal figures, does not work in a Scandinavian context. For reasons that will be clarified below, there are rather indications that rock art may express both animic and totemic world views. The dividing line should therefore be drawn between two main categories of rock art. I have already defined stylized grid designs as expressions of totemism. In this way, the rock art can be defined as churingas in themselves; as objects filled with ancestral potency. Being carved onto the solid rock surface, these churingas give a special permanence to the ritual place. Moreover, these geometrically designed ‘objects’ may be seen as communicating clan groups, and differentiations between several totemic groups. At the great rock art site at Vingen, Western Norway (Bakka 1973, Lødøen 2001; 2003; 2006; Mandt 2001), several different designs are represented. This fact, along with the number of carvings, and the vastness of the ‘landscape area’ gives reason to think of this site as a meeting place for a number of widely-dispersed clan groups. Interestingly, two of my tentatively defined clan groups of eastern Norway are represented in design in this western Norwegian locality. Another aspect concerning the stylized grids is the fact that on some rock art panels the same design repeats itself in different depicted figures irrespective of species, e.g. when elks, whales and seabirds are filled with identical grid patterns (cf. Mikkelsen 1977: figs. 2 & 3). This may reflect the notion of a common material origin. Probably, commonality of substance or essence is expressed when the same inner design repeats itself within the outlines of bodies of different species – and, considering the totemic obsession with essence, it becomes clear why the focal point in totemic rock art is on the inner parts of the depicted being, animal or human. A point of uncertainty, however, is that the bodies are only partly filled with natural elements in more-or-less stylized versions. Elk bodies that are filled with lifelines, hearts and abomasums, but are otherwise empty, are hard to define as strictly totemic, and I have elsewhere identified the bodies with proper stylization – i.e. with no traces of natural organs and a strict definable grid design – as the only true totemic depiction. Still, we may regard the more ‘empty’ depictions as expressing a belief system en route towards totemism, and ‘developments’ from partlyfilled to fully-filled bodies of a truly non-naturalistic grid design have been proposed (Figure 2.1). Some figures can be viewed as extremely ‘transitional’; in such cases natural organs are mixed with elements that are natural and semi-natural, in addition to lines that can be regarded as unnatural lines. The difference between a stylized grid, and the marking of ribs, may

Animals, ‘churingas’ and Rock Art in Late Mesolithic Northern Scandinavia

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Figure 2.2. Naturalist depictions of animal – animic rock art par excellence (Photo by Gustaf Hallström, Gustaf Hallström Archive, The Research Archives, Umeå University Library).

also be very ambiguous, and indeed, this may be regarded as no accident. Whilst totemic rock art is focused on the inner parts of depicted bodies, animic rock art is focused on the outer parts. The explanation for this is quite straightforward. Animism regards the animal as a social person, and when thinking of such a real person, what is envisaged is his/her outer appearance, not the inner parts. Therefore, I regard the more naturalistic animal pictures as animic rock art par excellence (Figure 2.2). Animic rock art, however, includes depictions that display outer appearances, with a less stylized outline than is the case with totemic animal pictures. Animic rock art, therefore, includes the animals depicted in outline, or the ones that are totally pecked. Another way to describe this focus on the ‘outer’ could be to claim that the animal is pictured in its guise, or costume. As discussed before, the animic belief system is ideologically linked to an ‘original’ and cultivated shamanism. Shamanism and animism involve trance and transformation. Therefore, what we see in animic rock art could principally be viewed as transformed persons that do not necessarily appear in their ‘normal’ dress. As pointed out in my description of animic personhood, it is of prime importance that the person does not change, even in the guise of another animal or human person. Ingold (cf. 2000: fig. 7.5) describes how transformations of beings that ‘stay the same person’ are expressed by linear marking of the head, so that the ‘mask’ appears in outline. A general idea in

the human world would be that your face represents your person more than any other body part. ‘Both face and mask are the phenomenal forms of ‘the Other as Subject’, that is, as the ‘second person’ whom one would address as ‘you’…’ (Ingold 2000: 124, with reference). Therefore, I regard head markings as a typical animic rock art pictorial element. This marking is not to be regarded as any expression of inner and/or essential parts, but just another way of displaying an animal person: in these cases perhaps disguised in the costume of another being. This brings the association closer to the transformative aspects of shamanism, and animic rock art certainly displays great ambiguity. This ambiguity is well known in rock art studies and good examples in this context are the displayed ‘continuum’ of elks and boats (cf. Lahelma 2008; Tilley 1991), as well as anthropomorphs and pictures where an animal appears to be pregnant with a smaller animal of the same species. The last element to be regarded as an animic element represents the only ‘exception’ from the main division constructed on the basis of the different focal points of the two belief systems; namely that ‘inner parts equals totemism, whereas outer parts equals animism’. When regarding the import given to animals as persons, it is a natural progression to consider the existence of a soul. A soul is a personally embodied life force and I suggest there are reasons to regard markings of the lifeline, i.e. marking of line from mouth to ‘heart’, within the animal body, as expressions of exactly

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this. The heart is vital in the hunting of big game, in other words at occasions in which the mutual exchange of spirit and matter between humans and animals is at stake. Therefore, I regard lifelines as an animic expression. This element is, however, present within contexts that are both typically animic; that is in animals depicted in outline, as well as in totemic depictions and therefore side by side with grid designs. I regard mixed depictions as expressions of the fact that, as discussed earlier, the two systems may well occur together, and both world views are by no means mutually exclusive, but actually may be seen to share several ideological elements. What is of importance here, however, is whether one of the two belief systems can be considered the dominating ideology for structuring of ‘totemic’ and ‘animic practices’. The mix or possible ‘confusion’ of animic and totemic elements, does not override the overall image of two diachronic and synchronic world views existing on the Scandinavian Peninsula during the Mesolithic and Early Neolithic period.

Historical Trajectory of Animism and Totemism in Northern Scandinavia: a rough outline Against this background, it is possible to construct a diachronic and synchronic picture of animism and totemism within our area, i.e. today’s Norway and Sweden. Here, I do not pay very much attention to the dating of rock art. I merely state that the naturalistic rock art in Nordland is Early Mesolithic (Hesjedal 1994: Tab. 2, cf. Gjessing 1932), as well as some of the naturalistic carvings from Trøndelag (Gjessing 1936). Furthermore, there is a great wave of production of rock art throughout the Late Mesolithic into the Early Neolithic, a process which from current datings seemingly starts about 6800/6600 BP (compare Hesjedal 1994: Tab. 2, Lødøen 2003: fig. 64.7, Mikkelsen 1977: 184, Ramstad 2000: Tab. 1, Sognnes 1995: fig. 7.5; 1996: fig. 9.3). Phase one in Jeibmaluokta, Alta, northernmost Norway corresponds with a Late Mesolithic age, whereas Phase two corresponds with the Early Neolithic (Helskog 1983: 16; cf. Helskog 1999). The earliest phase at the Kåfjord panel (cf. web-page) close to Alta, seem to cover this period as well. Furthermore, Tennes and Skavberget in Troms are dated to the Late Mesolithic (cf. Hesjedal 1994: Tab. 2). In the south, radiological datings of activities at western Vingen establishes activities throughout the Late Mesolithic and Early Neolithic (Lødøen 2006: Figs. 5 & 8). Ausevik, in western Norway (Gundersen 2006; Lødøen 2006; Walderhaug 2000a; 2000b) also seems to be represented by a Late Mesolithic phase of activity. Datings of rock art in the Late Mesolithic / Early Neolithic transition have also

been registered at sites in Mid Sweden, Högberget III (Lindgren 2004: 32) for instance, but more importantly sites surrounding the great place of Nämforsen (Baudou 1993; cf. Forsberg 1993) are also of this age. On a preliminary basis I suggest the following rough outline of animism vs. totemism on the Scandinavian Peninsula: the Early Mesolithic, with its naturalist carvings in Nordland, would be the age of ‘animism proper’. Throughout the Middle and Late Mesolithic, however, a trend towards totemism begins; a change that should be seen in relation to groups’ increased affiliation with confined landscapes, of increased sedentism, and supposedly a change towards a lineagebased society – probably a ‘big man’ society. Eventually totemic thinking reaches a peak in the Late Mesolithic, when the totemic rock art, as defined here, is strongly in evidence. Examples of such sites are the eastern Norwegian localities, like Skogerveien outside Oslo, Vingen, in western Norway and probably parts of Ausevik, Tennes in Troms, northern Norway, and phase one in Alta and Kåfjord. Even if traits in social development may have been similar throughout the Scandinavian Peninsula, not all areas can be categorized as totemic. Mid Sweden is dominated by animic rock art, of which Nämforsen seems to be a central place within an area that remained animic. Furthermore, when comparing Phase one and two in Alta, an interesting and ‘abrupt’ change back to animism seems to have occurred. Whereas Phase one can be regarded as clearly totemic, Phase two displays carvings which are typically animic. Therefore, it may seem that totemism disappears in the Early Neolithic period. This tentative outline is a scheme of historical development that will be pursued in future research; i.e. the Early Mesolithic as the time of ‘animism proper’ and the Late Mesolithic as being subjected to a strong totemic wave, which does not affect the entire area. It is also a process leading back to (an original?) animism. The Mesolithic and Early Neolithic can therefore be viewed as totemism gained, animism sustained and animism regained.

Acknowledgements I want to thank Joakim Goldhahn for taking the initiative to arrange the Changing Pictures workshop in Kalmar, and for taking the effort of applying for money to realize it. I also thank him for inviting Andy Jones and myself to co-direct the workshop with him. Furthermore, thanks to both my co-editors for comments on the present paper as well as discussions in general on the topic of landscape and rock art. These thanks also go to all the participants of the workshop. Lastly, I would like to thank Priscilla Field for her revising of my English.

Animals, ‘churingas’ and Rock Art in Late Mesolithic Northern Scandinavia

References Bakka, Egil. 1973. Om alderen på veideristningane. Viking XXXVII, 151–187. Baudou, Evert. 1993. Hällristningarna vid Nämforsen – datering och kulturmiljö. In: Forsberg, L. & B. Larsson (eds). Ekonomi och näringsformer i nordisk bronsålder. Studia Archaeologica Universitas Umensis. Umeå, 247–261. Clarke, Philip. 2003. Where the Ancestors Walked. Australia as an Aboriginal Landscape. Crows Nest: Allen & Unwin. Descola, Philippe 1992. Societies of Nature and the Nature of Society. In: Kuper, A. (ed.). Conceptualizing Society. London & New York: Routledge, 107–126. Descola, Philippe. 1996. Constructing Natures. Symbolic Ecology and Social Practice. In: Descola, P. & G. Palsson (eds). Nature and Society: Anthropological Perspectives. London: Routledge, 82–102. Durkheim, Émile. 2001 [1912]. The Elementary Forms of Religious Life. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Durkheim, Émile & Mauss, Marcel. 1963. Primitive Classification. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Engelstad, Eivind S. 1934. Østnorske ristninger og malinger av den arktiske gruppe. Oslo: Instituttet for sammenlignende kulturforskning. Forsberg, Lars. 1993. En kronologisk analys av ristningarna vid Nämforsen. In: Forsberg, L. & B. Larsson (eds). Ekonomi och näringsformer i nordisk bronsålder. Studia Archaeologica Universitas Umensis. Umeå, 195–246. Frazer, James G. 1996 [1890]. The Golden Bough. A Study in Magic and religion. New York: Touchstone. Fuglestvedt, Ingrid. 2008. How many Totemic Clans existed in Eastern Norway during the Late Mesolithic? In: Chilidis, K., Lund, J. & C. Prescott (eds). Facets of Archaeology. Essays in Honour of Lotte Hedeager on her 60th Birthday. OAS Nr. 10 (Oslo Archaeological Series No. 10), 351–366. Fuglestvedt, Ingrid (in press). Man, Material Culture and Landscape: Outline to an Understanding of Developments in World-views, ca. 10 000–4 500 BP on the Scandinavian Peninsula. In Cannon, A. (ed.) Structured Worlds: The Archaeology of Hunter-Gatherer Thought and Action. London: Equinox. Gjessing, Gutorm 1932. Arktiske helleristninger i Nord-Norge. Oslo: Instituttet for sammenlignende kulturforskning. Gjessing, Gutorm. 1936. Nordenfjelske ristninger og malinger av den arktiske type. Oslo: Instituttet for sammenlignende kulturforskning. Glørstad, Håkon. 1999. Lokaliteten Botne II – et nøkkelhull til det sosiale livet i mesolitikum i Sør-Norge. Viking LXII, 31–68. Glørstad, Håkon. 2002. Østnorske skafthullhakker fra mesolitikum. Arkeologisk og forhistorisk betydning – illustrert med et eksempelstudium fra vestsiden av Oslofjorden. Viking LXV, 7–47. Goldhahn, Joakim. 2004. Mångtydighetens tydlighet – till frågan om hällbilders mening och innebörd. In: Milstreu, G & H. Prøhl (eds). Förhistoriska bilder som arkeologisk källa. Tanumshede: Tanums Hällristningsmuseum, 121–208. Goldhahn, Joakim. 2005. Från Sagaholm till Bredarör. Hällbildsstudier 2000–2004. Gotarc Serie C. Arkeologiska Skrifter No. 62. Gothenburg: Göteborgs Universitet. Gundersen, Sigrid M. 2006. Ausevik i en mesolittisk verden – om veideristninger og sosiale grupper i Vest-Norge. In: Barndon, R. Innselset, S. M., Kristoffersen, K. K. & T. Lødøen (eds). Samfunn, symboler og identitet – Festskrift til Gro Mandt

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på 70–årsdagen. UBAS – Universitetet i Bergen Arkeologiske Skrifter. Bergen, 105–115. Hallström, Gustaf. 1938. Monumental Art of Northern Europe from the Stone Age: the Norwegian Localities. Stockholm: Thule. Hallström, Gustaf. 1960. Monumental Art of Northern Sweden from the Stone Age. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. Hallström, Gustaf. 1967. Hällristningarna vid Nämforsen. Svenska Fornminnesplatser 50. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. Hampton, ‘Bud’ O. W. 1999. Culture of Stone. Sacred and Profane Uses of Stone among the Dani. Texas A & M University Press. Helskog, Knut. 1984. Helleristningene i Alta. En presentasjon og en analyse av menneskefigurene. Viking XLVII, 5–41. Helskog, Knut. 1999. The Shore Connection. Cognitive Landscape and Communication with Rock Carvings in Northernmost Europe. Norwegian Archaeological Review, Vol. 32, No. 2, 73–94. Hesjedal, Anders. 1990. Helleristninger som tegn og tekst. En analyse av veideristningene i Nordland og Troms. Unpublished thesis in archaeology, University of Tromsø. Hesjedal, Anders. 1992. Veideristninger I Nord-Norge. Dateringer og tolkningsproblematikk. Viking LV – 1992, 27–53. Hesjedal, Anders. 1994. The Hunters’ Rock Art in Northern Norway. Problems in Chronology and Interpretation. Norwegian Archaeological Review 27 (1), 1–28. Ingold, Tim. 2000. The Perception of the Environment. Essays in livelihood, dwelling and skill. London & New York: Routledge. Jacobsen, Harald & Larsen, Jan H. 1992. Gausdal. Bygdehistorie. Bind 6. Lillehammer: Lokalhistorisk forlag / Gausdal community. Jordan, Peter. 2003. Material Culture and Sacred Landscapes. The Anthropology of the Siberian Khanty. New York: Altamira Press. Lahelma, Antti. 2008. A Touch of Red. Archaeological and Ethnographic Approaches to Interpreting Finnish Rock Paintings. ISKOS. The Finnish Antiquarian Society, Helsinki. Lambek, Michael. 2002. General Introduction and Opening Frameworks. In: Lambek, M. (ed.). A Reader in the Anthropology of Religion. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 1–20. Layton, Robert. 2000. Shamanism, Totemism and Rock Art: Les Chamanes de la Préhistoire in the Context of Rock Art Research. Cambridge Archaeological Journal 10: 1, 169–186. Lévi-Strauss, Claude. 1962. Totemism. London: Merlin Press. Lévi-Strauss, Claude. 1966. The Savage Mind. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson. Lewis-Williams, J. David. 1981. Believing and Seeing. Symbolic meanings in southern San rock paintings. London & New York: Academic Press. Lewis-Williams, J. David. 1991: ‘People of the Eland’: an archaeolinguistic crux. In: Ingold, T., Riches, D. & Woodburn, J. (eds). Hunters and Gatherers 2. Property, Power and Ideology. New York / Oxford: Berg, 203–211. Lewis-Williams, J. David. 1997. Harnessing the Brain: Vision and Shamanism in Upper Paleolithic Western Europe. In: Conkey, M., Soffer, O., Stratmann, D. & Jablonski, N. G. (eds). Beyond Art: Pleistocene Image and Symbol. San Fransisco: Memoirs of the California Academy of Sciences Number 23, 321–342. Lewis-Williams, J. David & Dowson, Thomas A. 1988. The Signs of All Times. Entopic Phenomena in Upper Palaeolithic Art. Current Anthropology Volume 29, Number 2, 201–245.

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Lindgren, Britta. 2004. Hällbilder i norr. UMARK 36. Arkeologisk rapport, Institutionen för Arkeologi och samiska studier, Umeå Universitet. Lødøen, Trond. 2001. Interpretation of Stone Age Ideology Based on Rock Art, Structures and Artefacts in the Vingen Area, Western Norway. In: Helskog, K. (ed.). Theoretical Perspectives in Rock Art Research. Oslo: Novus forlag, 211–223. Lødøen, Trond. 2003. Late Mesolithic Rock Art and Expressions of Ideology. In Larsson, L. et al. (eds). Mesolithic on the Move. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 511–520. Lødøen, Trond. 2006. Exploring the Contemporary Context of Rock Art. Adoranten 2006, 5–18. Mandt, Gro. 2001. Women in disguise or male manipulation? Aspects of gender symbolism in rock art. In: Helskog, K. (ed.). Theoretical Perspectives in Rock Art Research. Instituttet for sammenlignende kulturforskning. Oslo: Novus forlag, 290–310. Mauss, Marcel. 1990 [1925]. The Gift. The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies. New York / London: W.W. Norton. Mikkelsen, Egil. 1977. Østnorske veideristninger – kronologi og økokulturelt miljø. Viking XL, 147–201. Mikkelsen, Egil. 1981. Veideristninger ved Geithus, Modum, Buskerud. Universitetets Oldsaksamling. Årbok 1980/81, 35– 52. Morphy, Howard. 1991. Ancestral Connections. Art and an Aboriginal System of Knowledge. Chicago & London: University of Chicago Press. Morphy, Howard. 1992. From Dull to Brilliant: The Aesthetics of Spiritual Power among the Yolngu. In: Coote, J. & A. Shelton (eds). Anthropology and Aesthetics. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 181–208. Morphy, Howard. 1995. Landscape and the Reproduction of the Ancestral Past. In Hirch, E. & M. O’Hanlon (eds). The Anthropology of Landscape. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 184–209.

Skår, Øystein. 2003. Rituell kommunikasjon i seinmesolitikum. En analyse av hakker og køllers symbolske betydning. Unpublished MA-thesis in Archaeology. Department of Archaeology, University of Bergen. Sognnes, Kalle. 1995. The Social Context of Rock Art in Trøndelag, Norway: Rock Art at a Frontier. In: Helskog, K. & B. Olsen (eds). Perceiving Rock Art: Social and Political Perspectives. Oslo: Instituttet for sammenlignende kulturforskning, 130–145. Sognnes, Kalle. 1996. Dyresymbolikk i midt-norsk yngre steinalder. Viking LIX, 25–44. Solberg, Bergliot. 1989. Køller, klubber og hakker av stein. Lite påaktede gjenstandsgrupper i vestnorsk yngre steinalder. Universitetets Oldsaksamlings Årbok 1986, 81–102. Ramstad, Morten. 2000. Veideristningene på Møre. Teori, kronologi og dateringsmetoder. Viking LXIII, 51–86. Tanner, Adrian. 1979. Bringing Home Animals. Religious Ideology and Mode of Production of the Mistassini Cree Hunters. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Tilley, Christopher. 1991. Material Culture and Text. The Art of Ambiguity. London: Routledge. Tylor, Edward B. 1970 [1858]. Religion in Primitive Culture. New York: Harper and Row. Walderhaug, Eva M. 2000a. Some Reflections on the Implications of Form, Context and Function in Rock Art Studies. In: Olausson, D. & H. Vandkilde (eds). Form, Function and Context. Material culture studies in Scandinavian Archaeology. Acta Archaeologica Lundensia. Series in 8°, No. 31. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International, 59–69. Walderhaug, Eva M. 2000b. Changing Art in a Changing Society: the Hunters’ Rock art of Western Norway. In: Chippindale, C. & P. S. C. Taçon (eds). The Archaeology of Rock Art. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 285–301.

Web-page www.alta.museum.no/doc/WebFiler/Kaafjord.html

3 Concepts of Rock in Late Mesolithic Western Norway Trond Lødøen

This paper discusses aspects of rock amongst Late Mesolithic societies of western Norway. It addresses the importance of rock in rock art contexts, tool production and quarrying activity, and discusses several relational aspects in the use of rock, thus adding new perspectives to our understanding of prehistoric societies’ beliefs associated with rock. While a number of researchers in recent years have pointed at the lack of research on material culture, and addressed the importance of materiality, this paper deals first and foremost with the immateriality of rocks. Keywords: Rock art, stone, rock, membrane, quarries, cosmology, votive, Late Mesolithic.

Background Nearly two centuries of rock art studies in Scandinavia has exclusively focused on the many images, patterns or icons depicted on rock surfaces. In recent years however it has been argued that the concept of rock art is a misapprehension since it deals much more with art than rock, and focuses more on prehistoric imagery, than the importance rock had for the creation of images. This has rightfully been followed by a gradual change of the approach in which image studies combined with relations between rock art and natural surroundings have been highlighted. Recent advances in rock art research have also given increasing focus to the background for image production – the rock itself – as it seems clear that rock surfaces have been much more than a passive canvas for visual artistry. Not only the images and their spatial distribution or location in the landscape, nor its geographical and topographical setting, but more specifically how features or structures in a rock panel have formed a background for the creation of particular images. It is demonstrated that veins, cracks, striations and other features on rock surfaces have been essential and decisive for the type of images that are created. At numerous places natural lines in rock surfaces have been used as components in the images;

a natural, curved line might form the outline of an animal’s belly, a scrape in the stone’s surface might be used to depict a leg, and natural cracks in the stone might be incorporated in the image of the red deer antlers. This is a fundamental, essential perception of rock art that amply explains why lines were drawn and images created. In this perspective, images have been perceived as semi-present or latent in the surfaces of rock panels and been fully exposed by additional carved, pecked or painted lines. On the basis of ethnographic studies, including living rock art societies, and bringing in the three-tiered cosmological dimension, it has convincingly been argued that rock surfaces must have been perceived as a membrane to another dimension, or an underworld, and not merely as the surface of a rock (Lewis-Williams & Dowson 1990). It seems further likely that through these privileged rock surfaces it was possible to come into contact with the beyond and therefore such surfaces were a means by which to move between cosmological spheres (Figure 3.1).

A membrane between opposing worlds These recent approaches in rock art research have been welcomed and have to an increasing extent become

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Figure 3.1. Example from Nordland, northern Norway of a Mesolithic polished elk image. It is obvious that the quartz vein must have been the point of departure for the whole figure. Prior to the creation of the rock art, the natural character of the vein was most likely perceived as the hind leg of an elk, partly exposed in a visible membrane. Photo: Trond Lødøen.

Figure 3.2. Aerial photo of the southern terrace in Vingen. Several panels can be viewed in the right and central part of the picture, where many narratives have been depicted. The larger boulder scree is located just above the buildings to the left. Apart from these locations the whole area is scattered with numerous stones and boulders of which many have rock art depictions. Photo: Trond Lødøen.

Concepts of Rock in Late Mesolithic Western Norway part of the theoretical framework for rock art studies, helping to explain the character of rock images and their varied shapes. They have also been used for as widely separated contexts and regions as Palaeolithic cave art in Southern Europe and recent aboriginal art in Australia. Furthermore, these perspectives have been well adopted for a number of analyses in Scandinavia, demonstrated in the literature lately, as there are many obvious examples where rock surfaces have been significant for the motifs depicted (e.g. Helskog 1999; Mandt & Lødøen 2005). A consequence, however, is that researchers have been most occupied with the surfaces of rock while a whole range of other concerns are in need of more detailed consideration. A very important future goal for a better understanding of rock art will therefore be to try to achieve more knowledge of the potential forces inside rocks; that is, beliefs associated with its inner realms, and how rocks could have been perceived and understood in prehistory. Despite its pre-scientific origin much too often the geological qualities of rock are described with a focus on their hardness, density and even chemistry and to a large extent this knowledge is projected onto prehistoric people, but their understanding was obviously different from ours. The religious, mythological and ideological importance of rock has rarely been taken properly into account, despite a common world view among hunter-gatherers in perceiving all parts of existence as animated. As for most approaches in archaeology the ethnographic record is of major importance, but it is clear that much new knowledge can be derived from other archaeological investigations and that the archaeological record documents a variety of particular engagements with rock. Therefore a synthesising approach has the ability to provide more nuanced answers. Another perspective that should be more scrutinized in the future is the process of creating images. Rock art studies have been far too little concerned with the carving or pecking process from a more sacred and cosmological perspective. To the extent that such issues have received attention it has been more in terms of production technique, production tools, material strength, production time per figure, etc. It will therefore be of equal importance to try to understand rock art’s relationship to contemporary material culture, covering another range of issues starting with the production tools involved in the process from the creation of rock art and the raw material concerns, to social, religious and cosmological considerations, all crucial for the resulting rock art left for us to interpret. The following discussion will therefore predominately deal with the relationship between the surfaces where images have been depicted; the rock veil or rock

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membrane and its interior on the one hand and the tools involved in image production on the other, in order to try to address a future focus on prehistoric perception, interpretation and understanding of rock. A few more issues related to rock art practice will also be highlighted and approached from a more cosmological and religious angle.

Approaching rock Many ethnographic investigations have shown that rock and stone have been perceived as material that needs to be treated according to certain cosmological or religious rules to avoid forces being set out of control. These aspects have not been the topic of much discussion, but archaeological approaches offer conditions that might help us in our effort to decode and explain prehistoric perception and understanding of both rock and stone. From studies of material culture it has been argued that creation, both in crafting and in the wider world of human action, deals with the transformational process – the illumination of existence – and refers to the sense of communicating between different cosmological realms (Helms 1993). It refers not only to individual artistry but to the ordering of nature for cultural purposes, in which things and ideas that already exist in another state are arranged into stylistically distinctive and recognizable forms (ibid.). These notions correspond well with theories arguing that images were perceived as present in the rock and have been more fully exposed and developed by additional carved, pecked or painted lines. It is obvious that prior to the creation of the rock art, veins and cracks could have been perceived as parts of animals or anthropomorphs, partly exposed in a visible membrane, and therefore presenting an opportunity to be seized for the creator. Both the surface of the rock and the partly visible animal might have been regarded as an opening to an underworld, and the image as a messenger operating below the surface. In order to embrace, accept or control this potential force in the world of the living, it was enhanced to a point that extended beyond this membrane by adding more pecked lines, creating what was perceived as latent in the surfaces; either animal, anthropomorphic representation, or other figure. A similar perspective accounts for the production tools involved in the process of creating rock images, which should be approached in a related manner as the rock upon which images have been left. The ethnographic record offers many examples in which tools and materials are perceived as conscious and animate during the process of creation, and point at their transformative power and their ability to

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Trond Lødøen supernatural forces, unless necessary precautions were taken (see Goldhahn this volume). The selection of images chosen at different sites was probably essential in this respect. This may provide an explanation of the frequently repetitive pattern of image types or possibly narratives at rock art sites. Could variations in both production manner and pecking technique or pecking depth be part of such precautions? It seems reasonable that the tools involved in the rock art production, and the way they have been used and treated, must have been of crucial importance.

Figure 3.3. Panel with red deer that seems to be dominated or controlled by humans or other such anthropomorphic characters. Documentation: Egil Bakka.

operate by their own magical force (Helms 1993: 19ff ). As opposed to our more modern western way of approaching raw materials, the ethnographic record offers examples focusing on the materials, willingness to be transformed into the designated shapes and forms. It is therefore likely that tools for the production of rock art might have been associated with strong magical and animated forces, comparable to the blacksmith’s tools in traditional societies, able to operate of their own accord to create images (ibid.). Therefore the raw material sources from which tools have been produced could have been of equal signification as the character of the rock surface, due to its provenance and cosmological importance for the society. If the process of depicting images should be understood as communication with an underworld, it is important to try to investigate what precautions were required to be taken into account to allow one to make images in stone. It is likely that both quarrying activity and rock art production could interfere with

A world in rock As rock art can be found on a variety of different rock types, future research should try to explore what role the character of the rock had for image production. It seems to be beyond doubt that the shape and form of the rock played an important role for the rock art placed on it, and this must also have accounted for its size and form, distinguishing bedrock from boulders and boulders from smaller stones. Did rock art depicted on boulders address attention to other forces than rock art pecked on bedrock panels? To what extent did the undefined depth of bedrock make a difference to smaller stones when it comes to such forces? From the ethnographic record it is recounted that smaller rocks may be associated with different levels of a tiered cosmology than bedrock (e.g. Jordan 2003). If such considerations were present in prehistory it is obvious that boulders, bedrock and smaller stones were perceived differently, and might have been incorporated into widely separated cosmological worlds. Could rock art have been used to enhance or even mask such differences? Since rock art has been found in such varying contexts, it is important to explore their possible relationships further and therefore these issues seem

Figure 3.4. Red deer under the controlling power of what is likely to represent animal headed staffs. Image: Egil Bakka.

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Figure 3.5. Diabase hammer tool. Petrochemical analysis has determined its provenance to be the quarry at the Stakaldeneset promontory. Photo: Trond Lødøen.

relevant in relation to the archaeological record. It is therefore necessary to try to investigate how rocks were explained and interpreted in prehistory as this must have played an essential part for its treatment. Such aspects are of equal importance for the creation of rock images, forming of stone artefacts, rock procurements and all other engagements with rock in prehistory.

The archaeological material In the following the above issues will be illuminated in more detail by examples taken from the archaeological record of the Late Mesolithic of Western Norway, starting with the rock art site of Vingen in the Nordfjord area (Bøe 1932; Hallstöm 1938; Fett 1941; Bakka 1973, 1979; Mandt 1998; Lødøen 2001, 2003, 2009; Tilley 2008). Spread around a narrow fjord surrounded by steep mountains, forming a restricted and enclosed area, more than 2300 pecked images have been documented (Figure 3.2). Depictions of red deer are the most common motif, followed by depictions of animal-headed staffs, anthropomorphic figures, and what can be described as abstract geometric figures (Figures 3.3 and 3.4). The carvings occur alone, as single depictions or in groups, as depicted narratives left from prehistory. They occur both on boulders, bedrock and smaller stones. Most carvings are located on the southern

side of the fjord, in between scree slopes, clitters and countless fans of debris, on a terrace between the shoreline and the steep mountains. In these settings and amongst the rocks and panels, several of my introductory perspectives are encountered. Apart from a few eye catching panels, a large scree, dominated by boulders, is highly visible in the area. Much evidence, including a number of dwelling features have been documented by archaeological investigations indicating a Late Mesolithic origin for the rock art, substantially supported by a number of radiocarbon results dating the activity to the end of the Late Mesolithic approximately 5000–4200 cal BC (Lødøen 2001, 2003, 2007).

Sacred rock for sacred purposes Archaeological investigations and surveys near panels with rock art have led to several discoveries of importance for the interpretation of the rock art. Amongst these are the documentation of a hammer stone with a pointed end that tallies with the numerous pecking marks making up the lines in the rock art at the site (Figure 3.5). Petrochemical investigations of the hammer stones has proven it to be diabase sourced from a Mesolithic quarry – at the Stakaldeneset promontory (Figure 3.6) – some 40 kilometres south of Vingen (Olsen & Alsaker 1984). Archaeological

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Figure 3.6. The barren Stakaldeneset promontory, where dykes of diabase have been quarried for thousands of years. Photo: Trond Lødøen.

Figure 3.7. Two sections of quarried diabase dykes, from modest influence (left) to real impact into both the dyke and the underworld (right). Photo: Trond Lødøen.

Concepts of Rock in Late Mesolithic Western Norway

Figure 3.8. Three axes found at a promontory at the head of Lusterfjord, a fjord branch at the inner end of the 200 kilometre deep Sognefjord. The axes were found lying side by side at conspicuous location above the fjord. Photo: Trond Lødøen.

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examinations of both the quarrying activity and the distribution of raw material have shown that the quarry served as a raw material source for axes and adzes from the Middle Mesolithic and well into the Middle Neolithic (approximately 7500–2500 BC) (Olsen & Alsaker 1984). Studies have also revealed a highly-regulated production and distribution of ground core axes, but other items have also been produced. The quarry has mainly been analysed from a technical perspective and the raw material studied distributionally. It has been argued that the quarry played an important role as a centre in a social territory covering a larger area of western Norway corresponding to the area of distribution. Prior to the discovery of the hammer stone in Vingen, arguments had been made for a closer connection between the rock art sites and raw material sources from a more territorial and distributional perspective (e.g. Hood 1988; Olsen & Alsaker 1984). It is important to note that tools may have played a major role as portable signifiers, transferring information encoded in the stationary rock art sites or the rock art quarries to remote areas (Hood 1988; Walderhaug 1994). Studies have also emphasised the ability material cultures have, as containers of information about ritual activity, able to transmit information over geographically long distances from a stationary source of information (Conkey 1982, 1985). This view is also

Figure 3.9. Boulder still lying only a few kilometres from the three axes mentioned above. At this location two diabase axes were found immediately to the right of the boulder. Photo: Trond Lødøen.

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supported by ethnographic evidence where people have maintained their sacred relationship to special sites over long distances, through pieces of rocks from sites of ritual importance (Gould 1980). The Stakaldeneset promontory has the character of a massive barren dark cliff that juts out into the sea. The quarrying activity has followed along metrewide dykes that protruded through the mother rock and, in many places, this prehistoric exploitation has lowered the surface by several metres. Bringing in the perspectives of a tiered cosmology it is possible that quarrying activity had the potential of setting forces in the rock out of control. As part of a new approach it will therefore be important to evaluate and investigate whether an equivalent membrane argued to be present at the rock art panels was present at the quarries, and what precautions were taken in relation to cosmology or how potential forces inside the rock were dealt with at the quarries (Figure 3.7). It seems likely that major negotiations with the underworld and possibly ancestors was a necessary part of mining and axe production. This perspective is of interest since adzes and axes keep their forms pretty much the same for hundreds and thousands of years (Figure 3.8), suggesting that they are conforming to an ideal. This can both be seen as the willingness of the material to be best transferred into particular shapes and forms but also to avoid provocative actions, and therefore keep relations to forces inside the rock under control. It also corresponds well with the repetitive pattern amongst rock art depictions. In all respects it is clear that it was important to keep quarrying at a distance to habitation areas to reduce the impact from potential wild forces set out of control. From the ethnographic record, production of its kind is often of an esoteric character – secret and sacred knowledge – in which many precautions are taken

to keep forces under control. From similar locations of quarries from the Stone Age in central Europe it has been argued that their extreme location, amongst others on top of peaks, had equal importance as that of the raw material and its quality (e.g. Bradley & Ford 1986; Patton 1993; Bradley 2000). Evidence from the ethnographic record argues that communication with the supernatural world has been argued to be crucial at such quarries (e.g. McBryde & Harrison 1981). The religious and cosmological importance of the quarry therefore seems to be beyond doubt and it must have been a very important part of at least the sacred geography of the Late Mesolithic Western Norway. Reasoning from the above it is therefore a plausible explanation that only pecking tools or material derived from the underworld in the sacred quarries had the proper force and ability to deal with cosmological or animated forces inside the rocks of Vingen, making the pecking tool much more important than just a portable signifier. Apart from large quantities of ground core axes at the many habitation sites, large numbers have been documented in contexts interpreted as sacrificial deposits or votive offerings; in screes, under flagstones or boulders and in marshes, streams, lakes and in the sea (Figure 3.9). Most likely such locations where perceived as pathways or openings to an underworld. Less accessible were forces inside rocks, were the creation of images was part of the communication, but diabase was the only compatible material to challenge the forces of the beyond, either as hammer stones or through sacrificial axe deposits. In the continuation of this it should also be added that pecking marks and lines vary from modest, hardly-visible marks to deep intrusions. It is likely that this could also be of relevance regarding communication between the world of the living and the underworld. At many locations pecking

Figure 3.10. A large herd of animals on a large panel at the western end of Vingens’ rock art area. Documentation: Johannes Bøe.

Concepts of Rock in Late Mesolithic Western Norway

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Figure 3.11. A boulder with single image. Photo: Trond Lødøen.

Figure 3.12. So far images have been documented on around 80 boulders in the scree, but new discoveries are expected to follow after more investigations beneath and under the many boulders. Photo: Trond Lødøen.

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marks have been found – both larger concentrations and only a few marks or lines – and clearly non-figuratively. It is likely that this is related to a communication, or preparation for communication, with an underworld. These aspects have not been systematically explored but their varied character could be related to different modes of communication with a world beyond and will be explored in the future. The link between the hammer stone made out of diabase from the Stakaldeneset quarry and the rock art at Vingen provides us with an almost endless line of potential reasonings with associated denotations regarding perceptions of rock in the past. Future excavations might broaden the picture concerning the tools and raw materials that were necessary for the creation of images. Since both quarrying activity and rock art production most likely dealt with forces in the underworld, they were of importance to each other, and since diabase was in use in Vingen these issues are surely interrelated. Several explorations for rock art around the quarry have so far confirmed the pattern, but this will be more intensely investigated in the near future. Most likely this picture will remain unchanged as there seem to be distinct differences in the organisation of such activity. Furthermore, quarries in general are located more distant to habitation areas and often higher up in the terrain, while rock art seem to be closer associated with the shore (Helskog 1999; Lahelma 2005) and less distant to habitation areas. This is understandable since quarrying activity is of higher physical impact into a world beyond compared to rock art’s less intrusive character. Possibly quarries were placed at extreme locations in relation to a tiered cosmology to minimize the influence of forces deeper in the cosmological stratum.

The grammar of rock The internal perspective of rock is of course more inaccessible, since little information is passed on to us but it is interesting to note that the Vingen site reveals interesting patterns when it comes to the structuring of rock, in particular in the way rock art has been distributed over the area. The site is characterised by an overarching narrative where the central area displays conflicts or oppositions between red deer, humans and animal-headed staffs while the fringes of the area has large herds of animals pecked into exposed bedrock as if they are leaving the site in both directions (Lødøen 2009). The narratives on display seem to signal some kind of ongoing communication between red deer and both anthropomorphs and animal-headed staffs (Figure 3.10). It is interesting how this possibly cosmological conflict corresponds with the dispersed character of the

rock in the area. On a more detailed level, the bedrock panels display concentrations of several hundred images, interpreted as narrative while the many boulders and smaller stones have first and foremost individual images on display. A large scree in the central area has close to eighty boulders with predominately single images, forming a clear contrast to the panels. Spread further out from the boulder scree, but fewer in number, several stones and boulders have other images on display. From this pattern one gets the impression that the scree has been perceived as the source for all relevant boulders and therefore they were controlled or marked by rock art. In contrast to the panels which have been depicted by scenes or narratives, the distribution of boulders have been equipped with single images as part of a prehistoric exploration, an interpretation or explanatory framework for the spread of boulders (Figure 3.11). This can all be understood as prehistoric explorations in rock, as well as efforts to try to relate the boulders of the scree as a whole, and explain and interpret their presence. If certain rock surfaces were perceived as entrances to a world beyond, the boulder scree might have been seen as a dissolved panel, or a panel under diffraction, even threatening to the society in terms of cosmological understanding and therefore important to mark and control by rock art. This also corresponds to the general pattern of more single images on boulders and smaller stones while larger concentrations of images have been left on the more extensive bedrock panels. It therefore seems that the fragmented character of the rock in Vingen has gone through a process where bedrock boulders and smaller stones have been explored, interpreted, interrelated, explained and unified by the active use of rock art. The dissolved character of the scree has been unified by a narrative, in which images have been pecked into boulders and narratively reconstituted through the use of images, possibly in order to explain the scree as whole and to prevent further cosmological separation or chaos (Figure 3.12). In recent years images have even been documented on surfaces underneath boulders, or along deep narrow passages in between larger rocks or in the scree, adding to this tentative explanation. Detailed studies in order to investigate patterns of narratives through images on related boulders and to compare such patterns with the many panels will therefore be a future goal, and might also provide answers to questions related to rock art on boulders at other sites. A particular concern with boulders in this period is also documented by the many interpreted sacrifical depositions or votive offerings of diabase axes

Concepts of Rock in Late Mesolithic Western Norway underneath or in the vicinity of boulders elsewhere in Western Norway – even at the head of fjords where habitation sites are rare (Lødøen 1998). Some minor rock quarries exploited during the Mesolithic have also been documented in these areas. In addition it has been proposed on the bases of geological knowledge that raw materials for purposes other than axes and pecking tools have their provenance in the interior. Interestingly, a three-tiered understanding of the world might have been perceived on a horizontal plane which might provide us with additional perspectives for the explanation of both votive depositions and quarries in the interior. It is tempting to understand the above discussion and presentation of material in terms of prehistoric explanations of rock. In the same manner as natural lines in the rock surfaces have formed the point of departure for numerous images at rock art sites, exploitation of diabase might have followed the natural dykes’ protruding up from a lower cosmological stratum. For the period in question – the Late Mesolithic – it seems as though prehistoric people had a special preoccupation with rock, in which they sought to explain and incorporate a number of rock issues. Boulders in Vingen were explained and included in world views with the help of images, and boulders elsewhere were the arena for deposition of votive axes. For the period in question, an explosion in the use of rock shelters for prehistoric activity has been documented probably associated with the same preoccupation with rock. In several places it has been documented that artefacts were forced into rock surfaces as if efforts had been made to try to get access through the membrane (e.g. Bakka 1976; Hansson 2005). At Vingen micro blades have been found inside cracks, probably an expression of the same effort – to get access to a world beyond the living – inside rock, adding to a prehistoric framework of explanation for rock and stone. Detailed analysis of the relations between rock art and rock will therefore be a future object of research.

The immateriality of rocks Despite the material character of the numerous remains unearthed in archaeology, the material focus in modern archaeological theory during recent decades has been of a more ephemeral nature. It has even been argued that the focus on material culture as such has been missing in most of the scientific and philosophical discourse during the 20th century (Olsen 2003). Obviously physical remains, such as artefacts and tools creates a basic and important background for archaeological theory and research, but the material remains are easily abandoned under the search for past

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social systems, social actions, exchange systems and human relations – putting human subjects under focus (ibid.). To some extent it should rightfully be added that one has included material culture when it comes to function and technology but this part of archaeology is rather modest today, and normally ends up with overarching theories and a more distant material focus. From time to time researchers have tried to inform us about this trend by saying ‘imagine a world without objects’, but still social perspectives of the past have a leading position in the constant development of archaeological theories. It is therefore not surprising that images and their communicative possibilities have been focused on in rock art research and that networks and distribution have been the focus of analysis of quarries. In both cases the material attributes of the rock have been overlooked. In recent years, however, a greater focus on material culture and materiality is evident, and instead of focusing solely on the humans as part of social systems, one has to begin to focus on how surroundings might have been perceived as seen by past subjects. These often phenomenological or embodied perspectives have returned to a material focus (e.g. Tilley 2005, 2008). But these approaches have a tendency of seeing what we see, and perceiving the same materiality as us. A decade of landscape studies have led to a greater focus on how features of topography and geography might have been perceived in prehistory, but to some extent researchers have projected modern geological knowledge or science, in general, onto prehistoric societies. Obviously different types of rock were understood in different ways, in much the same manner as geology is used as a background in our modern world, but prehistoric people had their way of describing, and not least understanding rock, that was far from our modern geological understanding. The focus addressed above is strongly associated with materiality – with raw material and with tools but at the same time of a non-material character, as it deals with forces inside rock and stone. It can be paralleled with the lack of effort invested in order to try to understand and explain the belief system of the Mesolithic hunter-gatherers, as such research has been regarded as unscientific imagination, in which nothing could be concluded with any certainty (Zvelebil 2008: 42). Both these perspectives have finally been put on the archaeological agenda and are now under serious re-consideration. During the last decade many patterns reflecting the treatment, use and even structuring of rock have been under the focus of documentation. In combination these now provide us with a better understanding.

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In analysing rock art distribution patterns, quarrying activity, the tool production and distribution of tools, several perspectives are crossed, leading to completely new knowledge regarding how prehistoric surroundings and existence were understood and structured in prehistory. Amongst these, even explicit examples of a particular engagement with rock can be found and here a joint-holistic approach has the ability to provide fresh answers to basic questions. I will therefore underline the importance of taking a step beyond materiality, and of trying to also grasp the immaterial component of rocks. It is almost common knowledge that hunter-gatherers use metaphors taken from nature as a background for behaviour, interaction, rituals and ceremonies, and it is used as a background for general understanding of existence (Carmichael et al. 1994). On the basis of ethnography it is likely that most parts of surroundings were perceived as animated or organic, and that animals, humans and other creatures relative to each other and of a living and organic form (ibid.). This could also be the case for mountains, cliffs and rocks. Motion amongst rock features such as avalanches, rock fall and/or freeze thaw processes with roaring falling rocks might have added to such a perception, in that rock or at least some rocks were treated as a living or organic form. This combined with a number of other processes such as thunder, wave action and storm wind might have added elements to the surrounding stones, rocks, cliffs and mountains, all enhancing the immateriality of rocks. In these perspectives many of our explanations and real answers to rock art can be found.

Conclusion I will end as I started, with yet more curiosity regarding prehistoric perceptions of rock. I am convinced that the future will reveal more information of crucial importance in our attempts to answer the question; what is rock? By revisiting contemporary rock art sites, quarries, habitation sites and other such sites and with a stronger analytical ‘cross-pollination’ between these different categories, new insights and new knowledge regarding prehistoric perception of rock can be gained, both of a material nature, and of a more immaterial character. Similar approaches could and should be directed towards related features such as water, soil, fire, wind, waves, darkness, night, seasons etc., and even more basically, how the surrounding environment was perceived – the surface they walked on, the water that was paddled across, etc. In this context however, I have concentrated on rock, and its pattern of use and distribution, leading to new knowledge about the past. Archaeological

research, whether excavations, rock art documentation, or other such work will, under combination, provide fresh perspectives and fresh alternatives that should be explored more intensively in the future for a better understanding of how rock was understood, treated and perceived in prehistory.

References Bakka, Egil. 1973. Om alderen på veideristningane. Viking 37, 151–187. Bakka, Egil. 1976. Bergkunst i Barskogbeltet i Sovjetsamveldet. Viking 95–124. Bakka, Egil. 1979. On Shoreline Dating of Arctic Rock Carvings in Vingen, Western Norway. Norwegian Archaeological Review, 12 (2), 115–122. Bradley, Richard. 2000. An archaeology of natural places. New York: Routledge Bradley, Richard & Ford, Stephen. 1986. The siting of Neolithic stone quarries: experimental archaeology at Great Langdale, Cumbria. Oxford Journal of Archaeology 5, 123– 128. Bøe, Johannes. 1932. Felszeichnungen im westlichen Norwegen I. Vingen und Hennøya. Bergens Museums Skrifter 15. Bergen. Carmichael, David L.; Jane Hubert, Brian Reeves and Audhild Schanche 1994. Sacred Sites, Sacred Places. Routledge. London. Hallström, Gustaf. 1938. Monumental art of Northern Europe from the Stone Age. I The Norwegian localities. Stockholm. Hansson, Anders. 2005. Hällmålingen på Flatruet – en arkeologisk undersökning. Jämten 2006, 88–92. Helms, Mary. 1993. Craft and the Kingly ideal. Art, trade and power. Austin: University of Texas. Helskog, Knut. 1999. The Shore Connection. Cognitive Landscape and Communication with Rock Carvings in Norternmost Europe. Norwegian Archaeological Review 32, 73–94. Hood, Bryan. C. 1988 Sacred pictures, sacred rocks: Ideational and social space in the North Norwegian Stone Age. Norwegian Archaeological Review, Vol. 21 (2), 65–84. Jordan, Peter. 2003. Material Culture and Sacred Landscape. The Anthropology of the Siberian Khanty. Walnut Creek: Altamira press. Lahelma, Antti, 2005. Between the worlds. Rock art, landscape and shamanism in Subneolithic Finland. Norwegian Archaeological Review, Vol. 38 (1), 29–47. Lewis Williams, J. David. & Dowson, Thomas. 1990. Through the veil: San rock paintings and the rock face. South African Archaeological Bulletin 45, 5–16. Lødøen, Trond. 1998. Interpreting Mesolithic axe deposits from a region in Western Norway. In: Kazakevicius, Vytautas., Olsen, Asle B. & Simpson, David N. (eds). Archaeologia Baltica. The Archaeology of Lithuania and Western Norway: Status and Perspectives. Vilnius: Lithuanian Institute of History, 195–204. Lødøen, Trond. K. 2001. Interpretation of Stone Age Ideology based on Rock Art, Structures and Artefacts in the Vingen area, Western Norway. In: Knut Helskog (ed.) Theoretical Perspectives in Rock Art Research. The Institute for Comparative Research in Human Culture. Oslo, 211–223. Lødøen, Trond. K. 2003. Late Mesolithic rock art and expressions

Concepts of Rock in Late Mesolithic Western Norway of ideology. In: Larson, L., H. Kindgren, K. Knutsson, D. Loeffler and A. Åkerlund (eds). Mesolithic on the Move. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 499–507. Lødøen, Trond, K. 2007. Exploring the contemporary context of rock art. Adoranten 2006, 5–18. Lødøen, Trond, K. 2009 Confronting important animals. In: Sinéad McCartan, Rick Schulting, Graeme Warren and Peter Woodman (eds), Mesolithic Horizons. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Mandt, Gro. 1998. Vingen revisited. A gendered Perspective on ‘Hunters’ Rock Art. In: Larsson, L. & B. Stjernquist (ed.). The Worldview of Prehistoric Man. Stockholm: KVHAA Konferenser 40, 201–224. Mandt, Gro & Lødøen, Trond. 2005. Bergkunst. Helleristningar

i Noreg. Oslo: Det Norske Samlaget. McBryde, Isabel & Harrison, Graham. 1981. Valued good or Valuable stone? Consideration of some aspects of the distribution of greenstone artefacts in South-Eastern Australia. In: Leach, F. & Davidson, J. (eds). Archaeological Studies of Pacific Stone Resources. Oxford: BAR International Series 104, 183–208.

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Mezec, Bruno. 1989. A Structural Analysis of the Late Stone Age Petrolygyphs at Vingen, Norway. Unpublished MA dissertation. University College. London. Olsen, Asle Bruen & Alsaker, Sigmund. 1984. Greenstone and Diabase Utilization in the Stone Age of Western Norway: Technological and Socio- cultural Aspects of Axe and Adze Production and Distribution. Norwegian Archaeological Review 17 (2), 71–103. Olsen, Bjørnar. 2003. Material Culture after Text. Re-Membering Things. Norwegian Archaeological Review 36 (2), 87–104. Patton, Mark. 1993. Statements in Stone. Monuments and Society in Neolithic Brittany. London: Routledge. Tilley, Christopher. 2005. The Materiality of Stone. Explorations in landscape phenomenology. Oxford: Berg. Tilley, Christopher. 2008. Body and image. Explorations in landscape phenomenology 2. With assistance of Wayne Bennett. Walnut Creek: Left Coast Press. Zvelebil, Marek. 2008. Innovating Hunter-Gatherers: The Mesolithic in the Baltic. In: Bailey, Geoff. & Spilkins, Penny. (eds). Mesolithic Europe. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp. 18–59.

4 Hearing and Touching Rock Art: Finnish rock paintings and the non-visual Antti Lahelma

In this paper it is argued that an undue focus on the visual aspects of Finnish rock paintings has distorted our understanding of the art. Other sensory experiences, including hearing and touching, may have been equally important in the prehistoric ‘use’ of rock art. As the paintings are located on steep cliffs that rise on lakeshores, they produce exceptional echoes – a phenomenon that may have given rise to a notion of spirits inhabiting the cliff. In order to contact the spirits and to tap into their power, the cliff and the painted images appear to have been touched with a hand covered in red ochre, as evidenced by handprints pressed onto pictures of elk. Large, shapeless areas of red ochre that occur at nearly all major rock painting sites may be related to the same practice. Ethnographic parallels for the significance of echoing and for the ritual touching of rock paintings related to forager shamanism are presented from South Africa and Canada. Saami ethnography provides evidence for similar beliefs of spirits inhabiting lakeshore cliffs even in Northern Fennoscandia. Keywords: rock art, rock painting, sensory experiences, echo, handprints, aesthetic, soundscape, prehistory of Finland

Introduction: challenging the tyranny of the eye In the opening chapters of popular works of art history, prehistoric rock art – especially that found in the Franco-Cantabrian caves – typically features prominently. The artistically stunning cave paintings and their rather more humble rock art successors are understood as a distant, ancestral form of pictorial art. From this Palaeolithic source, the arts of Classical Greece, Renaissance Italy and 19th-century France supposedly flow in a single grand narrative of Western art history. Now, I am generalizing, of course, but it is possible still today to identify certain art-historical ballast that limits our understanding of rock art. At least since the days of Johann Winckelmann (1717–68), the 18th-century German art historian and ‘father’ of modern archaeology, archaeologists have prioritized vision in appreciating ancient art forms. But even if rock paintings and carvings are, of course, visual images, both the rock itself and its landscape setting

feature aspects that can also be approached through non-visual sensations, such as touching and hearing. Academic research seems to place little importance on non-visual sensations, as our learned way of approaching art and landscape is arguably overwhelmingly visual. Although many museums and contemporary artists have attempted to blur the traditional boundaries between pictorial and other arts, in practice the notion of ‘art’ still today excludes most non-visual signals. The aural qualities of an art gallery do not appear significant, and touching a work of art is typically not even allowed. Museums and galleries are primarily thought of as ‘optical spaces’. But as Fiona Candlin (2004) observes, if you watch the crowds in any museum, you will see people touching the exhibits despite the prohibitive ropes and the watchful eyes of the guards. They do so not only because it is forbidden – but also because they ‘use touch to investigate an object’s surface, to verify what they have seen or in an attempt to make a connection with the past’ (Candlin

Hearing and Touching Rock Art 2004: 71). In other words, they do so in order to get a more intimate and personal knowledge of the objects they are looking at. Referring to the phenomenology of Maurice Merleau-Ponty (2000), she further points out that knowledge is not detached from the body, but rather the human body should be seen as the ground of culture and thought. In keeping with Western views on art and landscape, our scientific tradition similarly ‘views’ vision, the ‘light of reason’ and the ‘disembodied eye’ as the primary means of acquiring knowledge (Candlin 2004: 81). Indeed, our whole way of thinking basically appears to be rooted in visual metaphor: we have various ‘insights’ on issues such as rock art, our ‘outlooks’ on the subject differ depending on how we ‘gaze’ or ‘glance’ at it, or may perhaps ‘seem’ ‘dimmed’ or ‘shrouded’. If we do not ‘see’ such flaws and stick to ethnocentric ‘points of view’, we may be completely ‘blinded’ and fail to gain certain important ‘perspectives’ to understanding rock art. It has been argued, however, that the primacy of vision is not universal but rather a peculiarity of post-Medieval Western culture (see, e.g., various essays in Howes 1991). Some authors (e.g., Thomas 2001) have linked this Modernist preoccupation with vision and optics to wider philosophical issues involving the birth of capitalism and the Cartesian separation of nature and culture. By contrast, bodily sensations and experience as a source of knowledge have been viewed as somehow distorted, tainted or even sinful. It is clear that most prehistoric rock art is completely disconnected from these modern Western understandings of art, knowledge and landscape. Hence, archaeologists should try (however difficult it may be) to escape this ‘tyranny of the eye’ in order to avoid projecting Western understandings into prehistoric situations. Certainly, the significance of touching and hearing in creating a sense of space and place is essential. As anyone who has looked at rock art sites from TV or the pages of a book knows, visual documents cannot convey the extraordinary feel of such places. If we presume, as many have done (e.g., Bradley 1997; Chippindale & Nash 2004), that the creation of rock art was somehow related to marking places that were perceived as sacred or of special significance, taking a holistic view of rock art that includes non-visual signals seems vital. In other words, the total nature of both the experience of the sacred and the phenomenon of rock art needs to be considered. Numerous different sensory experiences can be involved in orchestrating an experience of the sacred: consider, for example, the Christian Mass, in which sights (frescoes, candles), sounds (bells, singing,

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resonating spaces), smells (incense), taste (wine, paten) etc. combine to orchestrate religious experiences. It is worth reminding ourselves, too, that a ban on pictorial representations of living creatures exists in traditional Islamic culture and that the pilgrimage (Hajj) to Mecca, one of the main religious duties of all Muslims, culminates in touching the black stone of Qāba. Sometimes the non-visual aspects involved with rock art are obvious. In the famous Pueblo site of Chaco Canyon, New Mexico, a large natural amphitheatre known by the Navajo as Tse’Biinaholts’a Yałti or ‘Curved Rock That Speaks’ is still used by ceremonial practitioners (Loose 2008). The cliff in fact functions like a giant acoustical mirror and the Navajo utilize its acoustic properties in ceremonies that make use of whistles, flutes and shell trumpets. Together with the ingestion of the hallucinogenic Datura-plant, these are believed to open a portal to another dimension. Measurements conducted by Richard Loose (2008: 37–39) confirmed that the acoustic properties of the site are indeed exceptional. What Loose neglects to mention is that the site is located along a famous ‘petroglyph trail’ and the curved rock features numerous rock carvings (Steven Waller, pers. comm). The carvings relate to a Navajo myth about two siblings, who heard voices emanating from the cliff and entered it through a portal, inside which they were taught by the deities how to perform the correct ceremonial observances. Joakim Goldhahn (2002) has observed that North European rock art sites are sometimes also located in places that feature an anomalous ‘soundscape’. The Stone Age carvings of Northern Sweden for example, are frequently associated with noisy rapids. The rapids, which emanate pulsating sounds, may have been perceived as ‘alive’ in a sense: speaking and breathing non-human agents. Moreover, at places like Nämforsen the roaring noise of the rapids and the rhythmic sound of pecking the rock may have been associated with the shamanic trance (Goldhahn 2002: 49–52). Rock art is sometimes also found in association with lithophones or ‘stone instruments’ (some cup-marked stones may, in fact, result from ‘playing’ the stones; Tuovinen 1988). For example in South Africa and Namibia, rock carvings occur at so-called ‘gong rocks’ – ferric boulders that resonate in a particular way when struck (Ouzman 2001: 240–244). Sometimes such rocks feature evidence of beating the rock with a stone, which implies that the carvings and the special sounds of the rock are intimately related. San rock carvings also feature wear marks caused by rubbing the stone with a hand, and sometimes small pieces have been broken off from the rock. According to Ouzman (2001), both practices probably relate to an attempt to transfer supernatural potency from the rock to the person touching it.

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In this paper, I will examine two features of Finnish rock paintings that may in a similar manner be related to the role of non-visual experiences associated with rock art. First, I will consider the acoustic properties of the painted cliffs which, viewed in the light of local and Arctic ethnography, suggests that echoing was a phenomenon of considerable significance in the making of a ‘sacred site’. Second, I will examine red ochre handprints and shapeless areas of red ochre paint, both of which can be found in Finnish rock paintings as well as the Algonkian rock paintings of Canada. In my view, these relate to the ritual touching of the rock cliff – a conclusion that finds support in the ethnography of hunter-gatherer rock art.

Finnish rock paintings Rock paintings in Finland are nearly always located on outcroppings of granitic rock that form vertical surfaces rising directly from a lake (e.g., Kivikäs 1995; 2005; Taskinen 2000; Lahelma 2008a). A few paintings have been made on large erratic boulders, but these are also associated with water, usually still today standing on a lakeshore. According to my calculations, the number of prehistoric paintings known to exist in Finland today is around 125 (Lahelma 2008a, appendix 3). This number also includes sites that do not feature any representational art, only shapeless areas of paint. All the paintings are made with red ochre and feature a limited range of motifs, the most common being elk, boats and stick-figure humans. Handprints and geometric signs are also fairly common. Geographically the paintings are concentrated in the Finnish Lake Region in the central and eastern parts of the country. The area around Lake Saimaa is particularly rich in rock paintings, but some sites are located far from this main rock art region. Five sites have been found in the vicinity of Helsinki, two in the far northeast of the country, and one site in the southwest, close to Turku (Åbo). Because the paintings are, as mentioned above, almost without exception associated with water, they can be dated by the shore displacement method. The Holocene isostatic land uplift and associated tilting of the Fennoscandian landmass has been a major factor in the formation of the Finnish landscape. As a result of these processes, some paintings evidently originally drawn when in a boat close to the surface of a lake are now situated more than ten metres above water, making it possible to date such sites using the shore displacement method. The current understanding is that the paintings of the large Lake Saimaa region date from approximately 5000–1500 cal. BC (Jussila 1999;

Seitsonen 2005; Lahelma 2008a: 33–42), and similar datings have been suggested for other areas as well. This locates the paintings roughly within the Comb Ware period, a phase of Stone Age hunter-gatherer cultures that covered much of North-Eastern Europe, although the painting tradition appears to continue to the Early Bronze Age as well. One remarkable although still poorly understood aspect of this art is its evident similarity with rock paintings found much further to the east, in Northern Russia and Siberia (Devlet & Devlet 2005), Alaska, British Columbia and the Canadian Shield (Rahnovich 1994). Red ochre rock paintings made on lakeshore cliffs may well be a genuinely circumpolar phenomenon comparable to other similar phenomena, such as the material evidence reported by Gjessing (1944) and the bear cult described by Hallowell (1926). There is no need to dwell on this point extensively here; however, in the light of what is said about Ojibwa beliefs and rock art below, this hypothetical circumpolar connection may be of some relevance.

Rock paintings and echoing To most modern observers, echoing seems like a trivial and unimportant phenomenon, not worth much of our attention. The situation was different in pre-modern cultures, in which the notion of sound waves reflecting back from rock surfaces was unknown. According to Steven Waller (1993; 2006), pre-modern cultures throughout the world have personified echoing and associated it with spirit beings. Perhaps the best known example is the Greek nymph Ekho, whom the Goddess Hera cursed so that she could only repeat what others had said (Ovid, Metamorphoses 3.359–369), but similar myths occur on all continents. According to Waller, the phenomenon of echoing goes a long way towards explaining cross-culturally attested animistic notions, in which sound-reflecting surfaces – such as cliffs, boulders and caves – have been viewed as animate or as the abodes of spirits. Because of the way sound waves reflect from a flat surface, echoing creates an illusion that the response originates from deep within the barrier rather than merely bouncing off its surface (Figure 4.1). Waller also points out that such places often feature rock art, which in the ethnographic sources is characteristically explained as having been made by spirits. The notion that certain rocks and cliffs are inhabited by human- or animal-shaped spirits is, indeed, very widespread. For example, according to the Ojibwa, Cree and other Algonkian-speaking Indians of North America, rock painting sites located at water’s edge were inhabited by small, hairy, human-like creatures

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called Memegwashio (variously spelled Maymaygwayshi, Memegueshi, etc.) who could sometimes be heard speaking inside the cliffs (Dewdney & Kidd 1962; Rajnovich 1994: 67–69; Arsenault 2004). Steven Waller and Daniel Arsenault (2008) have established a clear link between the Memegwashio, echo myths, rocky landscapes and painted cliffs. They describe a red ochre rock painting site in Quebec called Kaapehpeshapischinikanuuch by the Cree (meaning, ‘a place where drawings can be permanently seen on the rock surface’) and EiGf-2 by the Canadian archaeologists:

Figure 4.1. The virtual ‘image’ behind sound-reflecting surface, giving an auditory illusion of depth (i.e., that the source of the echo sounds lies deep inside a rock cliff).

‘The EiGf-2 rock art site in Quebec possesses notable acoustic properties, including distinct echoes […]. Algonkian ethnography describes this site as a dwelling place for Memegwashio: spirit creatures held responsible for producing both echoes and rock art. Acoustic experimentation became the traditional proof of the existence and residence of Memegwashio in rocky landscapes: parents advised children to shout; the children could then hear Memegwashio shout in reply [… The] Memegwashio seal their magic portals with hand prints of blood, showing where they touched the rock as

Figure 4.2. A view of the rock painting site of Astuvansalmi, showing the concave shape of the cliff. Photo: Elin Myrvoll.

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Antti Lahelma they “closed the door” before disappearing into their cliff dwellings.’ (Waller & Arsenault 2008: 191).

It seems then that in the ethnographic sources, rock art is often associated with echoing and spirits that live inside rock cliffs. North Fennoscandian ethnographic sources are rather silent relating to the meaning of rock art, but it should be noted that the Saami regarded certain cliffs and boulders as sacred and inhabited by human- and animal-shaped spirits (Bäckman 1975). Although these cliffs do not feature rock art, a connection between resonating surfaces and spirits can be established (see below). Moreover, similar beliefs concerning rock cliffs can be found even in Finnish traditional poetry, in which deer and snakes are sometimes said to reside inside rock cliffs (e.g., SKVR I: 35, I: 1116). Despite the lack of an obvious link between echo myths and rock art in Fennoscandia, the Finnish rock paintings would seem to fit well into the general picture one gets from the sources cited above. The steep lakeshore cliffs on which the paintings are found are nearly always located in a landscape – or perhaps one should say ‘soundscape’ – that is clearly distinct from the open expanses of the lakes. The sites tend to be found in narrows or straits, not infrequently with high cliffs rising on both shores, producing startling echoes especially in still weather. The echoes are not discernible immediately in front of the cliff, where one tends to observe the paintings today, but can be heard a little further away on the lake. The sounds of the boat, fragments of conversation and other noises reflect back from the cliff, giving the eerie impression of some kind of invisible presence. Sometimes the shape of the cliff seems particularly well-suited for echoing. The concave surface of the Astuvansalmi cliff, one of the largest and best known sites with rock paintings in Finland, almost resembles a parabolic mirror that reflects the sound waves to a particular spot in front of it (Figure 4.2). The case is particularly interesting, because it is generally agreed that Astuvansalmi is one of the best examples of an ‘anthropomorphism’ associated with Finnish rock art. That is, the natural shape of the cliff is strongly reminiscent of a vast human head, thus giving the impression that the ‘speech’ (echoes) comes straight from the head of the ‘stone human’ (cf. Lahelma 2008a: 121–142). An encounter with such a talking cliff must have been a somewhat frightening experience to a Stone Age hunter. Moreover, if the cliff appeared to communicate with passers-by, simple courtesy would have required the passers-by to attempt to communicate with the cliff, possibly giving rise to ritual practices such as rock painting.

The first writer to pay attention to the ‘soundscape’ of Finnish rock art was the French musicologist Iégor Reznikoff (1995). Reznikoff, who together with Michel Dauvois (1989, 1994) and Steven Waller may be counted among the founding fathers of an emerging subdiscipline of archaeoacoustics (see Scarre & Lawson 2006), has written mostly about French cave art but also touches on Finnish rock paintings in his research. In the 1990s, he made a number of simple experiments at the rock paintings of Astuvansalmi and Juusjärvi, which gave some preliminary results. The cliffs turned out to have exceptionally good acoustic qualities and, even in less than ideal conditions, produced triple or even quadruple echoes from clapping. Reznikoff admits that the experiments were far too few and limited for any firm conclusions to be drawn, but clearly this aspect of the painting sites is worth exploring. Somewhat firmer evidence for the significance of echoing in Fennoscandia is offered by Saami ethnography and especially the beliefs associated with the sieidi, or rocks and cliffs worshipped as local divinities or ‘non-human persons’. As the present author has argued at some length (Lahelma 2008a), the cult of the sieidi seems closely related to the prehistoric rock paintings – possibly even being their direct descendant. Some sieidi (though by no means all) are steep lakeshore rock cliffs, and appear to have been perceived as sacred and frightening at least in part because of their acoustic properties. Silent behaviour was required when passing by such places – presumably in order to avoid causing echoes and disturbing the spirits. The Finnish ethnographer, Toivo Itkonen describes one such site (the name of which may be translated as ‘Sacred Lake Cliff ’), worshipped by the Skolt Saami: ‘Algažjáurpáht, inside which the people of the underworld are thought to dwell, has the reputation of being particularly sacred. They stayed awake during the nights, and on a still summer night one could hear them talking. It was forbidden to make noise at the cliff. During the summer, the rowlocks of the boat had to be wetted so that no creaking sounds would be produced. In the winter, [the reindeer pulling the sleigh] should not gallop but walk quietly. One should not glance on the sides but look only straight ahead. Once the travellers had passed to a distance of 200–300 metres from the cliff, they would step off from the sleigh, and at least the first-timers would drink a sip of liquor in honour of the spirit. […] According to stories told by the Skolt, worshipping of cliffs has begun when the spirits have appeared to people either in sleep or otherwise.’ (Itkonen 1948: 320, my translation)

The sources indicate that powerful divinities could also inhabit rock cliffs. According to one 17th century clergyman, Gabriel Tuderus, the Saami of Lake

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Figure 4.3. The sieidi of Taatsinkirkko in Finnish Lapland. Photo taken by Samuli Paulaharju in 1920.

Kemijärvi in Finnish Lapland sacrificed children to some goddess at a lakeshore cliff called Bessousing (Itkonen 1948: 66). The 17th century being an era of ruthless religious persecution in Lapland (Rydving 1993), the claim of human sacrifices made by the Saami obviously should not be taken at face value, but the information is interesting nonetheless, as Bessousing means ‘sacred dwelling’. The Saami place-name adds a touch of authenticity to Tuderus’ report. Perhaps there was indeed a goddess associated with Lake Kemijärvi, thought to dwell inside a cliff. That the sieidi could produce various sounds implying agency was not unheard of. According to the ethnographer Samuli Paulaharju (1932: 27), they could, for example, sing – even so that a second sieidi would answer – and sometimes a sound of bells could be heard from the rock. A sieidi might also laugh at an unlucky fisherman or, when offended, shout in a loud voice (Paulaharju 1932: 50). Interestingly, echoing and an ‘eerie’ soundscape is also associated with ‘prayers’

to the spirits. Paulaharju’s informants described the steep lakeshore cliff of Taatsinkirkko (Figure 4.3) in Kittilä, Finnish Lapland, as follows: ‘Water runs and drops there and echoes, as if someone was preaching. It is like a room […] [The Saami] sang their sieidi-prayers there because the cliff resounded’ (Paulaharju 1932: 50, my translation).

This recalls the practice of ‘magical singing’ together with the echoes, made possible by resonating spaces such as caves and Medieval cathedrals (Reznikoff 2006). If indeed the resonating cliff was the reason why ‘sieidi-prayers’ were sung in front of it, then perhaps echoing was thought to mean that the spirits participated in the song, thus increasing its supernatural power. In a similar manner, Early Medieval texts often explain resonance in churches as a choir of angels accompanying the singer (Reznikoff 2006: 78–79). Magical singing and playing are an integral part of

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Antti Lahelma Figure 4.4. Väinämöinen plays the kantele on a boulder on a lakeshore. Spirits of the forest, lake and air gather around to listen (R. W. Ekman 1866, oil on canvas).

the pre-Christian Finnish tradition as well. In the socalled Kalevala poems – epic ‘runes’ collected in the 19th century – a singing battle between two shamans (Finn. tietäjä), the heroic Väinämöinen and the wicked ‘Lapp’ Joukahainen, ends with the latter nearly losing his life (Haavio 1952). Väinämöinen’s singing and playing are further described in the poems as charming the spirits and animals of the forests and lakes, who would gather around to listen and weep (Figure 4.4). In view of the topic of this paper, it seems significant that in the poems this magical singing and playing is almost without exception described as taking place on a mountain, a lakeshore cliff or a boulder (Haavio 1952: 157) – that is to say, places that resonate and in which rock paintings are found. It has been long understood that Väinämöinen’s kantele (a type of zither), made of the jaw-bone of a pike, is a shamanistic instrument used by the seer to fall into trance (e.g. Siikala 1992: 238). It thus seems probable that, like the

Saami shaman (noaidi), a pre-Christian Finnish tietäjä practiced magical singing and playing at resonating cliffs because of their acoustic properties. I have suggested elsewhere (e.g. Lahelma 2005; 2008a) that many if not most of the images of Finnish rock art depict spirit helper beings comparable to the noaide gadze – supernatural animals thought to live in sacred mountains (passevare) and employed by the Saami noaidi in his travels to the lower world. In particular, paintings of elk may be compared to the ‘soul animal’ of the Saami shaman, the ‘holy mountain deer’ (passavare sarva). I have further suggested that the production of rock art was associated with a ritual, in which these beings were summoned from the mountain to aid the shaman. The acoustic properties of the cliffs, the crossculturally attested beliefs associated with echoing and the Finnish/Saami religious tradition all indicate that magical singing played a part in this ritual. In the following, I will briefly examine the handprints

Hearing and Touching Rock Art and shapeless areas of red ochre found in some paintings. They appear to be related to a different sensory experience – touching – but provide additional support to the idea that rock painting sites were thought to be inhabited by spirit beings.

Handprints and culture Handprints are among the oldest and geographically most wide-spread motifs in prehistoric rock art (e.g., Clottes 2002). Because of their apparent simplicity they have not attracted as much attention as figurative art. However, they deserve more, as handprints may be one of the keys to understanding the meaning of painted rock art. Moreover, because of their documentary nature they may – at least in principle – carry information concerning the physiological features of their makers, such as age, stature and sex (Nelson et al. 2004; Chazine & Noury 2006; Snow 2006). Handprints can be either ‘positive’ or ‘negative’. Positive handprints have been made by immersing the hand in paint and pressing it on the rock, while negative prints (or ‘stencils’) have been made by pressing a clean hand on the cliff, on which paint has been blown either directly from the mouth or using some sort of a tube. This results in a cloud of paint, in the middle of which the outline of the hand may be seen. Both types are found on all continents, and it seems probable that their purpose – and associated meaning – is somehow different (cf. the discussion in Lewis-Williams 2002: 216–220). The oldest known handprints – ca. 27–28 ka old – have been encountered in the caves of Southern France, including those of Cosquer and Chauvet (Valladas et al. 2001). Handprints are fairly common also in the younger, Magdalenian sites such as Lascaux, often with tens of examples found in a single cave – at Gargas (Hautes-Pyrénées) and El Castillo (Cantabria) even more than one hundred (Bahn & Vertut 1998). As noted, handprints are found throughout the world, but in Northern Europe the only body of rock art with handprints is that of Finland. They have not been found in the otherwise highly similar rock paintings of Sweden and Norway, nor are they present in the rock paintings of the Urals (Чернецов 1964–71). South Scandinavian rock carvings do feature some images of hands (e.g., Malmer 1989: 24–25), but because their method of production and nature differ so much from painted handprints, they must be regarded as a completely different phenomenon (cf. below). According to my calculations, 29 more or less clear handprints can be found in Finnish rock art (Lahelma 2008a, appendix 2). The estimate is conservative and Kivikäs (1999: 43), for instance, identifies more examples

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than I do. The handprints are often found in pairs and are particularly common at the two largest painting sites in Finland, Astuvansalmi and Saraakallio. Other sites worth mentioning include Juusjärvi, Haukkavuori (in Mäntyharju) and Venäinniemi. All the handprints are positive and they form approximately 6 per cent of the total number of images in Finnish rock art (Lahelma 2008a: 23–28). Many are so poorly preserved that it is impossible to determine for sure whether the right or left hand was used. In the cases where this is possible, 62 per cent appear to have been pressed using the right hand – a figure somewhat lower than the modern percentage (75–85 per cent) of right-handed people among Western populations (Hardyck & Petrinovich 1977). Unfortunately, the generally poor preservation of the precise outlines of the handprints makes it impossible to determine the sex of the painters. For the same reason, I find the claims (e.g., Taavitsainen 1978) of paw-prints (of a bear) being depicted in the art highly suspect. For the most part, Finnish rock paintings appear to have been made using some sort of a small brush (Terje Norsted, pers. comm). For example, at paintings like Astuvansalmi the lines are simply too long, wide and regular to have been made using one’s fingers. Finger-paintings do exist, especially in the younger sites, but they are comparatively rare. In this respect, the handprints form a significant exception: they have been made directly through touching the rock, without the intervening use of any kind instrument. Handprints thus represent a real ‘hands-on experience’ of the sacred cliff.

Touching the cliff Interpreting handprints is not an easy task, as the hand as such may symbolize almost anything. Quite commonly, it implies protection, as in the case of the ‘Hand of Fatima’ amulets familiar from Islamic culture, but there is no reason to assume that this would be universally so. The anthropologist AnnaLeena Siikala (1980: 186) compared the handprints of Finnish rock paintings to the metal hand-shaped decorations sometimes found in the shaman costumes of Siberian peoples, which similarly act as protective amulets. According to her, handprints are magically protecting images and show the ‘critical’ nature of the site. The comparison with metal decorations seems flawed, however, as the method of production of the handprints should be seen as an essential element in their meaning. Unlike metal decorations or rock carvings of hands, a handprint is not a ‘picture of a hand’ – it is the material document of the physical act of touching (Ouzman 1998: 33). Indeed, the handprints

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Figure 4.5. Images of elk superimposed by handprints: (a) Saraakallio, Central Finland (Kivikäs 2000: 115), (b) & (c) Astuvansalmi, Eastern Finland (Sarvas 1969).

of Finnish rock art may well be a type of ritual residue rather than intentionally made images. One striking aspect of the Finnish handprints is that even though many of them occur alone, in several cases a handprint or several appear to have been purposely pressed on an earlier image of an elk (Figure 4.5). Moreover, they are never superimposed on any motif other than elk. In an attempt to explain this phenomenon, we may turn to the ethnography of hunter-gatherer rock art. In the religious imagination of the San-bushmen of South Africa, the eland antelope (Taurotragus oryx) is of paramount importance. It is also by far the most common subject in San rock paintings (Lewis-Williams 2003). An old San woman told the archaeologist David Lewis-Williams that if a ‘good’ person touches a rock painting of an eland, an ability to heal will flow into that person from the painting (Lewis-Williams & Dowson 1990: 14). If, on the other hand, a ‘bad’ person did this, his or her hand would adhere to the rock and the person would eventually waste away and die. Touching the images of eland was thus a means of accessing supernatural power – a ritual practice that has left observable marks, as some San rock carvings of eland have a ‘halo’ caused by intensive rubbing of the image (Ouzman 2001: 245). The paint itself was thought of as a potent substance: it was composed of qhang qhang (haematite), had to be ground by a woman at full moon, and mixed with the blood of a freshly killed eland (Lewis-Williams & Dowson 1990). The red paint used in Finnish rock paintings – which is likewise haematite-based – appears to have been a similarly potent substance. Aside from rock art, it has been used in various sacred contexts, including graves (Lappalainen 2007) and clay idols (Núñez 1986). As Lewis-Williams (2002: 217) writes in association with

Palaeolithic cave art, the paint used in creating the paintings may have been conceived of as a ‘mediating film’ that connected the hand to the rock: ‘We have seen that paint should not be regarded as a purely technical substance […]; it probably had its own significance and potency. Perhaps it was a kind of power-impregnated “solvent” that dissolved the rock and facilitated intimate contact with the realm behind it.’

If, as one may suggest, the rock painting sites were indeed thought to be dwellings of spirits and divinities, they may have been thought of as repositories of supernatural potency. By touching the cliff and the painted animals, one may suggest that this potency was transferred to the person touching like a type of magical electricity. In addition to the handprints that have been pressed on images of elk, North European Stone Age rock art features some scenes that may similarly be interpreted as representing the ritual of tapping the potency of elk-shaped spirit beings (see Lahelma 2007). Because the number of distinct handprints is comparatively small, it seems possible that immersing the hand in red paint was not always necessary. Perhaps the use of paint was reserved for ‘emergencies’ or cases, when it was necessary to carry physical remains (redstained hands) of contacting the spirits with you (as a protective material or otherwise). On the other hand, it may well be that there was generally speaking no conscious attempt to make the handprints distinct. Rather, the paint may have been rubbed into the cliff, which would not result in classic handprints. Many sites do feature large, shapeless areas of red ochre that may well relate to this kind of activity. These features have traditionally been viewed as paintings that have been destroyed and blurred by rain, floods, or other natural

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Figure 4.6. A handprint and a shapeless area of red at the painting of Löppösenluola (after Taavitsainen 1981).

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processes (e.g., Kivikäs 1995: 21), which may sometimes be true. However, in many cases the layer of paint is so thick and homogenous that it seems improbable that it ever included figurative elements. We may suggest that some of the areas of red ochre formed gradually as a result of a ritual that involved touching the cliff and rubbing red paint into it. As indicated above, the Ojibwa made rock paintings that in many respects (location, style, choice of motifs, use of red ochre paint, etc.) greatly resemble the Fennoscandian rock paintings. Both positive handprints and large, shapeless areas of red ochre occur in the Ojibwa paintings. According to local oral tradition, the red ochre areas indicate the special power of the cliff. Ojibwa shamans are, moreover, known to have made paintings and pressed their hands on the cliff in order to receive the power to heal from the ‘people who live inside the cliff ’ (Rajnovich 1994: 66–68). In some Finnish rock paintings, it is possible to discern handprints next to the shapeless area of red. This is the case, for example, at the sites of Löppösenluola and Venäinniemi (Figures 4.6 and 4.7). Sometimes it even appears that handprints occur within the shapeless areas of red. As an example, one may mention the lower painting site at Valkeisaari, where a large (ca. 2.2 m wide and 2.3 m high) area of red colour features two intensively red areas, the shapes and sizes of which suggest a double handprint (see Figure 4.10 in Lahelma 2006). The Valkeisaari site is interesting for two other reasons also: a sacrificial deposit was investigated in 2005 directly in front of

Figure 4.7. Handprints, human figures, boats and a large area of red paint at Venäinniemi. Tracing by Jussi-Pekka Taavitsainen.

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the rock painting and the shape of the cliff may be counted among the most convincing examples of anthropomorphism in Finnish rock art (Lahelma 2006). Here it seems very probable that the two phenomena – anthropomorphism and sound resonance – combined to render the cliff of Valkeisaari particularly sacred. In order to communicate with it, and access its supernatural potency, it became in the object of rituals that involved touching the cliff and sacrificial meals held in front of it.

Concluding remarks Although rock art research has long ago distanced itself from the Western notion of l’art pour l’art, Western ideas of what ‘art’ is and how it should be approached still permeate our attitude towards prehistoric rock art. This paper seeks to problematize the view of rock art as a predominantly visual art and a distant predecessor of the frescoes of Fra Angelico, Giotto and others, still cherished in some studies on rock art (e.g. Miettinen & Willamo 2007). Prehistoric rock art is clearly a many-faceted phenomenon, which may be approached through senses other than vision. In the case of Finnish rock paintings, the senses of hearing and touching appear to have been of crucial importance. The creation and appreciation of visual art, while no doubt important, may have been but a secondary part of a chain of operations relating to a wider social practice. In other words, if we wish to escape coarse ethnocentrism, we must seriously consider the significance of the non-visual in studying ancient rock art.

Acknowledgements This paper is an expanded version of a paper earlier published in Finnish (Lahelma 2008b). A draft of this paper was presented at the Changing Pictures workshop in Kalmar (October 2008). I thank the participants for their valuable comments. I also thank PhD Steven Waller for his help in improving the paper.

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Lawson, Graeme (eds), Archaeoacoustics, 77–84. Cambridge: MacDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. Rydving, Håkan. 1993. The End of Drum-Time: Religious Change Among the Lule Saami, 1670s–1740s. Uppsala: University of Uppsala. Sarvas, Pekka. 1969. Die Felsmalerei von Astuvansalmi. Suomen Museo 76, 5–33. Scarre, Chris and Lawson, Graeme (eds) 2006. Archaeoacoustics. Cambridge: MacDonald Institute for Archaeological Research. Seitsonen, Oula. 2005. Shore displacement chronology of rock paintings at Lake Saimaa, Eastern Finland. Before Farming 2005 (1), 1–21. Siikala, Anna-Leena. 1980. Mitä kalliomaalaukset kertovat Suomen kampakeraamisen väestön uskomusmaailmasta? Suomen antropologi 1980 (4), 177–193. Siikala, Anna-Leena. 1992. Suomalainen šamanismi. Hämeenlinna: Karisto. SKVR 1908. Suomen Kansan Vanhat Runot I. Vienan läänin runot. Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura. Snow, Dean. 2006. Sexual dimorphism in Upper Palaeolithic hand stencils. Antiquity 80 (308), 390–404. Taavitsainen, Jussi-Pekka. 1978. Hällmålningarna – en ny synvinkel på Finlands förhistoria. Suomen antropologi Antropologi i Finland 1978 (4), 179–195. Taavitsainen, Jussi-Pekka. 1981. Löppösenluola hällmålning i Valkeala. Finskt Museum 86, 11–16. Taskinen, Helena. 2000. Hällkonsten i Finland – forskningshistoria och dokumentation. In: Edgren, Torsten & Taskinen, Helena (eds) Ristad och målad. Aspekter på nordisk bergkonst. Helsinki: Museiverket. Thomas, Julian. 2001. Archaeologies of Place and Landscape. In: Hodder, Ian (ed.) Archaeological Theory Today, 168–186. Cambridge: Polity Press. Tuovinen, Tapani 1988. Klingande sten, uppradad sten – två maritima fornlämningar i Nagu och Korpo skärgård. Baskerilinja: Unto Salo 60 vuotta, 111–119. Valladas, Helene, Clottes, Jean, Geneste, Jean-Michel, Garcia, Miguel., Arnold, Maurice, Cachier, Helene & TisneratLaborde, Nadine. 2001. Evolution of prehistoric cave art. Nature 413 (6855), 479. Waller, Steven. 1993. Sound and rock art. Nature 363 (6429), 501. Waller, Steven. 2006. Intentionality of Rock-art Placement Deduced from Acoustical Measurements and Echo Myths. In: Scarre, C. and Lawson, G. (eds), Archaeoacoustics. Cambridge: MacDonald Institute for Archaeological Research, 31–40. Waller, Steven. & Arsenault, Daniel. 2008. Echo spirits who paint rocks: Memegwashio dwell within echoing rock art site EiGf-2. American Indian Rock Art 34, 191–201. Дэвлет, Екатерина & Дэвлет, Марианна 2005. Мифы в камне: мир наскального искусства России. Москва, Алетейа. Чернецов, Валери 1964–71. Наскальные изображения Урала. Археология СССР Вып.: 4–12: 1–2. Наука, Москва.

5 The Known Yet Unknown Ringing Stones of Sweden Maja Hultman

The subject of this article is the relatively unknown archaeological phenomenon called ‘ringing stones’. Many archaeologists have not heard of this phenomenon and many of those who have, regard the ringing stones as some kind of curiosity not worthy of research. As a result of this the continuing research on ringing stones is more or less nonexistent. It is also one reason why so few of them are known to us. This article argues that they are indeed worthy of our attention and that it is possible to approach the ringing stones in a scientific way. Firstly, it is necessary to distinguish the archaeological phenomenon of ringing stones from the geological phenomenon of resonant stones. Furthermore, a study of the surrounding landscape shows that there is a pattern in the placement of the ringing stones in Middle Sweden, and on the islands of Öland and Gotland. On the basis of a soundscape perspective there are clear indications that prehistoric man was aware of the ringing stones’ acoustic capacity. Also, the fact that the local people of today tend to know about the ringing stones and even refer to them by names that allude to their acoustic qualities is discussed. Keywords: Archaeoacoustics, Ringing Stones, Landscape, Soundscape, Scandinavian Bronze Age, Middle Sweden, Öland, Gotland

Introduction

What is a ringing stone?

Archaeologists traditionally tend to target the visible and the touchable. There are obvious difficulties in researching immaterial experiences like smell and hearing and many human activities do not leave any physical evidence for archaeologists to build their theories upon, but it is not until perception from several senses is combined that we can claim a greater understanding of the sacred and profane world of prehistory. There are archaeological artefacts and monuments that require the use of several senses to be fully understood. This article is devoted to such multisensational monuments called ‘ringing stones’. When standing next to a ringing stone we are indeed closer to prehistoric man. Using the same senses as they did we can potentially share a human experience that crosses centuries.

A ringing stone is in its simplest meaning a stone with acoustic qualities that differs from the acoustic qualities normally associated with stones. When tapped upon with a smaller stone, ringing stones make a resonant sound that is best described as metallic or in the more extraordinary cases, bell-like. It is important to note that the acoustic quality of ringing stones is not visible in any way – you need to hit them with another solid object in order to decide if they are acoustic or not. Sonorous stones like this exist all over the world (e.g. Hedges 1993; Ouzman 2001; Rainbird 2002; Ablova 2003; Boivin 2004; Devereux 2008) but this article focuses on the ringing stones of Sweden. Other words used for the same phenomenon are sonorous stone, resonant stone, clinking stone, tinkling stone, singing stone or gong rock. Archaeomusicologists sometimes refer to them as ‘lithophones’. ‘Phonolith’ is another word that has been used from time to time. It is however an incorrect use of this specific word,

The Known Yet Unknown Ringing Stones of Sweden

Ringing stones (archaeological)

Type 1

Aspect of sound and visible human alteration, like cup marks.

Type 2

Aspect of sound but no visible human alteration besides being a part of prehistoric monuments, like stone circles.

Type 3

Aspect of sound but no visible human alteration, although known among the local population.

Type 4

Aspect of sound but no visible human alteration. Unknown among the local population or recently discovered.

Sonorous stones Resonant stones (geological)

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Figure 5.1. A typology of sonorous stones (slightly revised from Hultman 2007: 16) and a suggested terminology.

since phonolith is a kind of magmatic rock that has unusual acoustic properties, but is rare and only occurs on oceanic islands and in continental rift valley areas (www.ne.se). Why the sonorous stones make this unusual sound nobody knows, either among archaeologists or geologists. They are not made from any certain kind of rock. They are not hollow. They do not contain unusually high amounts of metal of any kind. Conjectures have been made in the past about a connection between cup marks and acoustics but, since there are many resonant stones without cup marks, and too many cup marked stones without acoustic properties, that theory has to be rejected. Quite naturally, several factors effect the quality of the sound, such as temperature and dampness in the ground, as well as the size of the stone which appears to affect the pitch. Ringing stones that rest on top of other stones seem to be less effected by climate and seasonal change, but not all ringing stones are elevated in this way. The use of the ringing stones concept has until now been too wide and problematic, simply used as a name for all stones with special acoustic qualities. Before discussing it further it is necessary to distinguish the difference between the archaeological phenomenon of ringing stones and the geological phenomenon of stones with resonating properties, since the latter are far more common than one might think. A typology of four types has therefore been suggested (Hultman 2007: 16ff ). Since then it has been slightly modified (Figure 5.1). Sonorous stones of type 1 are visibly altered by humans in the past. For example, these alterations can be cup marks or other types of rock art. Sonorous stones of type 2 are part of ancient remains or monuments but have not been altered in any other way. For example, they can be a part of a stone circle, a stone ship setting or a megalithic tomb. Sonorous

stones of type 3 have no visible human alteration and are not a part of any ancient monuments but are still known by people who live in the area, so-called ‘places of tradition’ (in Swedish: ‘plats med tradition’). Sonorous stones of type 4 have no visible human alteration and are unknown among the local population or only recently discovered. Types 1 and 2 are usually just as well known among people in the area as type 3 but this is considered secondary to being a part of or in itself an actual prehistoric remain. As presented in Figure 5.1, types 1 and 2 are what you might call true or actual ringing stones in the archaeological sense of the term. Types 3 and 4 are called resonant stones to show the difference. A more detailed terminology is also suggested, where sonorous stones are used as a neutral catch-all term for both human altered and non altered stones with acoustic qualities. The need for a terminology that separates the archaeological ringing stones from the non-archaeological resonant stones is greater than one might think. If the true or actual ringing stones are to be the subjects of further research they need to be recognized as a category of ancient monuments in their own right, one that is distinct from the categories of ‘rock art’ and ‘places of tradition’, and that means that they need to be clearly defined. A operational terminology is imperative. It needs to be said that the typology only concerns boulders, not resonant flat rock. There is also a reason why quality and strength of the resonating sound is not part of this typology: sound does not appear to its own advantage in text. To judge and decide the quality of an experience of sound and describe it in text is literally impossible without hearing samples. Hearing samples require methods for testing and recording that are equivalent for all ringing stones and that are possible to perform without the necessity of moving them and these methods are yet to be found out. Until they are, the sound of the sonorous stones will continue to be a matter of subjective discussion.

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Figure 5.2. The Håga mound. Photo: Joakim Goldhahn.

Slow research rate For a long time, archaeologists regarded the ringing stones as curiosities that could not be studied in a scientific way. It was said that they were found in no visible contexts and that the sound was something unusual but of no importance, either for prehistoric man or modern archaeologists. As a result of this lack of interest in ringing stones, not many of them are known to archaeologists today. The property of sound cannot be seen, it has to be heard, and since few have searched for ringing stones few of them have been found. This has begun to change. Apart from the rarity of ringing stones, there are other problems connected to this research area. Fornminnesregistret (the Swedish Record of Ancient Monuments) has no category that fits them which means that there is no simple way of localizing the ringing stones. If they exist in the records it is because they are considered to be places of tradition or have some kind of rock art on the surface. Sometimes there is a short comment in the original survey form about the sonorous properties and sometimes the stone has a documented proper noun, but this is not always the

case and these original forms cannot yet be searched in a reliable and satisfactory way. It is generally a time consuming process to search for ringing stones where one basically has to read every original survey form (and there may be several hundreds or even thousands of these connected to the region of interest) or talk to the local population in one way or the other. Usually a combination of the two is required for adequate coverage. Ringing stones have been given passing mention by archaeomusicologists (e.g. Lund 1987, 1994) and archaeologists (e.g. Nylén 1966; Malmer 1989) alike, though there are few Swedish archaeologists that have given ringing stones any attention. Helena Victor discusses them somewhat more closely in her PhD-thesis from 2002 and two of her students from Uppsala University have devoted their essays to them, Sandberg (2001) and myself (Hultman 2005, 2007). While Victor addresses the context and possible use of the Håga stone in particular (more detailed review in next paragraph), Sandberg examines the possibility that sonorous stones were used to create sound in a ritual environment. I have focused on landscape and

The Known Yet Unknown Ringing Stones of Sweden

Figure 5.3. The great ritual house at Håga, the so-called Håga Church. Photo: Joakim Goldhahn.

Figure 5.4. Painting of the Håga stone made by Martina Gustafsson (after Victor 2002: 169).

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Figure 5.5. Map showing the early Bronze Age shoreline for the Håga-area with the Broby-site, the Håga-island and the hillfort Predikstolen. A close-up on the Håga-island shows the 25 and 30 m shorelines and the distribution of ancient monuments. During Period III the shoreline was at approximately 23 m above today’s sea level (after Victor 2002: 153 and 156).

soundscape analysis, terminology and theories of the uses of ringing stones. The main reason for this lack of interest among researchers is the obvious fact that the dating of a ringing stone is difficult. There is, however, one exception to this fact.

The ringing stone at Håga in Uppland Not far from the city of Uppsala, Sweden, lies a Bronze Age site called Håga. ‘Håga’ is actually an old Swedish word for ‘the mound’ or ‘the hill’ (in Swedish: ‘högen’) and relates to the large Bronze Age mound that dominates the site (Figure 5.2). When the Håga mound was excavated in the early 20th century the archaeologists found what is still Sweden’s greatest Bronze Age gold treasure (Almgren 1905; Victor 2002: 154). Next to the mound is a Bronze Age ritual house called the Håga Church, one of the biggest in Sweden (Figure 5.3), and just a stone’s throw further away lies a second smaller Bronze Age ritual house that once was the elevated base of the so-called Håga stone (Figure 5.4). During the Early Bronze Age, the site was located on a small island, strategically situated for both the Bronze Age hill fort of Predikstolen and another large Bronze Age site called Broby (Figure 5.5, e.g. Victor 2002: 153–157).

The Håga stone was found by coincidence in 2000 during a seminar excavation. The stone’s resonant properties only became obvious when the size of a hammer stone found right next to it was compared to the size of the cup marks on the stone. More specifically, the Håga stone was found leaning towards the inside of the northern gable end in the ritual house. Its length corresponded perfectly with the width of the inside of the ritual house, and the position of the stone and the fact that one of its sides was very flat suggests that it was once part of the inner kerb before falling down between the walls inside the house. Since the stone was part of the construction it means that the date of the ritual house and the ringing stone are contemporary. Finds from the excavation, as well as several conclusive radiocarbon dates, indicate that the ritual house was constructed sometime between Bronze Age Period II and early Period III, c. 1300 cal BC. At the end of Period III, c. 1100 cal BC, the ritual house was partly destroyed, and with the results from the excavation Victor has shown that the ringing stone was most likely dismantled from the wall at this time. During Period V and VI, c. 900–500 cal BC, the ritual house came back into use but apparently the ringing stone was left in its prone position inside the walls.

The Known Yet Unknown Ringing Stones of Sweden

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Figure 5.7. Map of South and Middle Sweden and the distribution of the eight ringing stones included in the study.

Figure 5.6. Map showing the structures around the ritual house in Hågahagen, numbered according to the Swedish Record of Ancient Monuments (after Victor 2002: 163).

One can only speculate whether the ringing stone was also re-used, but most importantly the dating of the Håga stone has been assigned to the Bronze Age. It is still the only ringing stone within a defined archaeological context. In the immediate proximity of the ringing stone are, apart from the ritual house, three mounds of fire cracked stone, two large hearths, six cup marks on a flat rock surface pointing towards the ritual house and several graves. All date to the Bronze Age which supports the dating of the ritual house and therefore the dating of the ringing stone (Figure 5.6 and Victor 2002: 161–179).

The material I will now widen my discussion to include eight other sites in Middle Sweden and on the islands of Öland and Gotland (Figure 5.7). Originally there were nine

stones included but the so-called Nibble stone (or ‘Enköpingsstenen’ or ‘Tillingestenen’) is no longer considered a ringing stone and has therefore been excluded (the resonating sound disappeared after the removal of soil around it. Rather than a lengthy discussion of whether the stone was a ringing stone in the past or not, I elect to exclude it from the present study). The eight ringing stones are of type 1, which means that they all have cup marks. They all exist in the records because of the cup marks, except for Klunghall which is a place of tradition. However, Klunghall does have a cup mark overlooked by archaeological survey in the 1970s (Hultman 2007: 37, fig. 10). Below is a short presentation of the stones with either name or proper name, survey number in Fornminnesregistret, parish and province (more details in Hultman 2005: 16, 19–24, 2007: 36, 41, 45). Bjällerhallen, RAÄ 148 in Ventlinge parish, Öland Bjällerhallen is located on the edge of a moor plateau at about 10 metres above today’s sea level, approximately 600 metres from the shore. On the surface of the stone are some 25 cup marks, several of them beautifully distinct (Figure 5.8a). Bjällerhallen measures 2.5 × 1.75 m. The Björnlunda stone, RAÄ 328 in Björnlunda parish, Södermanland The Björnlunda stone is located on a field impediment at just over 20 metres above today’s sea level. On the

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a

b

c

d

Figure 5.8. Some of the ringing stone dealt with in this study: a) Bjällerhallen, b) The Håga stone, c) Klunghall, and d) Sangelstain. Photo: b = Johannes Österström, a, c and d by Maja Hultman.

surface are 19 eroded cup marks. The Björnlunda stone measures 2.1 × 1.2 × 0.9 m. The Fole stone, RAÄ 44 in Fole parish, Gotland The Fole stone is located on moor and flat rock land at about 50 metres above today’s sea level. In modern times it has been cut in half and both pieces have acoustic properties with slightly different pitch (Berry 1998: 44). The larger piece has 19 cup marks on the surface and the smaller one has got four. Before it got cut in half the Fole stone measured 2 × 1.1 × 0.85 m. The Håga stone, RAÄ 585: 3 in Uppsala parish, Uppland The Håga stone is probably Sweden’s second best known ringing stone and so far the only one found inside a clearly defined prehistoric context (Figure 5.8b). It is located in a grove on pasture land at about 25 metres above today’s sea level and once rested on top of one of the walls of the Bronze Age ritual house

inside which it was found (Victor 2002: 169). On the surface of the stone are 16 cup marks. The Håga stone measures 1.7 × 0.8 × 0.6 m. Klunghall, RAÄ 56 in Långlöt parish, Öland Klunghall is located on pasture land on a beach plateau only 300 metres from the shore, at less than five metres above today’s sea level. It has got one cup mark on the surface (Figure 5.8c). At its widest, Klunghall measures 2.5 m in cross section and it stands 1.8 m tall. The Rasbo stone, RAÄ 280 in Rasbo parish, Uppland The Rasbo stone is located on a grassy slope with surfacing flat rock, at about 25 metres above today’s sea level. On the surface of the stone are two, possibly three, eroded cup marks. The Rasbo stone measures 2.25 × 1.6 × 1.15 m. Sangelstain, RAÄ 265 in Lärbro parish, Gotland Sangelstain is probably the best known ringing stone

The Known Yet Unknown Ringing Stones of Sweden in Sweden (Figure 5.8d). It is located on moor/pasture land at about 20 metres above today’s sea level, on the border of what used to be an inlet before the land elevated and the shore displacement took place. On the surface of the stone are 30 cup marks. Sangelstain measures 1.9 x 1.35 x 0.96 m. The Vickleby stone, RAÄ 64 in Vickleby parish, Öland The Vickleby stone is located on a moor plateau about 4 km from the shore, at slightly more than 45 metres above today’s sea level. On the surface of the stone are 75 cup marks. The Vickleby stone measures 1.4 x 0.9 m.

Landscape perspective In earlier studies I approached the ringing stones from a landscape perspective (Hultman 2005). The aim was to conduct a spatial analysis of the placement of the ringing stones, to locate potential patterns and if possible present a context-based dating. These aims were further treated in subsequent studies (Hultman 2007). The dating of the ringing stones was considered one of the primary issues, since it would open up new possibilities for future studies. One of the main reasons why the stones are so difficult to date is the unclear or non-existent contexts they are found in. This is discussed in more detail below. Cup marks, which all of the stones in my studies so far have in common, are difficult to date precisely and because of this are not of much use in the dating. Theoretically one could use shore displacement as a dating method and examine the altitude of the ringing stones above present day sea level and eliminate periods when the ringing stones were most likely underwater (cf. Ling 2008). However, shore displacement is variable across Sweden. A more detailed examination of the altitude of the location of the stones provides us with a range of between less Fits into Bronze Age environment Bjällerhallen Björnlunda Fole Håga Klunghall Rasbo Sangelstain Vickleby Sum

X X X X X X X 7

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than 5 m and up to 50 m above today’s sea level, which is unhelpful. This suggests that, in order to date the stones it will be necessary to excavate them. Since the only ringing stone found inside a clear context was in use during significant parts of the Bronze Age, I initiated the study with the hypothesis of a Bronze Age date for all of the stones. It needs to be noted that grave fields are not included in the landscape analysis and are therefore not a part of the contextualization. This is because they are too problematic to work with since many of them are very broadly dated in the Fornminnesregistret. Having said this, it is obvious that excluding the grave fields makes the contextualization somewhat unsure, and that it would be wise to include them in future research. The landscape analysis indicated that the majority of the ringing stones are well contextualised by the Bronze Age monuments in the surrounding area, which is indeed suggestive of a Bronze Age date for the stones. The coherence of the stones with the Bronze Age environment was one of four factors in the locational study. The other factors were the following: •

• •

Connection to a prehistoric communication route, either a natural one by sea or a manmade one on land. Strategic positioning towards at least one Bronze Age settlement. Proximity to water in an archipelago.

The study was based on the presence of these factors in proximity to the ringing stones at the level of the parish. However, as presented in Figure 5.9 the pattern is not without exceptions. Bjällerhallen is difficult to connect with surrounding monuments from any prehistoric period and the Fole stone as well as the three stones on Öland do not have a strategic placement towards a settlement (Hultman 2005: 29 and 2007: 49). The Fole stone also lacks proximity to

Connection to communication route X X X X X X X X 8

Strategic positioning towards settlement X X X X 4

Proximity to water in an archipelago X X X X X X X 7

Figure 5.9. Table illustrating the locational pattern of the ringing stones and the exceptions from the four factors.

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water in any way, even though that does not make it less interesting, since it is located right next to a hollow way dated to the Bronze Age (Berry 1998: 44), as well as the Fole/Lokrume parish border (Hultman 2005: 19). It can be argued that the strategic positioning towards a Bronze Age settlement is a less reliable factor as it could be connected to other factors such as the ‘Proximity to water’ and the ‘Coherence with the Bronze Age environment’. The presence of settlements – and more importantly the lack of that presence – is also closely connected to the amount and precision of the surveys made in the areas; there is therefore a possibility for error and uncertainty. This and, more importantly, the fact that only four of the eight stones present strategic positioning towards a settlement indeed make it the least reliable factor in the pattern. Furthermore it needs to be pointed out that the ‘Closeness to water-factor’ and the ‘Connection to prehistoric communication route-factor’ is not the same. Several of the ringing stones are connected to communication routes both on land and by sea but since the Fole stone can present only one of the two Type of monument Stone setting

factors they have been separated from one another. To sum up, the study proves the existence of a locational pattern. It indicates that this is a feasible and meaningful approach to the ringing stones. It also contradicts the commonly held belief that the ringing stones are without context or coherence. The most interesting result, as well as the one factor that applies to all of the stones, is their connection to a prehistoric communication route. There is now an obvious need to locate more ringing stones in order to obtain patterns with greater statistical significance. Yet another aspect discovered during the landscape study is the ritual depositions that have been found within a couple of kilometres from three of the stones. Not far from the Björnlunda stone the so-called Björnlunda sword was found, a Period I bronze sword wrapped in oak leaves, dated to ca. 1600–1500 cal BC (Hultman 2005: 17). Not far from the Rasbo stone a bronze sword and bronze socketed axe was found (Hultman 2005: 22). Unfortunately they have not been more precisely dated. In a bog not far from Klunghall, fragments of two bronze lures were found (Hultman 2007: 37).

Inside hearing distance of ringing stones

Total nr

7 of 8

40

Grave field

5 of 8

9

Rock art

4 of 8

37

Field wall

3 of 8

24

Prehist. house foundation

3 of 8

6

Cairn

3 of 8

4

Hollow way

2 of 8

2

Heap of fire-cracked stone

1 of 8

11

Runic inscription

1 of 8

1

Settlement

1 of 8

1

Stone row

1 of 8

1

Inside hearing distance of non-acoustic cup marked rock

Total nr

4 of 8

31

Stone setting Grave field

2 of 8

4

Rock art

4 of 8

28

Field wall

1 of 8

1

Prehist. house foundation

0 of 8

0

Cairn

0 of 8

0

Hollow way

0 of 8

0

Heap of fire-cracked stone

1 of 8

1

Runic inscription

0 of 8

0

Settlement

0 of 8

0

Stone row

0 of 8

0

Figure 5.10. Table presenting the types of monuments inside hearing distance from ringing stones and non-acoustical cup-marked rocks respectively, as well as the total number of each type of monuments.

The Known Yet Unknown Ringing Stones of Sweden

Figure 5.11. Chart presenting by how many of the eight ringing stones and cup-marked rocks respectively each type of ancient monuments appears.

The soundscape perspective An acoustic experiment was made in April 2007, with the aim of investigating how far the sound of a sonorous stone with exceptionally good acoustics could travel through forested and open land. On a clear day with close to no wind at all, on a location chosen because of the absence of big roads or rivers that could influence the result, the experiment showed that the sound travels 300 metres through forested land and 400 metres over open land, which gives an average of about 350 metres in good conditions. Since it is most likely that the type of vegetation surrounding

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the ringing stones would have an effect on the hearing distance, but as there is no easy way to reproduce these conditions, I have chosen to use a mean value between forested and open land. It should be kept in mind that seven of the eight ringing stones in the study above were located close to water. Since sound travels further on water than on land but no experiments to measure the actual distance have been made, 350 metres was accepted as a mean value that henceforth will be termed ‘hearing distance’. It is, however, to be thought of as a shortest mean value. When a buffer with a 350 metre radius was applied to each of the ringing stones to see what was located inside of it, eleven types of ancient monuments were isolated. The same buffer applied to a randomly selected cup marked rock without acoustic properties in each of the parishes with ringing stones in them revealed a distinct difference. The number of types of ancient monuments close to the non-acoustic cupmarked rocks was not only fewer but the presented amount of each type was also lower with the exceptions of rock carvings and heaps of fire-cracked stone. This is illustrated in Figure 5.10 and further visualised in Figure 5.11 and 5.12. Additionally, a special calculation concerning the ringing stones of the island of Öland was made. Inside the hearing distance of the three Ölandic ringing stones, five types of ancient monuments appeared: rock art, stone setting, cairn, field wall and prehistoric house foundation. A comparison was made between the number of four of the types (with the exception of field walls because of reasons discussed in Hultman 2007) per square kilometre on the island and the number of the same four types per square kilometre inside hearing distance of the three ringing stones (Hultman 2007: 53ff ). The result is illustrated

Figure 5.12. Chart presenting the differences in the amount of each type of monument located inside hearing distance of ringing stones and cup-marked rocks respectively.

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Figure 5.13. Chart presenting the number of each type of monument per square kilometre on the entire island of Öland and inside hearing distance of ringing stones respectively.

in Figure 5.13, and clearly shows that the number of each type of monument is heavily over represented inside hearing distance of the ringing stones; at least twice the number of each type per square kilometre on the entire island. What conclusions can be drawn from these results? Sound is an inevitable part of the making of rock art (e.g. Nordström 1999; Goldhahn 2002). No matter what the purpose of the cup marks on the ringing stones might have been, people must have been aware of the acoustic qualities of the stones. The results of the soundscape analysis suggest that the use and/or knowledge of the ringing stones continued from the Bronze Age through the Iron Age, since the number of rock art sites and stone settings by far exceeds the other types of monuments inside hearing distance of the ringing stones (Figure 5.13). This is a considerable period of time. It also seems as though prehistoric people were not only aware of the acoustic properties of these stones but also chose to create structures in close proximity to them rather than to the visually very similar ‘common’ cup-marked rocks. This, as well as the already mentioned fact that all the ringing stones in the study are located close to a communication route of some kind, where relatively large amounts of people will likely have moved through the landscape, suggests that they were well known and were a part of both the cultural and the cognitive landscape.

Perspectives from folklore The fact that ringing stones of type 1 and 2, as well as resonant stones of type 3, tend to be known among the local population of today has already been mentioned. To refer to them as unknown is therefore only partially true. It is interesting to compare the proper names of ringing stones since they usually have one thing in common: the names allude to the acoustic properties of

the stone. ‘Sangelstain’, ‘Klunghall’ and ‘Bjällerhallen’ are all examples of this but it is also not uncommon that the ringing stones are referred to simply as ‘the ringing stone’ or something similar (in Swedish: ‘klangstenen’, ‘klingstenen’). Where interviews with the land owner have been possible, it is said that the ringing stones have ‘always’ been there and that they have ‘always’ been aware of it. Whenever there is a proper name involved it too has ‘always’ been known. Usually the land has been in the family for many generations which means that the knowledge of the ringing stone has been passed down for quite some time. Interestingly enough, it seems that proper names for the stones only exist among Types 1 and 3 which are usually solitary rocks that are not part of any construction. As many readers may know, there are also folk tales concerning cup marks in general. Another Swedish word for them can be translated to ‘mills of the fairies’ (‘älvkvarnar’) – mythological creatures with magical powers. This can possibly open up another dimension to the proper names of the ringing stones, at least the ones of Type 1 with cup marks on them. Although perhaps not an archaeological perspective as much as an anthropological one, it is still fascinating and may shed yet more light on to the ringing stone phenomenon. However, the myths and stories of cup marks and fairies will be discussed in the future. People of present and past all tend to know their surroundings. The perspective from folklore assumes that the acoustic properties of the stones did not pass by unnoticed by prehistoric people, which seems both reasonable and plausible.

Consideration of possible uses and approaches to further studies The earliest Swedish interpretation of the ringing stones was that they were man-made objects with a musical purpose: percussion instruments (Lund 1987, 1994). To me, this interpretation seems somewhat simplistic. Just because an object can be used as a musical instrument does not necessarily mean that it was its only purpose. Neither do I believe that the ringing stones were used simply as means of long distance communication between humans (such as across bodies of water). During the acoustic experiment mentioned earlier, it became clear that the sound of the human voice travels further than the sound of the ringing stone. If it is easier to call out, to use the voice, why would prehistoric people choose to use a lesser sound device that is in addition stationary? If the ringing stones were part of a large communication system capable of carrying messages over long distances, one would

The Known Yet Unknown Ringing Stones of Sweden think that they would be located within hearing distance of at least one, preferably two, other ringing stones. None of today’s known ringing stones are located in this way. Also, making the ringing stones sound as powerful as possible, that is to make the sound carry as far as possible, would require powerful percussion which would have left impressions in the surface of the stones. Certainly, the largest or deepest cup marks on the ringing stones are usually located where the sound resonates best, but even a large cup mark is a relatively small spot to hit over and over again if the sound-making is the only goal of the action then why are there also cup marks on the less resonant parts of these stones? I find the theory that the ringing stone sound was used in ritual circumstances a more probable one. Victor suggests the possibility that the Håga stone might have been a means of communication between humans and their ancestors, used as a way to contact the established ancestors in the ritual house and make them collect the new soul, and that the sound would have been an important part in the liminal phase of the burial where the resonating sound could have be thought of as an answer from ‘the other side’ (Victor 2002: 175, 177). I do not reject Victor’s theory but I believe that if that was the only use of the ringing stones, more of them would have been found in ritual house contexts. It is very possible though, that the ringing stones and the resonating sound had multiple purposes. Sandberg (2001: 43) concludes that the majority of the ringing stones are situated inside a sacred environment even though she uses the widest definition of the word and most of the sonorous stones she refers to are type 2 ringing stones. Only two of the Type 1 ringing stones in this article can be said to be located in such an environment. On the other hand, cup marks in general are commonly accepted as connected to cult or ritual. I argue that one interesting comparison would be for example between the Type 1 ringing stones and the phenomenon of offerkast (www.fmis.raa.se), or other types of ancient monuments connected to roads. I also believe that a GIS study of the viewsheds around the ringing stones might prove to be an interesting comparison to the ‘soundsheds’ that have been presented in this paper. As mentioned earlier, a closer examination of all ritual depositions found in the parishes around the ringing stones and an extended calculation on the number of monuments per square kilometre are other possible ways of continuing the research of ringing stones. To include the grave fields in the landscape analysis is yet another one. It is clear that we are no way near a complete understanding of the type of ancient monuments called ringing stones

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and that there are still more aspects of them to be studied.

A few final words The connection between ringing stones and prehistoric communication routes, as well as the fact that more ancient monuments appear inside hearing distance of the ringing stones than inside the same distance to the common cup-marked rocks, suggest avenues for further studies. These results also show that bringing the immateriality of sound into the research and interpretations of material culture can give new meaning and expose differences and patterns that would otherwise pass unnoticed. With my work I hope to eradicate the prejudices concerning ringing stones and open up the eyes (and ears) of the archaeological community. It is naïve to think that prehistoric people did not use their sense of hearing as much as, or even more than, we do today but it is commonly accepted that sound does not leave any traces in material culture besides in the form of musical instruments. I beg to differ. The ringing stones offer a pathway to a deeper understanding of prehistoric people and their environment, and enables us to gain a closer understanding of past peoples on a very human level. Instead of diminishing sound because we can not see or touch it, we should follow our ears and see where they lead us.

Bibliography Ablova, Alla. 2003. Ringing Stones: The Interpretation of Archaeological Musical Monuments. In: Tarasti, E. (ed.). Musical Semiotics Revisited. Helsinki: Acta Semiotica Fennica XV, Approaches to musical semiotics 4, 585–590. Almgren, Oscar. 1905. Kung Björns hög och andra fornlämningar vid Håga. Stockholm: Kungl. Vitterhets Historie och Antikvitets Akademien. Berry, Louise. 1998. På stigar och vägar. En guide till gotländska vägminnen. Visby: Länsstyrelsen i Gotlands Län. Boivin, Nicole. 2004. Rock Art and Rock Music: Petroglyphs of the South Indian Neolithic. Antiquity 78 (299), 38–53. Devereux, Paul. 2008. The association of prehistoric rock-art and rock selection with acoustically significant landscape locations. In: Nash, G. & Children, G. (eds). The archaeology of semiotics and the social order of things. Oxford: Bar International Series 1833, 19–29. Goldhahn, Joakim. 2002. Roarings rocks: an audio-visual perspective on hunter-gatherer engravings in northern Sweden and Scandinavia. Norwegian Archaeological Review 35 (1), 29–61. Hedges, Ken. 1993. Places to See and Places to Hear: Rock Art and Features of the Sacred Landscape. In: Steinbring, J. (ed.). Time and Space: Dating and Spatial Considerations in Rock Art Research. Melbourne: Australian Rock Art Research Association, Occasional AURA Publication 8, 121–127.

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Hultman, Maja. 2005. Utan Sammanhang? En kontextualisering av bronsålderns klangstenar i Mellansverige. Unpubl. Cessay. Department of Archaeology and Ancient History. Uppsala University. (Online: http: //www.arkeologi.uu.se/ ark/education/CD/Cuppsats/Hultman.pdf) Hultman, Maja. 2007. Ljud i landskapet. Akustikarkeologi och öländska klangstenar. Unpubl. Master’s essay. Department of Archaeology and Ancient History. Uppsala University. (Online: http: //www.arkeologi.uu.se/ark/education/magister/ Magisteruppsatser/Hultman.pdf) Ling, Johan. 2008. Elevated rock art: towards a maritime understanding of Bronze Age rock art in northern Bohuslän, Sweden. Gotarc serie B. Gothenburg: Gothenburg archaeological thesis no 49. Lund, Cajsa. 1987. Fornnordiska klanger/The Sounds of Prehistoric Scandinavia. Stockholm: Musica Sveciae. Lund, Cajsa. 1994. Forntiden. In: Jonsson, L., et al. (eds). Musiken i Sverige 1. Från forntid till stormaktstidens slut 1720. Stockholm: Fischer, 21–38. Malmer, Mats, P. 1989. Bergkonstens mening och innehåll. In: Bertilsson, U., Lundberg, B. P. & Janson, S. (eds). Hällristningar och hällmålningar i Sverige. Stockholm: Forum, 9–28. Nordström, Patrik. 1999. Ristningarnas rytm. Om hällristningar och landskap – exemplet Boglösa. In: Nordström, P. &

Svedin, M. (ed.). Aktuell Arkeologi VII. Stockholm: Stockholm Archaeological Reports 36, 127–136. Nylén, Erik. 1968. Gotländska fornminnen. Särtryck från Svenska turistföreningens årsskrift 1966. Visby: Gotlandskonst. Ouzman, Sven. 2001. Seeing is deceiving: rock art and the nonvisual. World Archaeology 33 (II), 237–256. Rainbird, Paul. 2002. Making Sense of Petroglyphs: The Sound of Rock Art. In: David, B. & Wilson, M. (eds). Inscribed Landscapes: Marking and Making Place. Honolulu: University of Hawaiài Press, 93–103. Sandberg, Therese. 2001. Hågastenen och andra klangstenar – rituella ljudverktyg? CD-essay. Department of Archaeology and Ancient History. Uppsala University. Victor, Helena. 2002. Med graven som granne. Om bronsålderns kulthus. AUN 30.

Internet sources www.fmis.raa.se http: //www.fmis.raa.se/fmis/html/flashhelp/Kult,_offer_och_ folktro.htm#Offerkast (080828 – 7: 42 pm) www.ne.se http: //www.ne.se/jsp/search/article.jsp?i_art_id=172788&i_ word=fonolit (080827 – 5: 47 pm).

6 Rock Art as Social Format Per Cornell and Johan Ling

The prehistoric practice of creating rock art in the landscape had numerous dimensions. The interaction between the raw material and the image is key to understanding rock art. As soon as the practice of rock art production is articulated in the landscape, it creates its own imperatives for practice. Rock art production drew inspiration from the discourse of rock art production itself, while it also developed over time and was inspired and altered by contemporary social actions, social concepts and oral discourses. The location and framing of the art in the landscape is another important dimension discussed in this paper; and here the temporal changes in the landscape are of utmost importance. Rock art production consists of different images in different landscape settings. Some panels appear to illustrate more concrete social information, while others present a more suggestive message. These different socio-ritual and spatial articulations are implicitly manifested by the setting of the rock art in the landscape. We also argue for another dimension in rock art research: that it is urgent to highlight specific local or regional traits in the making and the readings of rock art. However, study at the regional level is not sufficient: it is also important to consider images operating at the level of generalised social practice, as a general text, which implies the movement of images between formats and between regions. Thus, this paper offers a more general discussion of images from other Bronze Age contexts in southern Scandinavia, but also rock art from a wider chronological, societal and geographical sphere with examples taken from northern Scandinavia and Italy. Key Words: Rock art, maritime-terrestrial spheres, format, Rock music, social depictions, social constellation, general text

Introduction Recent rock art research in northern Bohuslän demonstrates a clear maritime location of figurative rock art sites in the prehistoric landscape dominated by ship depictions (Ling 2008). Nevertheless the practice of making prehistoric rock art in the Bohuslän landscape probably had numerous dimensions and intentions. Some panels appear to illustrate more concrete social information, while others present a more suggestive ‘ritual’ expression. These different interpretative potentials are implicitly manifested by the location of the rock art in the landscape. This spatial variability allows us to discuss different social aspects on the making of the rock art in the landscape. What are the implications of these observations in terms of the social? What sort of theoretical framework will

help elucidate this material? In this paper we will relate these observations to a more general discussion about the nature of the rock art, including rock art from Bronze Age graves but also examples from a wider chronological and geographical sphere, namely rock art in Northern Scandinavia and Italy. Some scholars claim that rock art was a substitute or complement to oral narratives or oral transmission. However, in this paper we will argue that rock art was a powerful and productive social medium in itself and cannot be reduced to a mere reflection of the oral. We argue that rock art was a particular format for communication and that the rock art format generated, in some circumstances, affects an oral discourse. Thus, the making of rock art establishes a particular format, a particular sphere of social action. Consequently

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Per Cornell and Johan Ling Figure 6.1. Lasse Bengtsson documenting the panel Solberga 50. This panel had a maritime location during the entire of the Bronze Age and was probably made from a boat or from the ice. Photo: Johan Ling.

rock art in itself, and its interaction between the raw material, the stone is of key significance. As soon as this format became articulated in the landscape it created its own imperative for practice, drawing most of its inspiration from its own discourse, even if it developed over time and became inspired and altered by contemporary social actions, social concepts and oral discourses. There were evident movements between pictorial spheres of discourse during the Scandinavian Bronze Age. In our approach to rock art, the social constellation in which it operates is of greatest importance. The concept of social constellation will help us to highlight differences, but also identify similarities between different social settings. Here, the particular interrelations between social elements are important. In the case of Bronze Age Bohuslän we see a particular interrelation between the practice of rock pecking, stone cairn construction, and house building, all articulated in their particular ways in the landscape. For instance, the rock art of Bohuslän never directly depicts houses, instead ships are depicted. From other archaeological evidence we know that there were certain buildings, which are not (re)presented in rock art. This may seem a trivial fact, but it is significant. The recurrence of certain motifs, notably the ship, is striking and we argue that this was not an arbitrary choice. The absence of the house is thus, probably, an important observation. In contrast domestic and

agricultural features seem to have dominated the ritual and burial praxis in Jutland and Scania. Moreover, in the Bronze Age of Bohuslän the majority of rock art ships were made on what was maritime land and here the human representations seem to be more or less proportional to the ship images; on higher ground, however, some of the human figures are abnormally large in relation to the ship images. What kind of social praxis could the placing of these images in the landscape reflect? What kind of social constellations might these images reflect? Before proceeding to this discussion, there are some essential conditions regarding rock art praxis in the landscape in Bohuslän that have to be accounted for.

Rock art in Bohuslän For most of the 20th century the rock art in Bohuslän was considered in light of agrarian ideology and action in the landscape. The dominant ship motif was taken to be a fetish for Indo-Germanic agrarian religion (Almgren 1927; Ohlmarks 1963; Kaliff 1997; Fredell 2003) rather than as a symbol of real or ritual maritime actions in the landscape. However, a new maritime framework has now started to be established and it has been stressed that about 60–70 percent, of the known figurative rock art sites – dominated by ship depictions in northern Bohuslän – were made at or adjacent to

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Figure 6.2 (above left). The distribution of rock art sites with ship depictions in the Tanum area. The Bronze Age shoreline runs here at about 15 m.a.s.l. Figure 6.3 (above right). The distribution of panels in the Tanum showing oversized humans located on higher ground (blue dots) and shore-connected panels that include most ship depictions. The Bronze Age shoreline runs here at about 15 m.a.s.l. Figure 6.4 (left). Map of the Tanum area in the Bronze Age showing red dots = figurative rock art sites; white dots = cup mark sites; triangles = settlement finds (carbon dates, ceramics, or other features) dated to the Bronze Age; small stars = indicative settlement sites from the Bronze Age. The Bronze Age shoreline runs here at approximately 16–15 m.a.s.l.

the shore (Ling 2008). Moreover, a large number of the ship depictions in northern Bohuslän were made on panels oriented towards the seascape (Figure 6.1). This observation is relevant for an understanding of the concepts and action behind the rock art. Thus the shore or coast seems to have been the major feature towards which the rock art was deliberately oriented, a relationship that is far more frequent and substantial than agricultural features or settlements. The sea was very present in this landscape and this

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affected the location and making of the numerous and varied configurations of ship depictions on the rocks and indicates a general social announcement or transition towards the maritime realm. In this context it seems that the places with maritime dominated images on the rocks may reflect different forms of maritime movements, actions, initiations, reflections, rules and norms. Moreover, the rock art seems to have been made in succession from higher ground down towards the sea during the Bronze Age (Figure 6.2), in keeping with the rock art in areas such as Tisselskog in Dalsland, western Norway and Simris in Scania (Althin 1945; Nordenborg Myhre 2004: 116; Ling 2008: 35). Another intriguing observation concerns the large depictions of human figures in the rock art rich areas in northern and central Bohuslän. The figures with human depictions tend to take more space on the panels on higher ground away from the sea, while panels dominated by ship images were made close to the Bronze Age shore (Figure 6.3). Furthermore, human depictions on lower ground, located closer to the sea, seem to have been more or less adjusted to the size of the ships. Another general rule is that non-figurative rock art sites, such as localities with cup marks, seem to be frequent on higher land, but not close to the shore (Figure 6.4). In a wider southern Scandinavian context, cup marks seem to have been located considerably closer to Bronze Age settlements than figurative motifs. Complex figurative rock art sites seem in general to have been deliberately located at some distance from settlements, usually 500–1000 m (Wahlgren 2002; Streiffert 2004; Ullén 2003; Ling 2004, 2006; Goldhahn 2006: 94–98). It is interesting that this spatial rule or pattern also seems to govern the Tanum area. The spatial relationship between the prehistoric settlement finds and the figurative and non-figurative rock art sites actually seem to be even more concrete and distinct than the examples mentioned above. Thus, some images seem to have been preferred over others. For instance, house structures or activities connected with mundane domestic life seem to have been more or less ignored in favour of various spatial and social configurations connected with the maritime realm. We will now try to integrate these observations in a more general discussion about the nature of rock art, including rock art from Bronze Age graves, but also from a wider chronological and geographical sphere. As many scholars have stressed, the general structure and performance of rock art in the landscape differs from the depictions in graves. The former was made with an emphasis on motion, action, variety and innovation, as is evident from the images as such – as

well as from their positioning and repositioning on the panels. In context, we will argue that rock art is a particular format for communication and the images in the landscape articulate different dimensions, movements, layers.

Rock art as format The archaeological evidence from Bronze Age Bohuslän cannot be reduced to one simple model. It cannot be taken for granted that all social elements fit easily within a common framework. Rather, the articulation between elements must be studied and only after such a study may we ascertain whether or not they were conjoined and, if so, to what extent and in what ways. Consequently, it is important to get at particular social practice. For instance, rock art as practice in Bronze Age Bohuslän is not the same as the tradition of house building or the burial practice. Thus, the making of rock art establishes a particular format, a particular sphere of social action, which cannot be reduced to ‘cosmology’, ‘oral tradition’ or a general ideology. In itself, the interaction with the raw material, the stone, is of key significance (see Lødøen this volume). For instance, an average ship depiction takes about 10 to 12 hours to produce (Ling 2008: 165ff ). Thus the technological and material prerequisites for the making of the images imply the existence of certain skills and knowledge about the nature of the rock, such as its composition, hardness, reaction and reflection. Moreover, the highly elaborate images call for ‘aesthetic’ knowledge and insight regarding perspectives, conduct, space, form, composition and content (e.g. Bengtsson 2004: 101pp.; Coles 2005: 9pp.). And, of greatest importance, the surface cut in stone was hard to alter and could remain relatively stable over centuries. Rock art can be conceived as a particular format of communication, which is affected by other formats, but also have a direct effect on other formats of communication. The surface cut in stone could well have been the point of departure for a communication, not only a passive result of verbal communication. The concept of the format has been elaborated with inspiration from the French philosopher Jacques Derrida. In Derrida’s work, discourse is a sphere of communication which strives to be closed in itself, with particular set ways of doing and ‘writing’ (a particular ‘culture’ so to speak), while general text has no such boundary; text is open and includes any sort of communication (not only traditional written text, but also oral communication, images and social things, e.g. Derrida 1967, 1982). There is always a threat that any particular discourse will be dissolved in the general text. Within any

Rock Art as Social Format discourse (and, thus, of course, also as part of a general text), we can conceive various formats, whose combination is particular to different settings. In discussing the particular materiality of different spheres of communication, Derrida points at the impossibility of a ‘full’ translation from one format to another. Derrida takes as an example the translation of a word; the sound will not be incorporated in the translation, it will be replaced. Thus, Derrida writes, ‘Materiality is precisely that which translation relinquishes. To relinquish materiality: such is the driving force of translation’ (Derrida 1978b: 264). The rock art format is not easily ‘translated’ to other formats, not at the time they were produced, and it has become no easier with the passing of time. In order to give rock art a ‘place’ in our Bronze Age, it is important to highlight its format and its particularities. Derrida also speaks of the subjectile, a word he borrowed from the French poet and artist Antonin Artaud (Derrida & Thévenin 1986). This ‘subjectile’ is the active resistance or collaboration exhibited by the support, the ground, on which the work is done. Stone is a particular type of support, and its qualities vary. The stone in Bohuslän was, evidently, a suitable subjectile. When we try to translate rock art, the materiality of stone is largely lost, but we must try and give it some place in our expositions. To illustrate the role of the format, an example can be drawn from rock music. Rock music has its own particular roots and has received inspiration from several fields. But during the 1950s and the 1960s it created its own format. Thus rock music cannot be explained or reduced to the result of an oral tradition, because as soon as this format was created it took on its own format and took much of its inspiration from itself. The same could be argued for rock art. As soon as this format became articulated it created its own practice and drew much of its inspiration from itself, even if it developed over time and was altered by contemporary social actions, social concepts and oral discourses. The praxis of pecking ship images in the rock became a tradition: in the beginning of the Bronze Age it was more restrictive and sparse but developed into a creative pictorial revolution. This is very similar to the development of rock music from the 50s to the late 60s. Compare for instance the development of Bill Haley’s rather conventional ‘Rock Around the Clock’ with Jimi Hendrix’s daring re-interpretation of ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ (Tyrrell, Stanley & Grove 2001). Just as rock music generated a format and an active force and an oral discourse of its own, prehistoric rock art practice may also be seen an active force in itself. The rock art format, like rock music, will also have generated effects on the existing oral discourse; there

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Figure 6.5. A tentative model of fields of inspiration for the making of rock art.

may have been certain ‘movements’ from one format to another. Derrida speaks here of ‘ghosts’, who may appear unexpectedly. Materials from faraway places, times or ‘contexts’ (over a wide general text), may have unexpected effects on us (Derrida 1978a, 1993). To take another example: the most interesting aspect of the famous cave art in France and Spain is that it has generated a wide series of oral, written and pictorial comments in the modern world (Raphael 1945: 17). Similarly, the rock art of Bohuslän still communicates with and affects us. There was of course an oral discourse regarding the production and consumption of rock art. However, rock art should not simply be regarded as a sub-product of oral discourse. Oral discourse may have been one important source of inspiration; but there are more sources of inspiration that need to be included such as materiality, visual experience and social action (Figure 6.5). We envision a risk in reducing rock art to a mere reflection of the oral. Rock art, materialised images in the rock, persistent and stable, has unquestionably functioned far more as a source and producer of social information than the ‘oral’ model suggests. Rock art was a powerful and productive social medium in itself and cannot be reduced to a mere reflection of the oral. In many oral societies the transmission of information, knowledge and ideology is, in fact, often of material or gestural nature rather than simply oral (Ong 1982; Bloch 1998; Aijmer 2001). For instance, the anthropologist Göran Aijmer acknowledges that many anthropologists have encountered difficulties in obtaining concrete linguistic information about symbolic and ritual praxis (Aijmer 2001: 76). In a

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similar vein, Maurice Bloch argues that most of the information anthropologists study is non-linguistic and that ‘the knowledge organised for efficiency in day-to-day practice is not only non-linguistic, but also not language-like in that it does not take an essential logical form’ (Bloch 1998: 11). Just as many anthropologists have pictured ritual knowledge, rock art may, in a sense, also be regarded as a transmitter of social knowledge that everyone knew but few could utter; deliberately composed by humans and removed from everyday life, produced and performed ‘beyond linguistic thinking and reasoning’ (Aijmer 2001: 69; Goldhahn 2007: 107). There is in fact no ethnographic evidence of oral activity taking place at rock art sites, among the examples from all around the world. Rather, certain norms and taboos seem to have prevailed against uttering general oral statements by rock art sites. (Lewis-Williams 2002; Goldhanh 2007: 108; see also Lahelma this volume). Thus, in terms of Bronze Age rock art, this format may have had powerful effects, far beyond being a mere illustration of given oral statements. There are evident movements (‘ghosts moving’) between pictorial spheres of discourse during the Scandinavian Bronze Age however. For instance, some images deposited in graves, and some images on bronze items found in graves, have a correspondence with rock art (Kaul 1998; Goldhahn 2007). In some periods, such as in the Late Bronze Age, the movements (‘ghosts moving’) between pictorial spheres of discourse seem to have been more intense than in others (Figure 6.6). However, the aesthetic similarity between the depictions on rocks, graves and bronze items is accompanied by clear differences in how they were produced, perceived and consumed and many

Figure 6.6. Model of pictorial movements (flying ghosts) between rock art and other formats during the Bronze Age.

scholars have stressed that the general structure and performance of rock art in the landscape accordingly differs from the depictions in graves and on bronze items (Nordbladh 1980; Kaliff 1997; Goldhahn 2007). The former was made with an emphasis on numbers, motion, action, variety and innovation, and the latter of restrictive, normative images with less action. Furthermore, the panels in the landscape have a fixed location, whereas bronze items were portable; thus they belong to different spheres of communication (Goldhahn 2007; Ling 2008). However, even bronze items with ship renderings have ended up in closed, inaccessible contexts, such as graves or hoards, which give them the same inaccessible structure as burial mounds. Here yet another concept from Derrida may help us. The parergon is the frame or general background, of a particular depiction. The topography, the general placement, and the general social landscape are always an important part of any rock art site. Now, the parergon of rock art sites differ considerably from e.g. burial sites, strengthening the social difference between formats.

The social dimension of rock art images We have now argued that rock art is a particular format for communication and we will now try to integrate the rock art format in the landscape of Bohuslän of prehistoric times. However, we will also include observations made about rock art from other contexts, notably graves, and from rock art sites from a wider chronological and geographical sphere. In the following we will argue that the images in the landscape articulate different social dimensions. The rock art panels seem to have been articulated in various ways with reference to praxis in the landscape (cf. Bradley 2000; Sognnes 2001; Helskog 2004). Some panels appear to illustrate more concrete social information, while others present a more suggestive message. In light of this fact, we will try to discuss and relate rock art to three broad social spheres: 1) depictions of social environments and actions, 2) depictions of social positions and 3) depictions of ‘iconic’ features or elements. In general terms, all these dimensions occur on any panel. There are some motifs that seem to have attracted particular attention, in the Tanum area in Bohuslän for instance, notably the ship. This ship has in all probability a connection to an ongoing maritime praxis of great importance in the social setting of the region. It is, in this sense, a depiction of significant social practice in a particular environment. At the same time, the ship may have had certain significance in terms of social status, and perhaps even political

Rock Art as Social Format

Figure 6.7 (above). The panel Tanum 311 dominated by ship depictions and located at the water’s edge during the Bronze Age may serve and an example of depictions of social environments and actions (after Ling 2008). Figures 6.8a (below) and 6.8b (right). The depicted house or hut from the ‘terrestrial’ Valcamonica valley may also serve and an example of depictions of social environments and actions. Photo: Underslös museum.

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influence; certain groups or individuals may thus have had an interest in ‘showing off ’, for example by making large ship depictions. However, the ship must also have been an icon, an important sign, strongly charged, even if its value could not be ‘oralised’. There are, of course, highly relevant interfaces and interactions between these dimensions that should be noted. However, some panels seem to have been dominated by depictions mainly oriented at only one of these dimensions. The setting, or rather the parergon of an entire panel, and its structure and content, at times make up an ensemble. For instance, panels immediately connected with the shore and dominated by ship depictions, or panels on higher terrestrial ground dominated by human figures or plough scenes have a significant orientation to the first dimension, the more socio-realistic approach of depicting ideals and actions connected to landscape or seascape.

1. Depictions of social environments and actions This dimension or level may be regarded as a sociorealistic and operational way of illustrating beings, objects, features or actions associated with social reality or specific social environments. This dimension will never provide a ‘true’ image, but will instead offer a shrewd depiction, which comes from the social and has effects on the social. Images strongly loaded with this dimension may be related to practices or activities

connected to certain places in the landscape. It could be a panel connected with the shore, dominated by ship images facing the Bronze Age seascape. It could also be a panel placed on higher ground, adjacent to settlements or arable land, dominated by human figures, plough scenes, or cup marks (Figure 6.7). The following tentative traits govern these compositions or images in the landscape: • • •

Connects or reflects social environments or actions in the landscape. High motion and activity. Continuous chronological action on the panels initiated during certain period but often revitalised during a later phase (synchronic).

The general maritime situation and content of the Bronze Age rock art in the coastal area of Bohuslän, could be related to this order, implicitly announcing different forms of maritime action and their associated ideals in the landscape. To make the argument somewhat more concrete, we could mention two other examples. In the Val Camonica valley in the Italian Alps, we find depictions of wooden ‘huts’, most probably the representation of wooden Alp granaries connected to the terrestrial Alpine landscape (Figure 6.8). Another example is the depictions of reindeers at the Alta fjord in northernmost Norway, reflecting the social relation of the reindeer in this area. During the spring season the reindeers came to this area in

Figure 6.9. Depictions of reindeer from the Alta fjord, Norway, yet another an example of depictions of social environments and actions. Photo: Underslös museum.

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Figure 6.10. Rock art from the panel Skee 1539, northern Bohuslän an example of depictions of social positions (documentation: Broström & Ihrestam, Vitlycke Museum Archive (VM)).

their ten of thousands (Figure 6.9). Another example, may be the depictions of whales at the panels at Vyg in Russia, made on the former shores of the White Sea. The whales enter this bay at certain seasons for mating (Gjerde 2008). Thus, this dimension is closely related to specific social landscapes or seascapes.

2. Depictions of certain social positions or social rhetorics This dimension involves explicit, intended narrations and rhetorics displayed and staged by spectacular social positions and performances, processes, acts and operations, between humans as well as non-human beings. This dimension holds more active social features and social values and some of the oral aspects of rock art may be more intensively connected to this order. In a sense, the images in this dimension could have had certain political aims and the act of depicting these features was thus an active social operation, not a passive religious declaration, or a simple illustration of nature (e.g. Raphael 1945: 17). Implicit or explicit representations of conflict, power and mobility are related to this dimension. The most important trait here in the rock art material is anthropomorphic depictions of certain articulated social positions and corporal performance; antagonistic

or sexual positions of staged, theatrical natures, actions and bodily performances, such as combat scenes, acrobats, intercourse, heterosexuality, homosexuality and intercourse with animals. The staged scenes with warriors displaying different positions of social power or social rhetorics on the rocks in Bohuslän and certain maritime positions and performances, such as ships with kneeling crew with paddles, directed by one or two larger standing warriors, may be related to this dimension (Figure 6.10). The warriors depicted in the Val Camonica valley may also exemplify this dimension. Moreover, the charged sexual scenes on the rocks relating to different beings may also be related to this socially charged dimension. In the North Scandinavian sphere we find even more clearly depicted narratives and sequences related to hunting that could be related to this dimension. Intriguingly enough, there are clearer narrations in this material, with regard to time/space order, than we see in the rock art from South Scandinavia or the Mediterranean. The following tentative traits govern these compositions or images in the landscape of Bohuslän: •

Vantage locations in the landscape, adjacent to maritime or terrestrial passageways.

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Figure 6.11. Rock art site from Bro parish, Bro 703, showing two highly stylised ship depictions surrounded by deeply pecked circular images. This panel may serve as an illustration of the dimension ‘depictions of iconic features and elements’ (documentation by VM).

• • •

Relation to or reflection of certain social or ritual positions. Regular time specific depictions on the panels (diachronic). High socio-rhetoric expression and narration.

3. Depictions of ‘iconic’ features or elements This dimension of depiction differs from the others in several ways. In this context, we would like to mention Göran Aijmers discussion of the iconic order in his studies of social symbolism. He makes it clear that these concepts have nothing to do with linguistically oriented concepts of symbolism, such as index, icon and indeed symbol (Aijmer 2001: 70). According to Aijmer, the iconic order contains messages or constructions that mainly appear and operate under social categories such as art, music, ritual or religion. This domain of symbolism is exterior to language and combines strong expression with little descriptive information (Aijmer 2001: 69). Thus the images of the iconic order are charged with messages that are suggestive and dramatic rather than concrete linguistic information and narratives. At some point Aijmer speaks of the ‘iconic order’ as a sort of staged theatre. This example illustrates how more stylistic, restrictive normative depictions of rock art may appear. The ‘iconic’ depictions are more suggestive and stylistic than the more concrete sociorhetoric or socio-realistic ones in the landscape; they involve more articulated ‘ritual’ features, positions, combinations and designs.

A key feature in this context is the rock art from graves. They tend to be performed in a more stylistic, restrictive normative and abstract manner than the ones made in an open air location. The structured arrangement of the slabs and their closed context indicate that these images played a part in a more purposeful ‘esoteric’ narration than the images in the open landscape (Goldhahn 2007). The greatest difference is that the individual images from grave context and their spatial arrangement, are considerably more static than those made in the landscape. Iconic images also appear on other types of material (subjectiles), e,g. on bronze items. However, as mentioned above, the aesthetic similarity between the ship depictions on rocks, graves and bronze items is accompanied by clear differences in how they were produced, perceived and consumed in the landscape. Due to the way in which bronze items were produced and consumed, they may well have been restricted to more confined and controlled social actions since they are portable and most of them have been found in status graves. The following tentative traits govern these compositions, designs or images in the landscape or in graves (Figure 6.11): • • •

Suggestive and dramatic expression. Successive ritual motion. Discontinuous chronological action on the panels (diachronic).

Examples of images or compositions depicting ‘iconic’ features or elements are:

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Figure 6.12. Depictions of iconic features and elements’. The slabs with rock art from the Kivik grave (documentation by Harald Faith-Ell 1942, after Goldhahn 2005).

•

•

•

Stylized ship images, zigzag designs, concentric circles, foot soles ‘celestial’ related images and patterns, sun and/or wheel crosses, sun horses or bird-like patterns, combinations of certain images and patterns similar to those on bronze items or in graves. Successions or scenes of specific anthropomorphised images or beings with bodily anomalies such as a beaked face, wings or enlarged hands or feet. Animals in a specific position, antithetical or with specific gear: bulls, horses, aquatic birds, deer.

Regarding the open air rock art of Bohuslän, only a few panels seem to have been dominated by these features, these images seems rather to enforce or invoke compositions of social landscapes or social positions. In terms of rock art from graves, the most concrete examples of this dimension are the images on the slabs from Rogaland (Nordenborg Myhre 2004; Syvertsen 2005), but the images and designs from the slabs from the Kivik (Figure 6.12) and Sagaholm also relate to this dimension (Goldhahn 2007).

Rock art, social constellation, and general text It is evident that society in the area of Tanum was quite different from that of, say, Jutland during the early Bronze Age (Ling 2008). While there were similarities in many fields, the social constellations were different. Similarly, areas rich in rock art, such as Tanum in Bohuslän, or the Himmelstalund area in Östergötland, cannot a priori be taken as one and the same. Not only is there variation in the rock art itself, but also, and above all, in their position in a given social context. In our approach to rock art, the social constellation in which it operates is of greatest importance. The limits to such a constellation vary over time, and must be established for each specific case. Comparing social constellations would be a difficult but interesting task. It would highlight both similarities and differences in the ‘Bronze Age’ of Southern Scandinavia. The concept of social constellation will help us to highlight differences, but also identify similarities, between different social settings. While extreme versions of network theory tried to downplay the role of geographical space, and of the concept of place, we insist on the relevance of geography. People living and acting in a landscape articulate particular ways of disregarding, negotiating or opposing other people living in the same vicinity. Over time, such interactions

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will give a particularity to that social setting – this particular social constellation. We have borrowed the term from Alain Badiou (cf. Cornell 2007), but we use it in an unorthodox way. Here the particular interrelations between social elements are important. In Northern Europe during the Bronze Age, several social practices and types of images occurred over wide areas. Importantly however, they often have particular combinations and articulate in distinct ways. They may also integrate other elements – less frequent outside a given constellation. In the case of Bronze Age Bohuslän we see a particular interrelation between the practice of rock pecking, stone cairn construction and house building, all articulated in their particular ways in the landscape. For instance, the rock art of Bohuslän never directly depicts houses, instead they depict ships. From other archaeological evidence we know that there existed certain buildings, that are not (re)presented in rock art. This may sound like a trivial fact, but it is of significance. The recurrence of certain motifs (notably the ship) is striking. It is not an arbitrary choice of motifs. The absence of the house is thus an important observation. Moreover, the majority of rock art ships were made on what was maritime land and here the human representations seem to be more or less proportional to the ship images, whereas on higher ground some of the human figures are abnormally large in relation to the ship images. Perhaps these images illustrate social practice such as differential distribution of different kinds of collectives over the landscape. In the lower maritime land perhaps collective maritime aggregations and interactions, imaged by the ‘collective’ ship depictions, and on the higher ground other types of social forms, in which individuals had another role, imaged by abnormally large humans in relation to the ships. How these related to each other is difficult to say. Maybe, the crews consisted of smaller groups, in which certain individuals played a special role. We may speculate. Some of the heavy maritime labours transport and trade, deep-water fishing, boat-building and warfare, burials, ceremonies and aggregations must have been dependent on many small social units. In that sense, the boat may have been regarded as a collective emancipator and unifying feature but also as a demanding and alienating feature. Thus, there may have been certain dynamics, expectations and conflicts between the individuals and groups positioned in or transferring between the terrestrial and maritime spheres and these dynamics may have included certain social conceptions and actions about gender, groups or individuals. Here it is relevant to stress the absence of houses or house imagery in the

rock art. Rather than being just a coincidence, this could possibly reflect the two spheres’ different social actions and concepts. The large number of ship depictions at various points in the landscape may, in itself, have served to enhance the importance of the maritime sphere, just as the house depictions at Val Camonica enhanced other factors, or the depictions of reindeer in North Scandinavia yet others. In a sense, rock art could have had certain ‘political’ aims and dimensions. As discussed above, rock art is not a mere depiction of a social world, nor a mere religious declaration, but also a vehicle for projections and conceptions arising from tensions in the real social world. Thus the rock art in Bohuslän could have served to accentuate the maritime social world and even, to some extent, make it more dominant. This could have been one reason why it is ship images that were depicted most frequently in the landscape, even on higher ground away from the sea together with other valued rock art images. Different forms of maritime action, such as deepwater fishing, transport and trade, boat-building and warfare, burials, ceremonies and aggregations at sea, required a great deal of labour and may have generated more intensive social relations. This may have led to an increase in ‘symbolic production’, in this case the production of rock art, both as an outcome of more intensive social relations and as an articulation of forthcoming actions and events. Hence, people’s spiritual ties with the maritime realm may have become stronger as an effect of the intensive social relations at sea (Godelier 1975: 122). Articulating and manifesting these transitions at different locations in the landscape may have been important. The rock art in Bohuslän may be regarded as an outcome of a symbolic labour whose purpose was to articulate certain social and ritual transitions and positions in the landscape. However, this medium or action neither aimed at, nor was capable of, altering social formations in any deeper way. It rather seems to have been the case that rock art reproduced certain norms of social relations. In the rock art medium, social relations were worked up and experienced in a fantastic shape and this materialised ideology was confined to only some social values and relations. The rock art was both present and concealed by the way it was performed and this arbitrary condition may reveal alienated social relations that in a way restored society’s prevailing norms. The rock art was most certainly produced for special purposes and may broadly be seen as a materialized social or ritual medium, made before, in connection with or after certain actions, manifestations or events in the landscape. Thus rock art’s general maritime location and content could indicate that the underlying general

Rock Art as Social Format forces and relations of production may have been oriented towards a maritime realm. It also seems that certain areas were favoured for the making of rock art in specific periods. Could this be an indication that different areas were used at different times for larger maritime meetings, aggregations, transitions and rituals? Within a given constellation (‘a given society’), there were most likely separate fields or spheres, with, to some extent, different social orders. For Bronze Age Bohuslän, it can be argued (Ling 2008) that maritime activities played a major role. It seems, further, that much of the rock art was articulated to this sphere. Rock art could even have served to accentuate the maritime world, and even, to some extent, to make it dominant. Tentatively, the sphere of the house and its land-oriented activities was another sphere, partially a different social order, with less articulation to picture-rich rock art in the maritime zones in Scandinavia. In this context it is interesting to consider the traditional ‘agricultural areas’, such as Jutland, Scania, Västergötland and southern Halland, that have less figurative rock art in the landscape but more bronze hoards, barrows and complex house structures; this could have been an outcome of another social constellation, a more stable agrarian economy that was predictable and controllable in a different way (Kristiansen 2006; Artursson & Björk 2007). The different actions connected to constructing, erecting and depicting different monuments and images, between these ‘agricultural’ and ‘maritime’ regions suggests that there were variations in praxis and concepts in terms of social action, rituals and social funerals; the ‘maritime’ location of the cairns and rock art versus the ‘terrestrial’ location of the earthen barrows and bronze items is an example. Here, if we are allowed to speculate a bit more, these differences may have important implications. Burying the dead in the agrarian landscape, in earthen burrows, may be an important statement, as discussed by Kristian Kristiansen. But, in the same way, burying the dead overlooking the sea, at times even on small islands along shore, inside stone cairns, is an altogether different statement. The agrarian connection may point to a connection between the land and the ancestor; the maritime cairn indicates a relationship between the dead, the stone and the sea. Certain elements and practices seem to have been common to the whole of Southern Scandinavia, a sort of general text from which ideas and practice came to be articulated and performed with different material, monumental or figurative content and structure. In a sense, the ship depictions both from the southern and northern Scandinavia may be seen as a general

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text. Here it is interesting to point out that the ship depictions from the north were made earlier, but also contemporary with the southern ones, which suggest that the rock art as format was first articulated in the north (Helskog 1999; Bradley 2000). This format seems to have been transmitted to southern Scandinavia during the Early Bronze Age where it evidently developed in a quite different way (Helskog 1999, 2004). Still, the format and the action of pecking images in the rocks could be seen as a sort of general text during the Bronze Age in the entire of Scandinavia. Speaking of general text, the rock art from the terrestrial landscape of Val Camonica, that mostly depict specific houses, also has depictions of Bronze Age and Early Iron Age warriors that, in relation to the material from Bohuslän, could in a sense be regarded as a kind of general text. In keeping with scholars such as Gröhn (2004), Nordenborg Myhre (2004), Skoglund (2005), Artursson & Björk (2007), Bergenbrant (2007), Goldhahn (2007) and Widholm (2007), it seems important to highlight specific local or regional traits from the Bronze Age. The differences, nuances and articulations between regions are as interesting as their shared traits. Furthermore, following Derrida, the general text has no limit and cannot be described as such. The general text is only there, for us to see, in its particular articulation in a specific format and in a specific social constellation. It seems that Bohuslän, just like several other regions, does not comply with the traditional Bronze Age societal matrices and the prevailing idea of Bohuslän as either an agricultural or a pastoral production area in relation to the ‘agrarian accumulation areas’. The sparse evidence is more indicative of a more complex pattern of utilisation and social praxis that could have depended on a mixture of maritime, agrarian and pastoral labours. However, the general location and content of the Bronze Age remains from Bohuslän do slightly favour a maritime realm that seems to have included both socio-ritual and social-economic matters of production and consumption. We suggest that, in general, rock art in Bohuslän could reflect traces of seasonal maritime transitions and aggregations in the landscape. These transitions may have occurred in connection with heavy maritime labour, resulting in more intensive social relations, and during this phase the symbolic production of rock art may have increased. The rock art could be regarded as an outcome of a symbolic labour whose action and purpose aimed to articulate social and ritual transitions and positions in the landscape. Consequently, the rock art in northern Bohuslän might be interpreted as traces of a ‘social geography’ in which third space activities arose (Hood 1994; Helskog 1999; Ling 2005, e.g. Bhabha

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1994; Cornell 2007); a maritime space (for different social, economic and ritual interactions)transactions and initiations.

Acknowledgements We would like to take the opportunity and thank Göran Aijmer for interesting suggestions and ideas on rock art studies. Aijmer discusses three orders – realist, iconic and discursive – that could be employed in the study of social symbolism. It should thus be noted that we have been inspired by Aijmer’s concepts. But, at the same time, we do not try to apply his general ideas directly on the material. He is certainly not responsible for our use of his argument…

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Raphael, Max. 1945. Prehistoric Cave Paintings. New York: Pantheon Books. van Reybrouck, David. 2000. From primitives to primates. A history of ethnographic and primatological analogies in the study of prehistory. Leiden: Univeristy of Leiden. Selinge, Klas. Göran. 1989. Västergötland. Hällristningar och hällmålningar i Sverige. In: Janson, S., Lundberg, E. B. & Bertilsson, U. (eds.). Stockholm: Forum, 131–146. Skoglund, Peter. 2005. Vardagens landskap – lokala perspektiv på bronsåldens materiella kultur. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International. Sognnes, Kalle. 2001. Prehistoric imagery and landscapes. Rock art in Stjørdal, Trøndelag, Norway. Oxford: BAR International Series 998. Syvertsen, Kate. 2005. Rogalands ristninger i graver som transformerende og stabiliserende faktorer i tilværelsen. In: Goldhahn, J. (ed). Mellan sten och järn. Rapport från det 9: e nordiska bronsålderssymposiet, Göteborg 2003–10–09/12. Göteborg: GOTARC Serie C. Arkeologiska Skrifter 59, 503–520. Tilley, Christopher. 1991. Material culture and text. The art of ambiguity. London: Routledge. Vogt, David. 2006. Helleristninger i Østfold og Bohuslän. En analyse av det økonomiske og politiske landskap. Oslo: Varia 50. Wahlgren, Katty, H. 2002. Bilder av betydelse. Hällristningar och bronsålderslandskap i nordöstra Östergötland. Stockholm: Stockholm Studies in Archaeology 23. Widholm, Dag. (ed.) 2007. Stone ships. The sea and the heavenly journey. Kalmar: Kalmar Studies in Archaeology 3. Wrigglesworth, Melanie. 2002. Ristninger og graver i landskapet. In: Goldhahn, J. (ed). Bilder av bronsålder – ett seminarium om förhistorisk kommunikation. Rapport från ett seminarium på Vitlycke Museum 19.e–22.e oktober 2000. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell international, 185–199.

7 Rock Art and the Meaning of Place: some phenomenological reflections Magnus Ljunge

This article focuses on the placing of rock art, and discusses how places with rock art communicated meaning in different ways. Using a phenomenologically inspired definition of the concept of intersubjectivity, the experience of rock art sites at Lofoten, northern Norway and Norrköping in south-east Sweden is discussed in order to show how the placing of rock art accentuated different meanings of both social, pragmatic, ritual and symbolic character. By comparing two sites in Norrköping, Karlsberget and Himmelstalund, it is argued that the meaning of places with rock art was in constant motion. Places were incorporated in social, ritual and cosmological landscapes through an interpretative process, a process that could be described as an interaction based on the ability to bodily inhabit these places. The placing of rock art reinforced and/or transformed the meaning of specific places and by recognising this we can initiate a discussion about the ambiguous nature of the rock art phenomena in both time and space. Keywords: Rock art and place, Phenomenological theory, intersubjectivity, Archaeology of place

Introduction One of the distinguishing qualities of rock art is its static nature. Being painted, carved or pecked onto panels or rocks, the images themselves are fixed points in the landscape. Their presence could be seen as a marker of prehistoric activity, a place with specific meaning in ancient times. The placing of rock art has often been a major focus of interest in archaeological landscape surveys, especially in recent years (Goldhahn 2006: 98–103). The prehistoric landscape forms the background or canvas on which archaeologists paint the actions and beliefs connected with the creation and experience of rock art. The notion of landscape has been the subject of critical discussion and evaluation by philosophers, archaeologists and geographers for decades, and could be regarded as a culturally specific way of seeing the world (Cosgrove 1984; Soya 1989; Tilley 1994, 2004a; Casey 1997; Barrett 1999). The definition of landscape varies greatly; one of its major characteristics is its flexibility and plasticity. According to my opinion the concept of landscape in archaeological

studies is sometimes used in a routine-like fashion as a description of a regional geographical context, composed of different units such as settlements, graves, rivers, forests and so forth. Landscape becomes a frame, or a boundary around a certain geographical and cultural context. Landscape is by this definition closely connected to an overview perspective as embodied by the map or a visual experience from a lookout point. It is quite remarkable how map projections influence our way of studying and presenting our interpretations of prehistory. The map is always present in archaeological studies, both on micro- and macro levels. The way we organise documentation of prehistoric remains and present archaeological research is in many ways related to contemporary cartography, especially in Scandinavian rock art studies (e.g. Rex Svensson 1982; Janson et al. 1989; Coles 1995; Heiman & Löfendahl 2000; Broström 2004; Skoglund 2006). The concept of landscape is the basis of archaeological surveys, which aims to understand prehistoric lifeworlds in a specific local environment, both implicit and

Rock Art and the Meaning of Place explicit. Landscape has been treated in very different ways in rock art studies during recent years and the notion that emerges is its heterogeneous character. Landscape is regarded both as a geographical context for the life-world of prehistoric populations, and as a socially constructed arena filled with expressions of cultural specific notions of the world. In this sense, landscape is sometimes physical and sometimes mental. Some general tendencies in landscape related rock art studies with focus on Scandinavia have been to interpret the placing of rock art as an expression for: •

•

•

•

A specific set of cosmological beliefs (Bradley 2000; Tilley 2004; Eriksen 2006; Bradley & Widholm 2007). A variety of social relations regarding age, gender and status where identities are created, confirmed and transformed (Mandt 2001; Olsrud 2001; Wahlgren 2002; Thedéen 2004). Specific activities of ritual, social and practical character (Nord Paulsson 2002; Goldhahn 2007; Ling 2008). Cultural influences, structures of power and social organisation in the Bronze Age society (Larsson 1997; Kristiansen 1998, 2002; Winter 2002; Vogt 2006).

The surveys noted above represent a selection of the multiplicity of studies in which the landscape location of rock art in northern Europe is discussed. These could of course be supplemented with numerous international studies, where rock art is related to the natural and cultural features of its surroundings and the different sets of notions of the world connected to this relationship (e.g. Deacon 1988, 2001; Ouzman 1998; Nash 2000; Chippendale & Nash 2004; Dematté 2004; Jones 2006). One common feature is the ambition to understand rock art in relation to landscape, which automatically creates definitions and limitations in the investigated material, limitations that probably had more or less relevance for the people who once inhabited these ‘landscapes’. Perhaps it is time to challenge the notion of landscape, especially when considering the location of rock art and the meaning of this location in time and space. The following investigation is an attempt, in which the inquiry is focused on the notion of place. Is it possible to regard the somewhat fluent concept of landscape as the sum total of the places it consists of? A mental map made by the people who inhabited different places and through their activities and beliefs signified them with meaning? By making the biographical and ontological quality of place the centre of interest, it

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may be possible to reach an understanding of the process where landscapes are charged with meaning. A meaning, which changes over time and derives from the interaction between people and the specific places they inhabit.

Phenomenology as a way of treating ‘subjective’ experience A way of addressing the process where places are made meaningful could be the adoption of a phenomenological perspective. Phenomenology has been theoretically and methodologically applied in archaeological research since the mid 1990s, and is chiefly associated with the works of Julian Thomas (1996, 1999) and Chris Tilley (1994, 1999, 2004a, 2004b; 2008; Tilley et al. 2000). Tilley especially has successfully contributed to the development of a phenomenological method in the study of prehistoric landscape, a method that emphasises the importance of movement through the landscape and focuses on relational conditions between different meaningful places in the interpretation of prehistoric contexts. In these investigations the experiences of the archaeologist are seen as a link to prehistoric meaning, in a general sense. Phenomenological landscape studies have been attacked on a theoretical level and accused of placing too much significance on the individual archaeologist’s subjective experience, and also for favouring visual aspects of the landscape (Sims 2001; Smith & Blundell 2004; Brück 2005; Hamilton & Whitehouse 2006; Johnson 2006). Unfortunately the climate of the debate has from time to time been characterised by a somewhat bantering tone and it is obvious that phenomenology has aroused strong feelings within the archaeological community. Personally there seems little provocation concerning phenomenology itself. Since the middle of the last century, phenomenological thought has influenced humanities and social sciences such as architecture, history of art, philosophy of religion, ethnogeography and sociology (see Norberg-Schulz 1980; Bengtsson 1988, 1999; Danto 1999). In this context, archaeological applications have appeared relatively late. A problem with parts of the criticism of archaeological phenomenology is its foundation in an unwillingness to accept phenomenology as a theory suitable for the study of prehistory. It is often the presupposed subjectivity that has been caught in the line of fire. One frequently adopted argument is the notion that the ideal of objectivity in positivist thought simply has been replaced by a similarly dogmatic subjectivity. I find this kind of criticism slightly unfocused, mostly because the discussion of subjectivity is more or less

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a non-subject. Since the breakthrough of post-modern thought in archaeology two decades ago, a somewhat prevalent consensus has been established that on an abstract level our interpretation of prehistory takes place within our present world filled with socially and culturally founded notions of the world. Critical discussions about the subjective dimensions of our understanding of prehistory tend to be rather fruitless in my opinion. Phenomenology should instead be regarded as a scientific tool, which in fact gives us an opportunity to discuss the meaning of ‘subjective’ experiences in the interpretation of the remains from prehistoric societies. This is not to propose that phenomenological studies carried out on archaeological contexts have been unproblematic. Surveys undertaken by the school of archaeologists mainly influenced by Tilley’s groundbreaking work A phenomenology landscape (1994), applies the perspective foremost as a methodology in landscape studies (e.g. Bender 1998; Bender & Winer 2001; Hamilton & Whitehouse 2006; Bender et al. 2007; König 2007). Having said this, in my opinion, the methodology represented by Tilley, and others, struggles with a gap between the presented theory and the methodology used in case studies. The aim of reconstructing prehistoric cognitive and symbolic meanings is not fulfilled by a phenomenological perspective that focuses upon bodily movement and spatial relationships. Instead, other theoretical frameworks such as iconography and the concept of metaphor are drafted in order to give the bodily experience a meaning which, to a higher degree, is connected to abstract notions of cognitive character (see Tilley 1999, 2004a: 147–215). Perhaps these objections could serve as a start for a modest reinvention of phenomenology in the study of rock art and it’s landscape location? During recent years, different types of archaeological data have been addressed by a number of innovative surveys of more or less outspoken phenomenological character (Fuglesvedt 1999, 2001; Nordström 1999; Goldhahn 2002; Hinnerson-Berglund 2004; Fredriksen 2005; Kyvik 2005). One common feature of these different kinds of studies is their aim to understand the meaning of the dialectics between certain places, objects, activities and/or experiences. The purpose of this article is to continue in line with these attempts, and to develop ideas about how social interactions with certain kinds of places communicated meaning.

Theory: intersubjectivity in the past and present The works of French philosopher Merleau-Ponty

is often associated with perception by ways of the body. His most influential work The Phenomenology of Perception (2002) examines our being in the world thoroughly, a being described as an incarnate subject into a social and historical world (Merleau-Ponty 1994). Movement is essential for this presence. It is the central part of our interaction with our surroundings, a process where meaning is created within a specific life world. Despite this, movement could not simply be regarded as a link between a set of positional relations within the context of a landscape (Casey 1998: 231; Merleau-Ponty 2002: 283–347). Instead, it should be treated as our potential ability to inhabit places. Merleau-Ponty’s notion of our being as a bodily subject appears to be simple at first glance, but during his investigations it becomes evident that the process in which our being becomes meaningful is complex and elusive. Perception is ambiguous. Contradictions and dualism drive the philosophy of Merleau-Ponty forward (Fredlund 1996). The being is both individual and social, at the same time specific and universal. But one constantly recurring theme is present in all his works: the importance of communication. MerleauPonty regards the process of communication as essential for the occurrence of any form of meaning. It is through communication we interact with our life world, which is social by definition. Understanding the fundamental basis of communication became Merleau-Ponty’s life-long project, a project initiated in his seminal work and then continuously developed during the rest of his work until his death in 1961 (1964, 1973a, 1973b, 1974, 1999). A phenomenological definition of intersubjectivity could serve as a theoretical starting point when aiming to understand the communicative process, which characterises our being. The concept of intersubjectivity becomes human interaction with places, objects, phenomena and other subjects and the meanings created in that process. Given this definition, intersubjectivity is basically a dialectic concept of spatial, social and historical nature (Matthews 2002: 51; Merleau-Ponty 2002: 403–425). This dialectics is active both in the past and present, but its preconditions and expressions changes over time. My suggestion is that this statement can serve as an inspiration when interpreting rock art contexts, both on a methodological and theoretical level. Applying phenomenology through a process of intersubjectivity could enable us to discuss alternative meanings for rock art. Meanings connected to the activities that created, invented and communicated cosmological beliefs. Perhaps one general aim for phenomenological interpretations of the past could consist of producing complementary results to the great number of surveys

Rock Art and the Meaning of Place focusing on rock art and landscape contexts. The latter often try to decode and/or reconstruct the cognitive or abstract meanings behind the cultural representations in the landscape (e.g. Goldhahn 1999; Bradley 2000, 2006; Fredell 2003; Tilley 2004; Eriksen 2006; Bradley & Widholm 2007).

Place vs. landscape Our relation and interaction with the surroundings we inhabit is bodily constituted by nature. This does not contradict our constructions of mental landscapes. The point is that our bodily interaction with places is the basic condition for our ability to connect places with cognitive notions in the creation of cosmographies. Places influence our notions of the world and vice versa. A dialectic process discussed by many scholars, for example Johanna Brück and Melissa Goodman (1999: 8) is: Relationships with landscape are often expressed and maintained through myths that invest particular places with significance; in this way, the natural world becomes both a source of metaphor for social relations and a physical manifestation of cosmological beliefs.

The German philosopher Edmund Husserl was one of the first to reflect on the relationship between body and place. He considered walking as the particular process where places are incorporated into a specific life-world. Walking accentuates a special position in a system of different meaningful places which all together define our life-world (Casey 1998: 225–228). Husserl continued to discuss the body from an existential perspective, as a being, central to the experience of the world (Kyvik 2005: 26). Bodily existence as the basic concept of our being was then further developed by Merleau-Ponty (1994, 2002), including the existential relation to space and the dualism nature/culture. Place becomes the natural arena for our perception and being in the world. We experience place through our inhabitation of time and space; accordingly an experience based on our physical being which is both social and historical by nature. Places form our life-world and the possibility of bodily interaction with them constitutes their meaning. Therefore it could be argued that the meaning of place is not defined by landscape, or submitted by positional relationships (Casey 1998: 233–238). Consequently notions of place derive from our bodily interaction and inhabitation of different places, and from that perspective landscape becomes an abstraction. Landscape do not possess the same quality of being experienced, since our presence is always in place alternatively between places. Concepts

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of landscape exist purely from our experience and knowledge of the places it consists of and our potential capacity of interacting with these places. As a term or basic concept, landscape could be considered problematic due to the fact that our cultural understanding of it is associated with either a cartographic overview or a visual lookout point (cf. Tilley 1994: 14–25). This matter remains despite the extensive efforts to pronounce the social and historical dimension of the relation between man and his environment. Landscape is created in that relation through different kinds of activities where a set of specific world-views and traditions makes places meaningful (e.g. Barrett 1994, 1999; Tilley 1994; Ingold 2002). Place will be the main focus of interest as we now turn our attention to the placing of rock art, and consider in what ways that placing could be regarded as meaningful.

Places of rock art Joakim Goldhahn points out the obvious in his contribution to this publication; the placing of rock art was meaningful. He continues to argue that many landscape-orientated studies tend to embrace this as a conclusion, when in fact it could be more fruitful as a starting point for exploring why and how that placing was important. One reason for the lack of attention given to the meaningful process of placing rock art could to some extent be related to the dominating interpretation of rock art as symbols for cognitive ideas. In recent years, the unfortunate dichotomy in viewing rock art either in terms of abstract symbols, for example expressing a cosmology, or as practice has been pointed out by a number of surveys. Traditional interpretations that treat the South Scandinavian rock art as a means to reconstruct prehistoric cosmologies and ideologies have been challenged. Johan Ling (2005, 2008) discusses rock art in Bohuslän as connected to various maritime practices and emphasises its importance in expressing social relations, while Goldhahn links all the expressions we regard as distinctive for the Bronze Age, such as metalwork, burial mounds and rock art, to the smith. Through the institutionalised practice of the smith, notions of the world were created and expressed (Goldhahn 2007). Other scholars have seen rock art as a manifestation of activities such as trade, sea voyages and influences from Mediterranean cultures (e.g. Winter 2002; Kristiansen 2002; Berntsson 2005; Ericsson 2005; Kristiansen & Larsson 2005; Sjögren 2005). The fact that rock art is associated to such a high degree with cognitive beliefs and religion has implicitly

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created a bias that tends to separate rock art from more practical activities, causing a division between sacred and profane in the Bronze Age world. The relevance of that division has recently been questioned by a number of scholars (e.g. Thomas 2004; Bradley 2005; Goldhahn 2007). Generally, archaeologists seldom investigate the more pragmatic perspectives on rock art perhaps in fear of reducing its meaning to something functional (see Mulvaney 1996). Unfortunately this leads to an exclusion of other meanings of rock art, which in turn results in a presentation of a simplified image of the phenomena. When exploring the great complexity of rock art, it could be fruitful to recognise the processes connected to the production and experience of rock art in order to discuss how cognitive notions were established and conveyed, rather then what those notions consisted of. Placing of rock art could perhaps serve as an interesting starting-point when discussing how meanings where expressed and transformed during the Bronze Age. Why were some places chosen for rock art, and what did these particular places mean in a long time perspective? In other words, I will attempt to show how places with rock art have biographies of their own. Initially I would like to discuss a somewhat atypical example of the placing of rock art in order to illustrate some basic features of how human interaction with place can be understood.

Norwegian cave paintings In the mid 1980s painted rock art was discovered in the Kollhellaren cave located at the western side of the point of Lofoten, Norway (Hauglid et al. 1991). The paintings consist of 30 images depicting mainly anthropomorphic figures, placed in the very back of the cave and in the entrance of two side passages half way in (Bjerck 1995a; Mandt & Lødøen 2005: 89–90). Cave paintings in northern Norway are uncommon in comparison to images in the open air, so far only a handful sites have been documented. Theses sites have been sparsely investigated, but are generally regarded as ritual arenas used by hunter-gatherer populations during the period between 2000–100 cal BC (Gjessing 1936; Bjerck 1995b). Gro Mandt and Trond Lødøen present a typical interpretation of hunter-gatherer cave art, namely its connection to initiation rites where the cave is regarded as an ambiguous zone in which passages between different stages took place. But why a cave? Mandt and Lødøen suggest that caves were seen as places near the underworld, places inhabited by spirits and supernatural beings. Caves acted as mediums to other

worlds (Mandt & Lødøen 2005: 94–95). The specific placing of rock art is not further investigated, and the questions relating to why the most inner parts of the cave were associated with the production of images, rites of passage and beliefs of spirits and connections to the underworld, are left unanswered. Could the answer lie in the ontological qualities of the cave itself? Caves are very peculiar places and they affect our presence in special ways, for example when we experience rock art. Human interaction with caves is characterised by a great deal of caution, due to a dangerous physical environment of narrow spaces, limited visibility, broken ground, special acoustics and the risk of falling rocks and stalagmites. Hein Bjerck (1995a) describes it as a non-place, a negation of places associated with ordinary life. In the case of the Norwegian cave paintings, one might suggest that the special nature of the place itself interacts with cognitive notions such as cosmology and ideology through human action in the creation of a place-specific meaning (Figures 7.1 and 7.2). Painting images in inaccessible parts of caves accentuates exclusiveness, which precludes large gatherings of people. It is reasonable to assume that knowledge of the rock art and activities associated with it were equally restricted as the cave and the images themselves are physically inaccessible. Simultaneously this place-specific meaning also derived from general mythologies explaining the sacredness of mountains and caves as links to the underworld. Rock art in the caves of northern Norway communicated meaning directly connected to its location through activities of ritual and social character which in turn were based on a specific set of culturally-founded notions of the world. Cave paintings became part of a life world and a landscape through that process. Worth noting with reference to the above, is that bodily perception is not merely visual (Tilley 2004: 154–157; Danto 1999: 184–205). Human interaction with places includes all senses, but those parts of perception associated with smelling, hearing and touching are seldom discussed by archaeologists (with some interesting exceptions such as Wahlgren 1998; Nordström 1999; Goldhahn 2002, 2005). Above, I have tried to illustrate how the placing of rock art could be regarded as a meaningful and important process, an interaction between humans and places built upon experience and perception within a specific cultural context; an intersubjective process by definition, in other words. In what follows I will try to explore how this intersubjective process could be used as an archaeological instrument to reach further understanding of how the placing of rock art mattered.

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Figure 7.1 (left). Entrance to Kollhellaren. Photo: Jan-Magne Gjerde and Figure 7.2 (right). Anthropomorphs in the cave. Photo: JanMagne Gjerde.

Archaeological pre-understanding and intersubjectivity I will argue that the meaning of places with rock art is the result of an interaction between human notions of the world and actions, and the specific settings of certain places. Hence this interaction is taking place within a social context; it could be regarded as an intersubjective process. Human action and perception is, as previously pointed out, founded in our being by ways of the body. It is a perception, which takes place in the present moment but is formed by an entire lived experience connected to specific collective and individual histories (Merleau-Ponty 1994: 160; Matthews 2002: 101–105). Interaction between humans and places is meaningful as a result of perception and the pre-understanding given by lived experience. Let us for a moment dwell upon pre-understanding as a condition for intersubjectivity. Pre-understanding or prejudice was the subject for lively discussions

during the introduction of post-modern archaeological theory in the 1980s (Shanks & Tilley 1987; Trigger 1993; Olsen 2003; Thomas 2004). Pre-understanding was then problemitised in a comprehensive perspective, where the archaeologist’s present social and cultural belonging were considered as a filter colouring the interpretation of prehistory. In this perspective, meaning appears in the meeting between present and past due to a set of unintentional social and cultural values. Reflections on unintentional pre-understanding have also been directed towards methodological issues, for example as a factor when excavating prehistoric remains (Hodder 2000; Lönn 2004; Diaz-Andreu 2005; Papaconstantinou 2006). Pre-understanding could also be treated as a practical tool, activated in situations of interpretation. The Australian archaeologist Bruno David has been inspired by the ideas of Hans-Georg Gadamer in a survey of rock art focused chiefly on NE Australia. His main interest

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starts with the general notion expressed in much of western archaeological and anthropological literature, suggesting that aboriginal culture is ancient and static (David 2002). By comparing ethnographical evidence of aboriginal mythology with the archaeological record, David argues that aboriginal culture and world views change over time. David uses the concept of pre-understanding both on a methodological and theoretical level. Methodologically, pre-understanding consists of the archaeological record and the surveys concerned with it. Chronological issues are discussed, as a means for exploring change in Aboriginal mythology (David 2002: 113–176). Theoretically, pre-understanding is treated as the process in which places are made meaningful and connected to notions of the world through social negotiations. In turn, those places of meaning are included in shaping collective and individual identities through ritual, taboos, production of rock art and so forth (David 2002: 205–213; also Myers 1986; Morphy 1991; Taçon 1994). Places are interpreted in a context, where action and notions of the world act together in the creation, transformation and reinvention of meaning through a dialectical process, both in the present and the past. An example from David is when contemporary Aboriginal groups encounter unknown prehistoric rock art; a process of interpretation is then initiated where individuals with great wisdom discuss the images, and its meaning in accordance with mythology. The meaning of different places is born from this reasoning and therefore a result of direct interaction with place from a specific set of culturally dependent world-views (David 2002: 210–231). In this sense, the meaning of place is never static, but flexible and ambiguous. Specific meanings connected with a certain place are formed by human interaction and at the same time influenced by the nature of that place itself. Place could remain meaningful in a more general sense for a very long time, even though the meaning itself and the human actions associated with it change continuously. One example of this are the Swedish bogs and wetlands, places that were meaningful from the Mesolithic Stone Age to historical times (Ljunge 2009). Places could be said to have biographies, sometimes stretching over very long periods of time. Biographies of places could be one methodological issue when addressing how meaning was expressed through the medium of rock art. Studies discussing the dating of rock art sites have been carried out based on typography, iconography, and discussions of shore displacement (Kaul 1998, 2003; Wahlgren 2002; Sognnes 2003; Ling 2008). These indicate that

South-Scandinavian Bronze Age rock art was a practice that lasted for more than 1000 years, starting in the transition between the late Neolithic and early Bronze Age and lasting into the Pre-Roman Iron Age. But perhaps the biography of rock art locations stretch both beyond and before the active production and consumption of the rock art itself, and the chronology and date of the rock art does not answer the question of how and why places were chosen or how their meaning changed over time. In this publication Per Nilsson argues that places of rock art could have continued to be meaningful even after the practise of making images had ended. When addressing these issues, archaeological pre-understanding could be regarded as the bases for our intersubjective experience of place. Archaeologists approach rock art sites with a very specific pre-understanding, composed of all the lived experience of studying prehistoric society as well as being part of a scientific community and driven by individual areas of interest, specific aims and preconditions. All these conditions dictate his or her relation to the source material that is being studied (cf. Merleau-Ponty 2002: 348–425). This pre-understanding is unique in many ways and its implications create a very special precondition for the interpretation of meaning, which could be regarded as a methodological process. Perception of places is directed by pre-understanding, but is not the result of it. Many archaeologists give witness to how visiting locations for the first time or results of excavations often fall short of their expectation. It is only by the experience of place that the abstract imaginations derived from pre-understanding become real (e.g. Ling 2008: 10–11). Perception interacts with pre-understanding in the creation of a general impression. Hitherto, the concept of intersubjectivity has been treated generally as a process where meaning is interpreted. A process active both in the present and past, containing bodily perception of place in accordance to a special pre-understanding which is the result of individual and collective actions within a social and cultural context. It is now time to return to the issues presented in the introduction of this article, namely why and how placing of rock art was meaningful. We turn our attention to the rock art area around the river Motala Ström and the city of Norrköping, Östergötland County.

Places of meanings The area around the city of Norrköping contains one of the largest concentrations of Bronze Age rock art in northern Europe. Scholars have been studying the

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Table 7.1. Number of images at rock art sites consisting of at least 5 figurative images in Östra Eneby parish (after Wahlgren 2002). The list shows the percentage of ship depictions at these sites. As evident, different places accentuated the meaning of the ship to a higher or lower degree. This could very well serve as one starting point for investigations of place-specific meanings.

Site (RAÄ no)

1, Himmelstalund 7 8 15 17 18 20 21 22 23, Ekenberg 24 25 27 28 29 31 33 39 41 44 45, Karlsberget 46 50 76 84 155

Number of figurated images

Number of ships

Percentage ships

1407 57 77 169 53 41 93 10 7 341 72 10 88 52 14 58 34 7 6 10 13 21 13 13 50 6

626 17 15 47 40 16 32 10 5 113 28 4 36 19 13 21 7 6 1 5 8 10 0 3 15 2

44% 30% 19% 29% 75% 39% 34% 100% 71% 33% 39% 40% 41% 37% 93% 36% 21% 86% 17% 50% 62% 48% 0% 23% 30% 33%

area since the middle of the 19th century, and pioneers, such as Bror Emil Hildebrand and Arthur Nordén made comprehensive documentations (Hildebrand 1869; Nordén 1925, 1936). The 1990s saw the start of a number of extensive efforts, which essentially increased the knowledge of the Bronze and early Iron Age in the area. A number of rescue excavations contributed to the picture of both patterns of settlement, especially during late Bronze Age to Pre-Roman Iron Age (BornaAhlkvist et al. 1998; Nilsson 2005a, 2005b; Ericsson & Nilsson 2007), as well as local burial- and ritual customs (Lundström 1970; Kaliff 1993, 1997; Stålbom 1994). This knowledge has also resulted in a number of dissertations, focused mainly on interpreting rock art and patterns of settlement (Borna-Ahlkvist 2002; Wahlgren 2002; Fredell 2003). All these efforts could be regarded as the basis for archaeological preunderstanding when interacting with places of rock art in the area.

Let us now discuss how different places around Norrköping and the river Motala Ström expressed meaning in different ways by using the method of intersubjectivity. Rock art in the area is part of the south Scandinavian tradition, with a general set of figurative motifs such as ships, anthropomorphic figures, animals, swords, axes, circle crosses, foot soles and so forth, all expressed within a local context. Ships are the dominant motif amongst the figured rock art (Wahlgren 2002: 118– 119). In other words, the rock art is part of a widespread tradition, with certain common features, beliefs and notions of the world, which have been previously well investigated and discussed (Almgren 1927; Kaul 1998; Goldhahn 1999; Bradley 2000, 2006; Skoglund 2005; Wold 2005; Bradley & Widholm 2007; Widholm 2007). Although experiences of places with rock art differ greatly, both in terms of the nature of place itself and the composition of motifs (Table 7.1). Could these differences not have been meaningful in some sense?

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Figure 7.3. Vein of quartz at Karlsberget showing traces of quarrying. Photo: Magnus Ljunge.

I will try to illustrate this by discussing two examples; firstly the site Karlsberget (RAÄ 45) located by the lake Glan, to the west of the inflow of Motala Ström. Karlsberget is a special place in many ways, it consists of a small islet smoothed flat by the inland ice and located in the lake approximately 50m from the shore. To the north, west and southwest it is surrounded by the lake Glan, and to the east a swampy area separates it from land. A small path has been built at some time, so the islet is now accessible by foot. A total number of 16 samples of rock art have been documented at Karlsberget, consisting of 3 cup marks, 4 abstract lines and 9 figurative images (Wahlgren 2002: 290). Eight of the figures depict images of ships. Some of the images are hard to find. After visiting the location several times in daylight I have only managed to detect 6 of the ships. All of these are placed in close relation to the water’s edge. Karlsberget is distinguished a great deal from other places with rock art in Norrköping. The rock is characteristically light greyish and shines in sunlight. Quartz deposits occur frequently, both in the form of veins and small elements. Some of the veins show traces of being quarried (Figure 7.3). Broken pieces of quartz are often found in relation to rock art, and quartz could also have been important in the production of bronze (Bengtsson 2004; Goldhahn 2007: 159–206).

Figure 7.4. Large cracks uncovered at low water (Karlsberget). Photo: Magnus Ljunge.

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Figure 7.5. Ship images at Karlsberget by the water edge. Photo: Magnus Ljunge.

Figure 7.6. Himmelstalund, the top of the ridge seen from south-east. Photo: Magnus Ljunge.

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The placing of images at Karlsberget is special. At present, all recognisable images are pecked in explicit relation to the water. The ships, which are orientated in line with the direction of the inland ice, give the impression of being in motion as if they were sailing from the sea up onto the rock and vice versa. An interesting observation is that the water level of lake Glan goes through seasonal variations. When visiting the location in springtime, the water sometimes reached all the way to the rock art washing waves over the ship depictions. In summer and early autumn the water level could be as much as one and a half-metres lower, uncovering large cracks in the rock (Figure 7.4). Compared to other places in the area, the experience of Karlsberget is unique. To my knowledge, only one other local rock (RAÄ 44) has the same distinct accentuation of the relationship between rock art and water. Intriguingly, this place is situated only 50 metres east of Karlsberget on the shore with a similar set and number of motifs dominated by ship depictions. The relation between water and these places of rock art has not been affected by land uplift, as in the case of coast related locations (cf. Ling 2005, 2008).

Karlsberget from a phenomenological point of view How could a phenomenological interaction based on intersubjectivity contribute to an understanding of the rock art at Karlsberget? Returning to the opening discussion, I argued that landscape should be considered as the sum total of its places. Accordingly Karlsberget is a place among other meaningful places within a local context of remains from the Bronze- and early Iron Age. As is evident from the description above, it is a place in many respects atypical. Today, the only traceable evidence of prehistoric activity is the rock art together with the small quarries of quartz. In some way, rock art created, reinforced or transformed the meaning of Karlsberget. These reflections could be regarded as the supposed pre-understanding brought into the physical interaction with the site. Karlsberget is characterised by its position between land and water. Rock art is situated on the northwestern side, which is sloping down towards the water. It is also a place located in close connection with the inflow of Motala Ström, in the Bronze Age likely to have been of prominent importance in several ways for the surrounding population (Wahlgren 2002; Ericsson 2005). In prehistory, the river was broken by rapids and waterfalls making it impossible to travel by boat all the way down to the Baltic Sea. The area around Karlsberget and RAÄ 44 could very well have functioned as a halt before entering the

open sea, or before sailing to the west by the system of lakes and rivers which reach all the way into Lake Vättern (Larsson 2004). This places the rock art in a transit zone where open sea meets the rapids of the river and also the land with settlements and other places of rock art. Interactions with the place, the orientation and choice of motifs (mainly ships) seem obvious (Figure 7.5). The maritime character of Karlsberget is accentuated by the rock art, and also of the special nature of the place itself, the colour of the rock that contrasts with the surroundings and the deposits of quartz running across the surface. Perhaps seasonal changes in the water level affected the accessibility of the islet; it is not unlikely that Karlsberget sometimes was an island and at other times reachable by foot. As a space, it is more or less restricted which makes large public gatherings impossible. The pecking of the images is shallow, indicating limited reuse as could have been the case at several other locales (cf. Wahlgren 2004). The figured images at Karlsberget communicate general notions of the world connected with certain cosmological beliefs and symbols common for the south Scandinavian Bronze Age tradition. However the placing of rock art at Karlsberget was performed within a specific local context and connected with the unique features of the place itself. Different kinds of activities were directly connected to it. Maritime practices were most certainly related to the site, perhaps in the form of embarking on voyages to the west, fishing or transhipping before entering the river beneath the falls and rapids. Its special qualities as a place, regarding its appearance and its richness in quartz could also have made it meaningful as a sacred place, a sacredness enforced by the production of rock art. Placing depictions of ships and cup marks sanctified the site and incorporated it in the local expression of the general ideas and notions represented by the rock art. Being restricted as a space, the placing of rock art must be seen as a marker, a sanctifying action reinforcing place specific meaning and positioning Karlsberget in mythology as well as recognising its importance for various actions of pragmatic character. Another aspect to consider when discussing the meaning of this place is the ongoing seasonal variations of its condition. These could very well have played a part in activating and deactivating its meaning, sometimes being cut off from land and at other times reachable by foot. Perhaps individuals with great knowledge and special powers visited the site when activated to sanctify it by making rock art and make small ritual notches of quartz. When consecrated, the placing of rock art ensured good luck

Rock Art and the Meaning of Place in the various practises related to the site as well as making it part of a cosmographic process. In that way the production of rock art at Karlsberget was both functional and symbolic. The people creating it were included in an intersubjective process, where places were interpreted through interaction on the basis of a specific pre-understanding consisting of Bronze Age notions of the world. We shall now turn to another example, which gives rise to further discussion on how the placing of rock art was meaningful and how that meaning could have changed over time.

The rock art at Himmelstalund; something completely different? Himmelstalund is without doubt the most spectacular site in the area, and is one of the most impressive concentrations of rock art in Scandinavia. In many aspects, Himmelstalund could be regarded as the total opposite of Karlsberget, the later being characterised by spatial restrictedness and uniformity in motifs while the former shows a great variety and accessibility. Until now, a total number of 1800 images have been documented at the site (Wahlgren 2002: 283; Nilsson 2008: 5). The rock art at Himmelstalund is situated on top of a ridge, just by the eastern shore of Motala Ström. Today, the surroundings consist of a large open-air recreationand sporting area. Himmelstalund is therefore visible and accessible, giving a quite conspicuous impression in the landscape, especially when approached from the south-east or upstream from the river (Figure 7.6). Obviously, this present experience gives very little evidence of how the site might have appeared during a visit in the early Bronze Age. For all we know, the surrounding landscape could just as well have been covered by trees, which of course would have made the site more visually restricted. Still, one feature in the placing of rock art at Himmelstalund distinguishes clearly from other known locals; its explicit orientation towards the water, a relation shared only with the rock art at Karlsberget and RAÄ 44. Instead, the vast majority of sites in the area seem to be orientated towards the inland (Wahlgren 2002: 27). Experiencing Himmelstalund, the richness and variation in motifs is striking. In fact, the extensive distribution of rock art on the panels creates different micro-spaces within the place. Approximately there are around 60 panels spread out on the top of the ridge, many of them with its own particular orientation and set of motifs. In what sense was the placing of such a large concentration of rock art meaningful? Let us again turn to the present pre-understanding brought

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to an experience of Himmelstalund. Excavations and inventories during recent years give evidence of a relatively comprehensive settlement activity, chronologically concentrated to the late Bronze Age and early Iron Age with a geographical orientation to areas to the north of Motala Ström (Borna-Ahlkvist et al. 1998; Borna-Ahlkvist 2002; Nilsson 2005a, 2005b). The traces of settlement goes back to the early Bronze Age and together with remains of ritual practise, such as cult houses and heaps of fire cracked and burned stone, an image of an active area emerges with a chronological emphasis on late Bronze- and early Iron Ages (Kaliff 1997, 2007: 99–119; Wahlgren 2002; Nilsson 2008). Bearing this pre-understanding in mind, there seem to be two possible explanations to the large quantity of rock art at Himmelstalund; either the production of images continued during a long period of time or the site was more actively used than other places in the area. Katherine Wahlgren discusses the chronology of rock art around Motala Ström, and argues that the tradition of making rock art started some time in the period of transition between early Bronze Age I and II and continued actively until the end of the PreRoman Iron Age at the beginning of the first century AD (Wahlgren 2002: 237–245). She considers the tradition of making rock art to be a process in change, with an initial stage characterised by depictions of swords and axes – expressing different kinds of social transformations such as rites of passages. During the Late Bronze Age the rock art tradition evolves and becomes more heterogeneous with a variety of depictions and a wider spreading in the landscape, ending in the early Iron Age with the production of cup marks and the reuse of older rock art sites. I regard Wahlgren’s interpretation of the area as innovative and well justified. She indicates how the important process of change in the way rock art was perceived in relation to the landscape. But it does not involve any comprehensive discussion of place specific meanings. Instead, change is regarded as a general transformation in the way rock art in the entire area was used to express social relations and cognitive beliefs. I would argue that the meaning of rock art changed, not only over time but also in relation to different places. Specific places with rock art had biographies of their own, and they were made meaningful in specific ways by different activities and also by the ontological qualities which incorporating them into the wider cosmography through human interaction. As we have seen in the case of Karlsberget, physical interaction could very well be an instrument in understanding such place specific meanings.

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The placing and character of the rock art at Himmelstalund is special in several ways. Its position near the river with panels oriented towards the water is shared with only two other known sites in the area, and even if it is difficult to speculate regarding Himmelstalund’s visibility and accessibility from the surrounding landscape, it is reasonable to presume that the position of the site on top of the ridge made it clearly pronounced when approached upstream on the river. Several scholars have pointed out the central importance of sea voyages and maritime practices during the Bronze Age (Kristiansen 2002, 2005; Berntsson 2005; Ericsson 2005; Ling 2008). The placing of rock art at Himmelstalund could very well be seen in relation to this; but instead of being a discrete signifier of place, restricted both physically and by means of knowledge as in the case of Karlsberget, Himmelstalund expresses general notions of Bronze Age ideas of the world in an explicitly social context. The nature and location of the site accentuates accessibility in its close connection to the river and large areas of settlement; it was a place for gatherings and meetings, departures and home-comings. Being the largest site in the area, Himmelstalund gives expression to the heterogeneous nature of the rock art phenomena. The many panels create different spaces within the place, many of them dominated by specific motifs such as axes, ships, anthropomorphic depictions or animals. In accordance with Wahlgren, this could be seen as a changing praxis over time in the production of rock art, where symbols were invented, reused and abandoned. But could it not also be an indication of a differentiated use of the microspaces within the place? Himmelstalund contains both common motifs as the ship, sun crosses, cup marks and anthropomorphs as well as unique images of bear tracks, axes and frame-like figures which could be taken as an expression of the sites specific significance in the wider landscape. Perhaps different kinds of activities were linked with specific panels, accentuating certain social or ritual practises? If this was the case, the meaning of Himmelstalund was in constant motion. General meanings of images and panels were brought to life in accordance with patterns of social, ritual and seasonal character by the performance of activities connected to the making or experience of rock art. I believe the key to understanding this process is by regarding Himmelstalund not as one place but many; a statement well-founded in the experience of the rock art on site. Moving around and between the images and different panels clearly accentuates the feeling of it being full of places within the place. The chronological aspect of understanding the placing and character of rock art is still interesting,

especially when discussing the initial choices of places for the production of rock art. As is the case of all rock art locations, the present appearance of Himmelstalund is its final state. So far, no comprehensive efforts have been made to date the rock art but it is reasonable to proclaim that Himmelstalund is a site with a long biography. Initially, the placing of rock here was the result of an interaction with the place where its meaning was interpreted from certain general notions of the world. Experiencing the site, it is easy to imagine that the place itself was considered meaningful. Not only as a place of meetings and maritime relations, but perhaps also as a sacred site. The meaningful relationships between the rock itself and the rock art have been discussed by several scholars (for examples regarding Himmelstalund see Wahlgren 2002; Tilley 2008: chapt. 4). It was also recognised by Holger Arbman (1958: 13): ‘Entire swineherds and other animals, sometimes quite peculiar, almost like giraffes, also occur on the panels at Himmelstalund. When the sun stands low, these rows of small animals almost makes a living impression, as if they moved across the rugged surface.’ (my translation)

The rock seems to be almost living at Himmelstalund. The rock springs up from the earth on top of the ridge; large furrows created by the inland ice break the surface and are contrasted by smooth panels. Rock art is often placed within those furrows (Figure 7.7). At times the rock glitters in metallic nuances and small deposits of quartz frequently occur. It is evident that the special quality of the rock was of significance when producing rock art. The act of making the images was a communicative process with the rock and the place, which became meaningful within a specific cultural and social context. This specific nature of the rock influenced the significance of its place in a wider cosmography, and initially the production of rock art could be seen as an enforcement of its perceivable meaning. Over time, however, and as the rock art tradition was more extensively expressed in different places in the landscape, the meaning of Himmelstalund changed. It became an arena for social actions, where both individual and collective activities of ritual and social nature were performed. Micro-places within the place were being developed and activated by special activities or returning events. Himmelstalund was a place of great importance, at the same time a manifestation of a collective identity in meetings and contacts with other groups and a sphere negotiating identities and social relations within the society, as well as communicative media where the favour of the gods and supernatural beings was asked (Figure 7.7).

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Figure 7.7. ‘The living mountain’; rock art placed in furrows at Himmelstalund. Photo: Magnus Ljunge.

The central role of Himmelstalund in a wider local context reflects the changes in how rock art was meaningful in general. Perhaps the tradition became more and more accessible over time, being connected with an increasing number of practices when expanding in the landscape. This accessibility could have meant that the institutional control over the production of rock art recently suggested by Goldhahn was relaxed (cf. 2007). More people became involved in making rock art meaningful, which is expressed in the production of ‘simpler’ abstract images such as cup marks and the re-carving of images that were considered important. In that sense, we can look upon the biography and meaning of Himmelstalund as a reflection of the development of rock art practices in the wider landscape around Motala Ström.

Concluding remarks This article is an attempt to discuss the placing of rock art and how this placing was meaningful. One general statement often made in rock art studies regards its supposed ambiguity and its quality of having various meanings. These multiplicities of meaning are seldom explored, but I believe that the specific ways in which different places were meaningful

could be a starting point for such an inquiry. When experiencing and interacting with Karlsberget and Himmelstalund it becomes evident that these places communicate meaning in different ways. The nature of them is very different; both in accordance with their physical qualities and also regarding the way rock art was used at these places. At the same time, rock art communicated general notions of the world through certain symbols common for a large area, and I believe that these dialectics between widespread traditions and place-specific experience could be a main focus when undertaking investigations of phenomenological character. How then was the difference in the experience of places with rock art meaningful? Could it be reasonable to assume that these places had different meaning in reference to how they were incorporated and used within a special social context? I argue that this was the case. The location of rock art was part of a social process in which landscapes or life-worlds were created. In this process different places were connected to different kinds of practices and experiences. The meaning of places with rock art changed over time as new images were added, and in a wider sense as other places were chosen for the production of images and yet others abandoned or transformed.

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In this aspect it is interesting to consider the placespecific meaning we encountered at Karlsberget. Being of restricted character it is tempting to see rock art at this site as a signifier of place, an action of importance performed by persons with special knowledge. The placing of rock art at Karlsberget emphasised activities of production, both in the form of images or quarrying quartz. Its close connection to the water accentuates the relationship to maritime activities, as well as the nature of the place itself which could inspire mythological and cosmological ideas of its importance. Altogether, the sacredness of Karlsberget was maintained by the production of rock art and guaranteed success in practices connected to the site. Its meaning was in that sense both functional and symbolic, both general and unique. Himmelstalund gave the opportunity to discuss changes in the rock art tradition over time. Its richness and variation in motifs, as well as its close relation to Motala Ström made it suitable as an arena where collective and individual identities were created and constituted. But it could also be discussed from a chronological point of view, as a manifestation of change in place-specific meaning. Its heterogeneous character could be an indication that the increasingly extensive production of rock art at Himmelstalund (and in the area in general) created micro-spaces and places of specific meaning. The tradition of making rock art became incorporated in various different activities and was perhaps used by persons with different kinds of knowledge and specialisation. At Himmelstalund this could be observed as the different panels often have a character of their own, a distinction which could have been accentuated by seasonal or other returning social and ritual events in the Bronze Age. Himmelstalund should be regarded not as one place, but many. The development of rock art production and use became more and more differentiated over time, and was expressed by an active interpretation of the surrounding landscape. Bronze Age people used rock art to signify or mark places considered special by nature, and also to confirm social and cosmological orders. The evolving tradition became more complex over time, and different places of rock art were used for different purposes, as guardians over maritime activities or places for restricted communication with the gods, as well as open arenas for ritual and social gatherings. In a sense the meaning of different places were turned on and off in accordance to their actuality in a landscape in constant change (cf. Wahlgren 2004). Perhaps the physical changes of the seasonal environment also changed the meaning of its places.

To sum up; the placing of rock art was crucial to its meaning. Places were interpreted from specific culturally-founded notions of the world and their meaning recognised, maintained and transformed through the medium of rock art. Bronze Age people were involved in an intersubjective process of interaction with their surroundings. A process that continuously changed the places and landscapes they inhabited, both in a short- and a long time perspective.

Acknowledgements Firstly, I would like to thank Joakim, Ingrid and Andy for the opportunity of participating in the current publication and special thanks to Joakim for inspiring and thought-provoking conversions ‘over the cue’. Secondly, many thanks to Jan-Magne Gjerde for providing images of Norwegian cave art. Finally, I would like to thank all the participants at the workshop in Kalmar for a creative dialogue and discussion on rock art in general and my article in particular. You all contributed to the final result!

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Ling, Johan. 2005. The fluidity of rock art. In: Goldhahn, Joakim. (ed.). Mellan sten och järn del II. Rapport från det 9: e bronsålderssymposiet 20031009–12. Gotarc Serie C. Gothenburg: Arkeologiska skrifter No 59, 438–460. Ling, Johan. 2008. Elevated rock art: towards a maritime understanding of Bronze Age rock art in northern Bohuslän, Sweden. Gotarc serie B. Gothenburg: Gothenburg archaeological thesis no. 49. Ljunge, Magnus. 2009. Traditioner i förändring: om våtmarkens suggestion från forntid till stormaktstid. In: Ljunge, Magnus. (ed.). Mossen- tid, plats, mening. Rapport från ett flervetenskapligt seminarium, Borås 24/11 2007. Borås: Borås museum. Lundström, Per. 1970. Gravfälten vid Fiskeby i Norrköping del 1. Studier kring ett totalundersökt komplex. Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell. Lönn, Marianne. 2004. Aktuella metodfrågor. Riksantikvarieämbetet. Stockholm: Arkeologiska skrifter no 58. Mandt, Gro. 2001. Woman in disguise or male manipulation?: aspects of gender symbolism in rock art. In: Helskog, Knut. (ed.). Theoretical perspectivies in rock art research. ACRA. Instituttet for sammenlignende kulturforskning. Oslo: Novus, 290–311. Mandt, Gro. & Lødøen, Trond. 2005. Bergkunst: helleristningar i Noreg. Oslo: Det norske samlaget. Matthews, Eric. 2002. The philosophy of Merleau-Ponty. Chesham: Acumen. Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. 1964. Signs. Evanston: Nortwestern University Press. Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. 1973a. The prose of the world. London: Nortwestern University Press. Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. 1973b. Consciousness and the acquisition of language. Evanston: Nortwestern University Press. Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. 1997. Kroppens fenomenologi. Gothenburg: Daidalos. Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. 1999. Om sprogets fænomenologi: udvalgte tekster. Copenhagen: Gyldendal. Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. 2002. Phenomenology of perception. London and New York: Routledge. Morphy, H. 1991. Ancestral connections: art and an aboriginal system of knowledge. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Mulvaney, Ken. 1996. What to do on a rainy day. Rock art Research 13(1), 3–20. Myers, Fred. 1986. Pintupi country, Pintupi self: sentiment, place and poltics amongwestern desert aborigines. Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press. Nash, George. (ed.) 2000. Signifying place and space: World perspectives on rock art and landscape. BAR International series 902. Oxford: Archeopress. Nilsson, Per. 2005a. Om boplatslokalisering inom Bråbygdens hällristningsområden. In: Goldhahn, Joakim (ed.). Mellan sten och järn del II. Rapport från det 9: e bronsålderssymposiet 20031009–12. Gotarc Serie C. Gothenburg: Arkeologiska skrifter No. 59, 419–437. Nilsson, Per. 2005b. Fem hus från yngre bronsålder. Arkeologisk undersökning för fjärrvärmeledning vid Bråvallaområdet Pryssgården 1: 1, Östra Eneby socken, Norrköpings kommun, Östergötland. Riksantikvarieämbetet avd. för arkeologiska undersökningar. Rapport UV Öst, 2005: 59. Linköping. Nilsson, Per. 2008. New discoveries of Rock carvings and Settlements at Himmelstalund. Adoranten 2007, 20–28.

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Taçon, Paul S.C. 1994. Socialising landscape: the long term implications of signs, symbols and marks on the land. Archaeology in Oceania no. 29, 117–129. Taçon, Paul S.C. 1999. Identifying ancient sacred landscapes in Australia: from physical to social. In: Ashmore, Wendy & Knapp, Bernard (eds). Archaeology of Landscapes: Contemporary perspectives. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 33–51. Thedéen, Susanne. 2004. Gränser i livet- gränser i landskapet: generationsrelation och rituella praktiker i södermanländska bronsålderslandskap. Stockholm: Stockholm Studies in Archaeology 33. Thomas, Julian. 1996. Time, culture and identity: an interpretative archaeology. London: Routledge. Thomas, Julian. 1999, Understanding the Neolithic: a revised second edition of Rethinking the Neolithic. London: Routledge. Thomas, Julian. 2004. Archaeology and modernity. London: Routledge. Tilley, Chris. 1994. A phenomenology of landscape: places, paths and monuments. Oxford: Berg. Tilley, Chris. 1999. Metaphor and material culture. Oxford: Blackwell. Tilley, Chris. 2004a. The materiality of stone: explorations in landscape phenomenology. Oxford: Berg. Tilley, Chris. 2004b. Round barrows and dykes as landscape metaphors. Cambridge Archaeological Journal Vol. 14: 2, 185–203. Tilley, Chris. 2008. Body and image; explorations in landscape phenomenology 2. Walnut Creek: Left Coast Press. Tilley, Chris., Bender, Barbara & Hamilton, Sue. 2000. Art and the representation of the past. Journal of the Royal antropological institute Vol. 6, 35–62. Trigger, Bruce G. 1993. Arkeologins idéhistoria. Stockholm: Östlings bokförlag Symposium. Vogt, David. 2006. Helleristninger i Østfold og Bohuslän: en analyse av det økonomiske og politiske landskap. Oslo: Acta Humaniora. Wahlgren, Katty, H. 1998. Encultured rocks, encounter with a ritual world of the Bronze Age. Current Swedish Archaeology. Stockholm, 85–97. Wahlgren, Katty, H. 2002. Bilder av betydelse: hällristningar och bronsålderslandskap i nordöstra Östergötland. Stockholm: Stockholm Studies in Archaeology 23. Wahlgren, Katty, H. 2004. Switching images on and off. Rock carving practices and meaning in Bronze Age life-world. In: Milstreu, Gerhard & Prøhl, Henning (eds). Prehistoric pictures as archaeological source: . Gotarc Serie C. Gothenburg: Arkelogiska skrifter no. 50, 149–165. Widholm, Dag. (ed.) 2007. Stone ships and the heavenly journey. Kalmar: Kalmar studies in Archaeology III. Winter, Li. 2002. Relationen mellan Medelhavsområdets och Sydskandinaviens bildvärldar. In: Goldhahn, Joakim (ed.). Bilder av bronsålder- ett seminarium om förhistorisk kommunikation: rapport från ett seminarium på Vitlycke museum 19–22: e oktober 2000. Acta Archaeologica Lundensia. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 201–222. Wold, Marit. 2005. Å skrive om Bronsealderreligionen. In: Goldhahn, Joakim. (ed.). Mellan sten och järn del II. Rapport från det 9: e bronsålderssymposiet 20031009–1. Gotarc Serie C. Gothenburg: Arkeologiska skrifter No. 59, 521–535.

8 Emplacement and the hau of Rock Art Joakim Goldhahn

This article discusses and develops an understanding about the meaning and significance behind the placing of rock art in the landscape. As we might agree, this was most probably a ritual act surrounded by intricate ceremonies, spells and taboos, even superstitions. While it is widely accepted that the placing of rock art in the landscape is meaningful for its interpretation, little or no concern has been given to discussing the act of making place out of space in the first place. By placing the great emphasis on rituals and ceremonies in a new light, and discussing the possible reasons behind this act, it is argued that we can open up yet further perspectives that might be worthwhile to explore in our quest to reach the many meanings behind rock art. This may not mean that we shall stop talking about the placing of art, but we might add the act of emplacement and the hau of rock art places. Keywords: Rock art, Emplacement, gift, animism, landscape, Scandinavia

Hey hey, my my Rock `n´ roll can never die There’s more to the picture than meets the eye Hey hey, my my Shakey

Rock art and landscape in northernmost Europe – a retrospect In the northernmost part of Europe the outlines of rock art research were defined during the 19th century. From the beginning it was the images and their connotations that were emphasized. In short, each isolated figure was considered to be self-sufficient (e.g. Almgren 1927; Hallström 1938: 109; Gjessing 1939: 5, cf. Goldhahn 2005). The placing of rock art in the landscape was not considered in any great detail. In fact, the landscape was interpreted through the depicted images. For instance, the great numbers of ship depictions within the southern rock art traditions in Scandinavia were interpreted as if they were placed at Viking Age harbours (e.g. Christi 1837; Holmberg 1848). It was explicitly argued that the inland placing

of the rock art in Bohuslän, and elsewhere, was caused by shore displacement (Brunius 1868, see Ling 2008: Ch. 4). In a similar way the depicted animals within the northern rock art traditions were thought to represent game and to be situated at prime hunting locations (Wetterberg 1845). The landscape was read in a pragmatic way; it was through the images themselves that the landscape was appreciated. At the beginning of the 20th century this pragmatic landscape notion began to alter, initiated by theories about rock art as a form of sympathetic magic (Wahlgren 2000; Vogt 2001; Goldhahn 2005). We find several different but related concepts and international ‘discoveries’ behind these changes. The recognition of the antiquity of the Altamira cave and the Upper Palaeolithic rock art in Europe lead to an insight that the making of ‘art’ was as old as the human species itself (Ramos 1998; Madariaga de la Campa 2001). The development of anthropological studies of indigenous cultures, such as Spencer and Gillen’s influential study of ‘The native Tribes of Central Australia’ (1899), lead to new questions about the foundation of ‘primitive religion’ and the purpose behind the act of making art (Evans-Pritchard 1965; Kuper 1988).

Emplacement and the hau of Rock Art Both these ‘discoveries’ questioned the self-images of Western intellectuals, and ended in the newly found interest in the origin of the religious mind in general (e.g. Durkheim 1912, here 1925) and in particular its relationship to ‘primitive art’ (e.g. Boas 1927). Under the influence of these international trends Salomon Reinach (1903) introduced James George Frazer’s (1890, here 1996) theory about sympathetic magic within Upper Palaeolithic research. He argued that the making of an aurochs or bison was a way for the Palaeolithic hunter, as well as the Aborigines of Australia, to take control over the soul of the hunted animal (Reinach 1903). Reinach’s interpretation was soon thereafter demonstrated within rock art research in the northernmost of Europe. The northern rock art traditions were then labelled ‘Arctic rock art’. In reality, it was thought to demonstrate some kind of ‘archaic rock art’ and was linked to the ‘primitive’ prehistory of the contemporary Saami people (e.g. Hansen 1904). In a related way the southern traditions were proclaimed to be ‘farmer’s rock art’ and linked to the German language groups of modern Swedes, Danes and Norwegians (e.g. Almgren 1912, 1927, 1934; Ekholm 1916, 1921; Shetelig 1922; Brøgger 1925; Gjessing 1936,

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1939); an interpretation that has lingered on until this very day (Sognnes 2008). It was also during this time that Scandinavian scholars came to the insight that rock art ought to be studied where it was made – in the landscape. The first attempt to apply this ‘Boasian-insight’ came in Bohuslän in Sweden when Oscar Almgren was sent out ‘into the bush’ to verify the stunning rock art belonging to the southern traditions that the Fine Artist Lauritz Baltzer had found, documented and published (Baltzer 1911). Almgren brought with him Gustaf Hallström, a young student who was fascinated by the enigmatic images and decided that he should study the rock art of the northern traditions in a similar way. During the following decades he visited all known rock art sites belonging to the northern traditions and discovered a series of new sites. Almgren’s and Hallström’s own experiences of the landscapes certainly made an enduring impact on them, and they explicitly tried to use it in their interpretation of rock art images. Throughout Almgren’s survey in Bohuslän he found a strong correlation between rock art and contemporary arable fields (Figure 8.1). He came to the conclusion that the rock art was made by Bronze Age farmers and

Figure 8.1. In the beginning of the 20th century the contemporary landscape had an important impact on the interpretation of the meaning and significance about rock art. Photo from early 20th century by Gustaf Hallström during one of Almgren’s surveys showing Bro Utmark, RAÄ 192 in Tanum parish (courtesy of the Gustaf Hallström Archive, The Research Archives, Umeå University Library).

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Figure 8.2. The rock art site at Nämforsen in Ångermanland. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century showing the rapids and the decorated islands before the power-plant station were built. Hallström thought that the rapids were used as a great hunting pit; the hunter chased the elks into the rapids and latter collected them down streams after they were being drowned. Photo by Gustaf Hallström, courtesy of the Gustaf Hallström Archive, The Research Archives, Umeå University Library.

used in different cultic activities associated with sun symbolism and Indo-German fertility cults known to us with the aid of informed methods (Almgren 1912, 1927, 1934). Hallström (1938, 1962) came to a similar pragmatic conclusion and argued that the rock art of the northern traditions was situated at hunting sites (Figure 8.2). Informed by the theory of sympathetic magic, these trends resulted in functionalist notions of the landscape. Hunter’s rock art was placed at hunting places aiming to control and deceive the game to offer themselves to the hunter (e.g. Gjessing 1932, 1936; Hallström 1938, 1962). Farmer’s rock art was placed near the farms close to the arable fields and was used in fertility cults (e.g. Almgren 1927, 1934; Gjessing 1939; Marstrander 1963; Glob 1969). In fact there have been few attempts during the 20th century to change this functionalist paradigm (cf. Althin 1945; Malmer 1981). Much later, Knut Helskog described this perception of rock art as an ‘intellectual straight jacket’ (Helskog 1993). Even if I think Helskog is a bit too pessimistic in his views (Goldhahn 1999, 2005), the influence of the sympathetic magic theory has been immense. The notion of rock art landscapes began to change in the late 1960s under the influence of the New Archaeology. Among the pioneers we find Gro Mandt (1972) who used the placing of rock art as an interpretive variable in her masters thesis about the southern rock art tradition from Hordaland, Norway. She convincingly argued for a more scientific approach free

from the influence of Almgren’s cult-paradigm. Instead Mandt used the placing of rock art and its relationship to prehistoric remains as a method of investigating its meaning and significance (Mandt 1978). About the same time Jarl Nordbladh made use of Åke Fredsjö’s vast documentations of the rock art from Kville in Bohuslän to declare a semiotic prolegomena for Scandinavian rock art research (Nordbladh 1978a, 1978b). Nordbladh also used the spatial distribution of rock art in the landscape and its relationship to prehistoric remains to argue that the placing of rock art was cognitively intentional and meaningful. In a similar mode he applied a structuralist approach to argue that the meaning of rock art was not to appease the gods, but had more to do with communications between living human beings. He also demonstrated that the meaning of images was not to be found in the connotation of the images themselves but in the way they were combined with each other (Nordbladh 1980). Both Mandt and Nordbladh argued for a more explicit use of theory within rock art research. Their studies also suggested that the placing of rock art in the landscape was essential if we want to understand its meanings and significance. This was important, not least as it led to an insight that it is our questions and the way we treat and relate prehistoric remains to other contemporary phenomena that lead us to our results and answers. All this was in line with the means and goals of the New Archaeology and later on

Emplacement and the hau of Rock Art during the 1980s it led researchers to apply statistical analysis and spatial methods within rock art research in Scandinavia (e.g. Kjellén & Hyenstrand 1977; SørReime 1982; Sognnes 1983, 1987, 1990, 2001; Larsson 1986; Bertilsson 1987). In the early 1990s the post-processual paradigm began to make a significant impact within rock art research in the northernmost of Europe, maybe because this field of research was not affected to any great extent by the self-drawn demarcation line between the New and the even Newer archaeology (Goldhahn 2006). These intellectual groupings conjoined in a common interest and an emphasis on the landscape as an interpretive feature. One of these scholars was Chris Tilley. He was clearly influenced by Nordbladh’s prolegomena and developed Nordbladh’s structuralist approach, by drawing on post-structuralism, in his influential book on Nämforsen – indeed an ‘Art of ambiguity’! Notwithstanding, Tilley’s textual interpretations of Nämforsen had little to say about the placing of the rock art and the land- and mindscapes of the humans who made them. The ‘text’ was read as a monologue without citation or reference to its cultural setting and context (cf. Helskog 1999; Goldhahn 2002a; Tilley 2006, 2008). Nevertheless, since the 1990s landscape has been a vital part of archaeology in general, and within rock art research particular (Helskog & Olsen 1995; Bradley 1997; Nash 2001; Helskog 2001; David & Wilson 2002; Goldhahn 2002b; Nash & Chippindale 2002; Chippindale & Nash 2004). Mandt’s and Nordbladh’s research, which initially were met with scepticism, has now become doxa (Goldhahn 2008). For the northern traditions in northernmost Europe the hunting magic doctrine still prevails, even though new approaches have been suggested (e.g. Helskog 1999, 2004; Goldhahn 2002a; Lahelma 2008). For the southern traditions this has led to suggestions that the placing of prehistoric remains were related to a yet undefined cosmological purpose. Even though most researchers agree that monumental barrows and cairns were usually placed on ridges, hilltops and mountains, rock art close to wetlands, and that humans dwelt in between, the actual meaning and significance behind this practice is seldom discussed (cf. Goldhahn 1999, 2007; Ling 2008; Bradley 2009). Concerning the purposes and meaning of the placing of rock art, there is more in common in the interpretation of the northern and southern traditions than differences between them. Both research fields are grounded in an iconic functionalistic paradigm that still determines the way we approach the placing of rock art in the land- and mindscapes of humans. Common to both these approaches is the idea that

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meaning is created through the connotation of the images themselves. The landscape then acts as a passive backdrop, a tabula rasa. To begin to challenge this paradigm, we might ask ourselves what the reasons were for altering space to become place? Were the panels selected just because they were flat and smooth and easy to add pictures on? Good to think with? Or should we look for other perspectives to understand this practice? To me, the relationship between the rock art and the landscape is still treated in a functionalist and simplistic way within north European rock art research, often mystified behind glossy words such as ‘rituals and ceremonies’, or ‘eschatology’ and ‘cosmology’. Even though I think that this is part of the truth, we ought to consider how and why this practice was related to different social and ideological realms by the societies who created and used the rock art. The places where we find rock art are still perceived as a passive variable, as if they had little or no significance to that which actually happened at these places. In many respects to this day the images are still considered to be selfsufficient and the places where rock art is located are still treated as empty, or without significance. I think it is time to change this perception. The first point we need to acknowledge to alter this perception is that the placing of rock art was not an end in itself; rather, it was an act which began the process of alterating the earth. In a similar way we ought to consider the placing of rock art as a starting point for analysis rather than treating it as an undefined prerequisite or dead-end for our studies. We need to consider, then, ‘the archaeology of natural places’ (e.g. Bradley 2000), and an archaeology of these rock art places themselves (see Milstreu & Prøhl 2007, 2008). I also suggest that we need to consider the concept of ‘placing’ more deeply, and begin our rock art studies by considering the act of emplacement.

From placing rock art to the act of emplacement From anthropological and historical sources dealing with indigenous cultures, we learn that there are two different but related reasons relating to why a rock art place may be considered as sacred; either the rock art images themselves are believed to be sacred or the rock art images are thought to be created at places that were believed to be sacred (Layton 1992; Morphy 1998; Ouzman 1998; Whitley 2000, 2001; Lewis-Williams 2003; Keyser et al. 2006; Goldhahn 2007). In either case it is important to acknowledge that the world that these people occupied was not a terra nullius, but an already meaningful, created and instituted space,

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inhabited with powers and authority both material and immaterial. The act of creation itself leaves its marks, whether these marks were the living and moving marks left by animals and humans, or materialized in the form of different landscape features. To alter the creation of the world and the order established by ancestral beings or other immaterial powers was regarded as a dangerous act. For instance, a !Kung hunter would not kill an animal without precautious rituals and ceremonies (Marshall 1976), neither would an Australian aboriginal (Berndt & Berndt 1984), nor a Saami reindeer herder (Manker 1957; Ingold 1986; Odner 2008: 71). Mundane and sacred acts were entangled. To kill an animal demanded some kind of negotiation and renegotiation, a reciprocal dialogue between material and immaterial forces that were often made and led by ritual specialists (Rydving 1995; Ingold 2000; Jordan 2003; Harvey 2005). Informed methods tell us that negotiations would also apply to those turning rocks into ‘art’ (Morphy 1998; Whitley 2000, 2001; David 2002; Lewis-Williams 2003; Blundell 2004). Thomas Thornton (2008) discusses the making of places out of spaces in great detail in his thoughtprovoking book ‘Being and place among the Tlingit’. In a related way he argues that ritual is the ‘ultimate human emplacement structure’. Ritual reflects and shapes order out of things in a powerful, symbolic, cognitive, social and material way (Thornton 2008: 173–188). Thornton emphasises that, as far as we know, ‘the ordinary existential constraints of time and space and corporeal existence are superseded, transcended, and reordered – literally re-placed – to mark and achieve important transformations in society and nature’ (Thornton 2008: 174). In a similar way, Mircea Eliade (1975: 21–38) once argued that if the world is to be lived in, it must first be sacralised (Eliade 1959). Also Roy Rappaport (1999) emphasis this in his magnum opus ‘Ritual and religion in the making of human mankind’: ‘There is in ritual not only a representation of creation, but a re-creation of the primordial order, the primordial union of form and substance which forever comes apart as the usages of life depart from the Order that should be’ (Rappaport 1999: 164).

It follows from these pre-understandings that an altering of space into a place was not done without the primordial order being at stake. As a consequence, the act of creating pictures on rocks is not just an act of placing the ‘art’ in the landscape or mindscape of people; it was an act of emplacement, a reordering and re-creation of the sacralised world.

From gifts to the hau of sacralised places Thornton’s thoughts on ritual as an act of emplacement situated in a sacralised world bear a strong resemblance to the Maori perception of hau, an immaterial spirit and force that Marcel Mauss used as a starting point in his thesis about the gift as a ‘total social phenomenon’. According to Mauss and his seminal work ‘Essai sur le don’ (Mauss 1925, here 1969), all gift giving systems share some fundamental principles (Mauss 1969: 10–12, 37–41): the obligation to give, to receive and to refund the gift: ‘To refusal to give, or the failure to invite, is – like refusing to accept – the equivalent of a declaration of war; it is a refusal of friendship and intercourse’ (Mauss 1969: 11). Mauss builds his thesis on the ethnography concerning the Maori of New Zealand and the mana associated with gifts; the magical, religious and spiritual power that different gift brought with them; what the Maori called the hau: ‘I shall tell you about hau. Hau is not the wind. Not at all. Suppose you have some particular object, taonga, and you give it to me; you give it to me without a price. We do not bargain over it. Now I give this thing to a third person who after a time decides to give me something in repayment for it (utu), and he makes me a present of something (taonga). Now this taonga I received from his is the spirit (hau) of the taonga I received from you and which I passed on to him. The taonga which I receive on account of the taonga that came from you, I must return to you. It would not be right on my part to keep these taonga whether they were desirable or not. I must give them to you since they are the hau of the taonga which you gave me. If I were to keep this second taonga for myself I might become ill or even die. Such is hau, the hau of personal property, the hau of the taonga, the hau of the forest. Enough on that subject’ (Mauss 1969: 8–9, cf. Sahlin 1972: 150–153).

To give somebody a gift was thereby equivalent to giving a piece of oneself: ‘Whatever it is, food, possessions, women, children or ritual, it retains a magical and religious hold over the recipient. The thing given is not inert. It is alive and often personified, and strives to bring to its original clan and homeland some equivalent to take its place’ (Mauss 1969: 10).

It was the hau of the gift that, paradoxically, enabled a person to bestow a gift while keeping it (e.g. Weiner 1992, see also Munn 1986; Strathern 1988; Godelier 1999; Fowler 2004). Another characteristic of the hau of the gift was that it always strove to return to its ‘place of birth’ (Mauss 1969: 9). The latter, I will argue, is vital for our understanding of the emplacement of rock art.

Emplacement and the hau of Rock Art According to Mauss the gift is best perceived as a ‘total social phenomenon’, carrying personal, economic, social, juridical, political, aesthetic and ideological dimensions. As a total social phenomenon, gifts and counter-gifts equally make a natural and essential part of different individuals and societies rite de passage: at birth, name giving ceremonies, at sickness, at initiation to adulthood, and other social persona (such as smiths, warriors, priests, ritual specialists, etc.), at weddings and divorces, wars, at death and burial rituals: ‘Food, women, children, possessions, charms, land, labour, services, religious offices, rank – everything is stuff to be given away and repaid’ (Mauss 1969: 11–12). Mauss underlined that even if gifts are given and exchanged on a personal basis, this is better understood as a structural phenomenon that creates and re-creates different social and cultural values (Mauss 1969: 3). In his thought-provoking book The enigma of the gift Maurice Godelier (1999) has returned to Mauss’ seminal work and develops new thoughts about the gift as a social and cultural phenomenon. First and foremost, Godelier criticises Mauss for presenting the gift as a purely social and human affair: ‘By excluding sacred objects from his field of analysis, Mauss may have unintentionally created the illusion that exchange was the be-all and end-all of social life’ (Godelier 1999: 69, see also Sahlin 1972: 149–183; Harvey 2005). Godelier argues that Mauss’ three principles of the gift must be joined by a fourth – often neglected – principle, gifts and counter-gifts to the dead, spirits, and other transcendental forces, powers and authorities (Godelier 1999: 29–36). To put it simply: material and immaterial things that have been given to the humans from gods or other immaterial beings are often considered as sacred objects and cannot be given away, but as all other gifts they must be handled and treated with the same dialectic principles: ‘In order for ‘things to work’, there must be in what is given something more than a gift of oneself to the other. The gift must contain something which appears to the giver as to the initial receiver, and to those who will subsequently receive it, and therefore to all members of the society – who must therefore share this representation from the outset – as a medium, the possession of which, even if it is only temporary, is necessary if one is to continue to exist, to produce or to reproduce social relations which enable individuals as well as groups, clans, families, brotherhoods, secret societies, and so on to continue as part of their society. The thing given [...] must contain something more, something which seems [...] indispensable to their existence…’ (Godelier 1999: 72, his italics, cf. Mauss 1969: 12–15).

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This ‘something more’ is often thought of as an immaterial power embodied in consecrated objects: ‘[…] something [that] Mauss called a soul, a spirit, a source of wealth and abundance, of life’ (Godelier 1999: 72). One of the consequences of this is, in the words of Mauss (1969: 13), that: ‘…the exchanges and contracts concern not only men and things but also the sacred beings that are associated with them’. For Mauss this meant that the reciprocal exchange of gifts between humans and different immaterial forces could explain the complex phenomenon of offerings that had been documented in different parts of the world: ‘It is not simply to show power and wealth and unselfishness that man puts slaves to death, burns his precious oil, throws coppers into the sea, and sets his house on fire [...] for the gods who give and repay are there to give something great in exchange for something small’ (Mauss 1969: 14–15).

What I want to emphasise in this article is that things that have been given by the gods or other immaterial authorities could not have been given away, but as all other gifts and counter gifts, they had to be returned in a proper way. Now, if we add the act of emplacing rock art in a world that is continually sacralised and re-sacralised to the scenario offered by Godelier, our perceptions might begin to alter and change. At first glance, this important distinction can help us to reconsider the act of emplacement of rock art, transforming sacralised ‘space’ into meaningful place, but this will not help us very much to learn more about the purposes and reasons behind this re-creation act in the northernmost of Europe in the past. One way to accomplish that is to ask ourselves what the purpose was in visiting these places in the first place. Was the making of art an end in itself or was this act of emplacement related to some other kinds of social practices? What act of creation was emplaced? What came first, the art or the place (see Deacon 2001 for a related discussion)? How and why? My goal with these rather unfathomable questions is to try to link the very act of emplacement, the making of rock art at certain places, to Mauss’ thoughts on gifts as a total social phenomenon that includes both the living and the dead, material and immaterial things, authorities and powers. As a starting point this will mean that we ought to consider rock art as a part of broader reciprocal gift exchange systems, not only between humans, but as a means to communicate and exchange gifts with the sacred forces themselves. The latter is not least important considering the fact that these powers authority and endorse are vital and

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Figure 8.3. Map showing (rock art) places discussed in this paper.

necessary for gift giving to function between more mortal beings (Godelier 1999). Here it might be fair to state that the reasons behind the act of emplacement that I call out for, might every so often be lost, gone astray as the sand in the wind. Notwithstanding, in the following I will discuss ample examples that call for a ‘thicker’ description of the relationship between rock art and the ‘hau’ of gifts and places. Moreover, I will argue that these cases might be fundamental to our quest to relate the making and use of rock art to wider economic, social and ritual settings and phenomena. In the following I will highlight some of these cases, using examples from both the northern and southern traditions in northernmost Europe (Figure 8.3), arguing that the act of emplacement and the hau of gifts and

places is yet another way to broaden our understanding of the meaning and significance of rock art.

Three examples from the northern traditions Our first example where the emplacement of rock art could be related to the hau of gifts and place is Finnforsberget in Västerbotten, RAÄ 118 in Skellefteå parish in Sweden (Figure 8.3). The rock paintings were discovered in 2006 during a survey for prehistoric remains. Today at least four painted surfaces are known which are situated at the foot of a mountain ridge, overlooking a wide valley. At the bottom of the valley we find the Finnforsen rapids in Skelleftå River. Another rock art site with paintings is situated in a similar position at the other side of the valley.

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Figure 8.4. The rock paintings at Finnforsberget. A (top left): The painted fish slab; B (top right): Fish images; C (left): The vertical cliff; D (above): Quarried debris and hammer stones in situ. Photo: A–C: Berit Andersson at Västerbotten County Museum, Sweden, D: Thomas B Larsson.

The paintings at Finnforsberget are spread across four different surfaces over a ten-metre area. Among the painted images we find quite ordinary humans and elks, but also some quite unique motifs such as painted fish images (Salmon?), which are about 12–15 centimetres long. Fourteen of them are situated on a vertical surface (Figure 8.4). To my knowledge this is one of only three rock painting sites that are dominated by painted fish motifs within northernmost Europe; the other ones are Honhammerneset in Tingvoll, Møre and Romsdal in Western Norway (Gjessing 1936) and Kapasaari in Jaala in Finland (Lahelma 2008: 216). We also find some painted anthropomorphic motifs added on the roof of a small cave, that is about four metres broad, three metres deep and one metre high. Other surfaces with paint are blurred, and it is not possible to distinguish any certain images. Maybe this smoothing

of the surface with red paint was intentional, for this phenomenon is repeated at several other painted sites in northernmost Europe (e.g. Lahelma 2008, this volume). Of greatest importance in this context is the fact that some motifs at Finnforsberget have been emplaced directly on a vertical quartzite surface that has been used as a stone quarry (Figure 8.4). Below the painted and quarried surface heaps of waste material was found together with several in situ hammer stones (Figure 8.4). Some of the quartzite that has been flaked off and taken from the site would obviously still show remains of paint. Quartzite was used from the Mesolithic to the first millennium BC in this part of the world, so it is hard to date the quarry without a proper excavation. This is planned in the near future and hopefully it

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will provide us with some answers and some new questions. Even though the painted images at Finnforsberget are hard to relate to the act of emplacement and hau of the place, it can be argued that quarrying must have been related to some kind of negotiation and re-negotiation with both material and immaterial forces. As Godelier stated above, before the material culture made out of the quartzite from the quarry at Finnforsberget could work as a gift between humans, we might expect a similar transaction and re-negotiation taking place between humans and the transcendental powers that inhabited this particular place. The medium – rock and art – was the message. This reciprocal dialogue is also evident at our next example – the famous rock art site at Nämforsen in Ångermanland County (Figure 8.3). The rock art at Nämforsen in Ångermanland is well known and needs no further introduction (Hallström 1962; Tilley 1991, Sjöstrand this volume). Here, more than 2500 images were pecked on three islands and along the shores of several fearsome and roaring rapids (Goldhahn 2002a). The dominant images are elks, humans and boats. On the southern shore of the rapids we find a complex settlement (Käck 2009). From excavation evidence we know that the site was occupied for at least 5000 years. In contrast to ordinary settlements in this part of the world, not a single burnt elk bone was found, but nevertheless a substantial amount of fish bone, suggesting that the place was used for fishing salmon during its summer migration when they swim upstream to breed. During the time when new images were created, approximately 4200–1000 cal BC, the settlement was associated with the creation of decorated red slate knives. More than 100 daggers have been found on the site and they are all in different stages of production (Figure 8.5), from raw material to finished daggers. Some of the latter show ornaments in the form of plastic animal heads, incised figures (both human and elks) and abstract entopic motifs (zigzags). At other places those animated daggers are found one by one (Lundberg 1997; Bolin 1998; Taffinder 1998), so the production and consumption of slate daggers at Nämforsen is without doubt exceptional. The settlements on the northern shore at Nämforsen are less well known (RAÄ 158 Ådal Lidens parish). Here researchers from Umeå University have found traces of several contemporary settlements and, most interestingly, repeated traces of red ochre production (Larsson et al. 2003). The source of this production is probably local iron oxide that emerges in small ponds at the bottom of the surrounding slopes. Radiocarbon analysis of charcoal found in the same cultural layers as the ochre, dating from 4000–2500 cal BC, suggest

Figure 8.5. Animistic red slate knifes from the settlement at Nämforsen (after Goldhahn 2002a).

that this production was taking place continuously throughout the Neolithic and that it is contemporary with the settlement on the southern shore as well as with the emplacement of the rock art at Nämforsen (Figure 8.6). The use of red ochre by contemporary huntergatherer societies in this part of the world was vast. Among other things it could be used as mosquito repellent and for preparing skins and hides. From archaeological sources we know that red ochre was also used in burial rituals (Liedgren 1997; Larsson 2004), which raises the possibility that it also was used as body decoration. It could also be suggested that ochre produced at Nämforsen was used as pigments for contemporary rock paintings in the interior of Ångermanland. For instance, at the rock art site at Högberget (Lindgren 2004), situated upstream, about 60 kilometres to the northwest of Nämforsen (see Ramqvist 2002), red ochre has been found deposited in front of two panels with rock paintings and charcoal from the same cultural layers has been dated to 4200–1000 cal BC (Figure 8.7). It has not been possible to link the ochre from Högberget to its source, but it is intriguing to suggest that the paint used at these and other sites could have emanated from the red ochre created at Nämforsen. However, having read the evidence, the archaeological record from Nämforsen clearly relates the making and use of rock art to at least three different economic and social activities: 1) fishing salmon, 2) creating red slate

Emplacement and the hau of Rock Art daggers and 3) red ochre. The slate used for the daggers either originated at the coast or from the mountain areas upstream of Nämforsen (Lundberg 1997) and had to be brought to the site, while the salmon and the iron oxide were sources that where ‘quarried’ and encultured at the site itself. This could be interpreted as if the rock art at Nämforsen was created as a part of a wider giftgiving system built on reciprocal relations between different realms of reality. Maybe also elk hides and other ‘products’ were part of these ‘trading activities’ (cf. Malmer 1981; Zvelebil & Jordan 1999). Through the groundbreaking investigations at Nämforsen a rather complex scenario starts to emerge where different realms and spheres of the Stone Age hunter-gatherers life-world start to intertwine. The last example from the northern traditions I wish to consider here is the rock art from Badjelánnda in Laponia (Figure 8.3), RAÄ 307 in Jokkmokk parish in Sweden (Mulk & Bayliss-Smith 2006). The rock art in mind consists of incised and pecked images situated on an outcrop that is 92 metres broad and 22–27 metres high. The oldest images seem to belong to the beginning of the first millennium BC and the latest to the 12th or 13th century AD (Figure 8.8). Mulk and Bayliss-Smith convincingly argue that the rock art and its placing in Badjelánnda is best understood through informed methods and in the light of Saami cosmology. The oldest images at the site are represented by female anthropomorphic images that seem to relate to the Saami myth about the Majandasj’s mother Máttaráhkka, a local earth mother power (Mulk & Bayliss-Smith 2006: 59–63). The latest images are represented by ship motifs dated to early medieval times that are sometimes carved over older images (Figure 8.8). Mulk and Bayliss-Smith (2006: 81–103) show that the ship is related to Saami religious beliefs known through informed methods (Figure 8.9). Their interpretation is not only based firmly on historical and ethnographic sources but also through a first hand knowledge of the archaeological record in the area (Mulk 1994). At first it seems there is little more to be added. A striking thing left to discuss though, is the fact that the rock art at Badjelánnda is situated at a place that has been used as both a soapstone and asbestos quarry (Figure 8.8), which once again opens up the possibility of linking the rock art, the act of emplacement, the hau of things and place, to the negotiation and renegotiation between humans and the immaterial forces that created, inhabited and sacralised their life-worlds. This will provide us with a strong possibility of both strengthening the dating of the rock art as well as our interpretation of its meaning and significance. I will return to sketch some of the pathways this could be achieved in the final section of this article.

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A case study from the southern traditions The example from the northern traditions mentioned above links the making and use of rock art to the ‘production’ and ‘consumption’ of animals and raw materials where the act of emplacement and the hau of things and places were important for the interpretations put forward. Similar scenarios have also been suggested for the southern traditions in northernmost Europe. Here, Bertil Almgren (1960, 1962) and Mats P. Malmer (1971, 1981) both argued that Bronze Age rock art acted as a substitute for the offerings of real objects, such as bronze spears, swords, shields and capes. Offerings of unfeigned ritual paraphernalia took place in the centre of the Nordic Bronze Age culture, while the rock art acted as ‘substitutes’ in the periphery (also Larsson 1986; Kristiansen 1987, 1998). In an earlier work entitled ‘The hand of death – essays about the bronze and rock smith’ (Goldhahn 2007), I questioned these functionalist interpretations. Instead I argued that both of these medias were linked to the smith as ritual specialists and that the latter were involved in a wide range of ritualized activities including making rock art, bronze objects and death rituals. One of the reasons for this is that we find several raison d’êtres to link these smiths to each other. Traces of the works of different (?) smiths are consequently found together in the same archaeological contexts. For instance, the Scandinavian cult houses from the Bronze Age have often been associated with both cremations, bronze casting and rock art, suggesting that these phenomenon were related (Goldhahn 2007: Ch. 9). Sometimes these smiths’ activities have been hidden away behind tall palisades or positioned in relation to contemporary burial grounds, suggesting that these activities were associated with ancestral esoteric knowledge and sacred places. Another inspiration for this interpretation has to do with technology. Most of the clays in Scandinavia melt at 700–800 degree Celsius, which means that the smith has to come up with a solution for casting bronze and making metal objects, which demands much higher temperatures. This was either done by tempering the clays for moulds and crucibles with quartz, or by making them out of soapstone, due to the fact that both these materials are more resistant to heat: quartz melts first between 1470–1756 degrees Celsius (depending on the pureness of the mineral), and soapstone is not effected by heat until 1550 degrees Celsius (Goldhahn 2007: 124–125). The occurrence of soapstone is sporadic in Scandinavia with concentrations in west Sweden and in the mountain areas of Norrland, as well as

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Figure 8.6 (above left). The intricate stratigraphy showing traces of red ochre production at RAÄ 158 on the northern shore at Nämforsen. Photo: Joakim Goldhahn. Figure 8.7a (above right) and 8.7b (left). Högberget 3, an artificially made cave with rock art motifs marking the entrance. Note the hearth (dated to 4200–1100 cal BC) and the deposition of red ochre beside it. Photo: Joakim Goldhahn.

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Figure 8.8. The outcrop and rock art from Badjelánnda in Laponia (after Mulk and Bayliss-Smith 2006).

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Figure 8.9. The Sámi mythology interpreted through informed methods and the rock art at Badjelánnda (after Mulk & BaylissSmith 2006).

in Rogaland, Hordaland, Hedland and Trøndelag in Norway (Goldhahn 2007: Ch. 5). Despite this, both ‘raw’ soapstone as well as ‘half-products’ and finished casting moulds were distributed far beyond these areas. In the above work I showed that several soapstone quarries had been engraved with Bronze Age rock art (Figure 8.10). According to available rock art chronologies it seems as if these quarries were visited on a regular basis, some even over such a long time span as 600–800 years (1500–700 cal BC). The need for soapstone implies that these places were associated with the esoteric knowledge of the smith and the remote placing of these decorated quarries might suggest that these places were used for initiation rituals for novices (Goldhahn 2007: Ch. 5). This hypothesis might be strengthened by the fact that some of the soapstone moulds had been given anthropomorphic shapes and that they are treated as sacralised objects (deposited in bogs, wetlands, at boulders, in heaps of fire cracked stones or in burials). Both the birthplace of these ‘technological devices’ as well as their life-courses and death rituals seem to indicate that the soapstone was treated as a living animated material bestowed with its own agency (Figure 8.11).

In contrast to soapstone, quartz is one of the most common minerals in the world, and its occurrence in northernmost Europe is not an exception. However, it is important to stress that without quartz there would not be a Bronze Age in Scandinavia. It was crucial to temper both moulds and crucibles with quartz, otherwise the clay in them would start to melt and decompose from the fluid bronze material. Quartz is also intimately related to rock art from the southern traditions (Figure 8.12). The last couple of years it has been demonstrated over and over again that rock art images are closely related to veins of quartz (Bradley et al. 2002; Coles 2005; Goldhahn 2006, 2008; Tilley 2008) and when the images were newly pecked it sometimes would be impossible to tell which part of the image was natural or man-made (Goldhahn 2005, 2007). Throughout the years I also have come across a large number of rock art sites that were situated at quartz quarries, or vice versa; quartz that has been quarried at rock art sites (Figure 8.13). Also some of the known bronze casting places, so-called workshops (sic), have been found at quarries of quartz (Goldhahn 2007). Quartz was then an essential material for the whole prestige goods system during the SouthScandinavian Bronze Age. As a consequence, quartz is also one of the most common find materials from excavated rock art sites. It has been deposited in cracks and fissures and then sealed from the world by pavements of stone (Bengtsson 2004). In rare cases, such as the famous ‘snake-whirl-panel’ from Tisselskog in Dalsland, Sweden, quartz has even been deposited in pits in front of the rock art. Most of the quartz found at rock art panels seem to have been smashed. From refitting analyses it is obvious that it was not used to manufacture any artefacts. Instead it seems to have the purpose of creating different audio-visual phenomenon, such as sounds, smells and photon flashes, in rituals and ceremonies (Goldhahn 2007: Ch. 7). The pattern described above seems to be related to the hau of the places itself, and following the arguments of Mauss and Godelier above, this can be explained as a pattern ruled by a reciprocal gift exchange between different realms of reality. In the following I want to relate this pattern to the act of emplacement, the hau of the place and artefacts created by using material from those places.

Discussion and interpretation It is easy to find examples through informed methods from different parts of the world where rock art was used as a mediator between different realms (Whitley 2001). In this article I have intended to show that this

Emplacement and the hau of Rock Art interpretation can also be reached by using formal analysis of the rock art in the northernmost of Europe. I have also suggested that rock art can be related to the act of emplacement and the hau of rock art places. A common thread with the rock art sites dealt with in this article is that they all can be associated with the quarrying of ‘raw materials’ that were necessary to create certain artefacts that were used as gifts and counter-gifts in the northernmost of Europe in the past; red ochre, quartzite, asbestos, soapstone and quartz. These materials were not only necessary to make certain objects, they were also indispensable for creating and recreating certain social personas, gender, rank and status, in short: different cultural values. Following Godelier and the discussion above we can elaborate this relationship even further: a prerequisite for the mentioned material culture to work as a gift between humans was that a similar transaction and renegotiation took place between humans and the transcendental powers that inhabited the quarried sites in the first place. Rock art could then be interpreted as both the medium and result of these transactions. From the northern traditions we have seen that the act of emplacing rock art can be related to the creation of different artefacts and pigments, such as asbestos, soapstone, quartzite and red ochre. All this material can be linked to other spheres of the prehistoric societies who made and remade the rock art. For instance, both ochre and red slate daggers were used in the Neolithic to express identity, status and religious beliefs (Lundberg 1997; Taffinder 1998), not least for making rock art (Hallström 1962). Asbestos and soapstone was used from the first millennium BC onwards as a temper in pottery and moulds for metalwork. Those ceramics were of two different types, asbestos pottery and asbestos ware (Hulthén 1991). The latter was used in metallurgic processes and linked to the introduction of iron metalwork in the area; the former can be linked to different ideological processes, reflecting among other things, kin and marriage systems (Bolin 1998) and the becoming of Saami ethnicity (Jørgensen & Olsen 1988). Also the use of quartzite for stone tools seems to be linked to the latter process (Forsberg 1985; Bergman 1995), which seems to commence in the first millennia cal BC (Hansen & Olsen 2004). We shall not dwell on this rather complex archaeological research field, but this paper underlines the fact that we cannot treat rock art as a separate field within the broader field of archaeological research (cf. Tilley 2008). The rock art presented above is from at least five different millennia, but despite this, the act of emplacing rock art suggests that it was used as a mediator between different realms and that this

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mediation was a part of a larger reciprocal system of gift-giving which included both material and immaterial forces – the hau of things and places. The role of rock art suggested here, as part of a broader reciprocal system of gift-giving, might also enable us to approach with a fresh eye the notion of ‘huntingmagic’ (see Jordan 2003; Thackeray 2005; Keyser & Whitley 2006, cf. Morphy 1989; Conneller 2004); e.g. the reciprocal gifts between man and animals (Ingold 2000; Odner 2008). The perspective presented here also seems to hold true for the southern rock art traditions in northernmost Europe. Both the quarrying of soapstone and quartz is related to smiths and their ‘handicraft’. From archaeological studies we know that the objects made – weapons, tools and ornaments – were used for gifts and counter-gifts in a huge prestige-goods system (Kristiansen & Larsson 2005). Metal made the world of the Bronze Age go around (Harding 2000; Pare 2000) and it is fair to admit that the smith held a chief position within these systems (Goldhahn 2007). The list of how their creations came to be used is long (Goldhahn 2009). The bronze object was loaded with symbols and an iconography that carried both a regional and cosmological significance (Kaul 1998; Meller 2004) – objects that were used to create and re-create alliances, gender, social positions and rank (Earle 2002). The social institutions that embodied the work of smiths may best be described as a ‘total social phenomenon’ (Goldhahn 2007). To enable this prestige goods system to work, the smiths’ negotiation and renegotiation with both material and immaterial forces at certain places in the landscape, through the emplacement of rock art and dealing with the hau of rock art places, was crucial (Goldhahn 2009). The example given suggests that the act of emplacement of rock art and the hau of places and things were intertwined. Moreover, it also implies that the hau of place was in part generative for the social relations that were created and recreated through gifts between humans. Following Godelier, this also worked the other way around: social relations cannot be understood without a sense of place and the reciprocal gifts between humans and the immaterial powers that inhabited their life-worlds. Through the negotiation and renegotiation between humans and the immaterial forces that inhabited their worlds, power, authority, status, rank and gender were created and recreated from and with these places in mind. In a sense, this meant that the emplacement of rock art was a medium through which this communication and gift exchange could take place. Through the quarrying of places and the production of things made out of material from these places,

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Figures 8.10a (above left), 10b (left) & 10c (above right). Rock art and a soapstone quarry (marked out) at Krabbestig in Hordaland. A and B marks pre-preparations for outtakes (photo and documentation by Wrigglesworth 2003). Figure 8.11 (below). Example of anthropomorphic tuyere and soapstone moulds for socketed bronze axes dated to Late Bronze Age (1100–500 cal BC), which suggest that the handicrafts of smiths’ were animated by power and agency that might originate from the hau of places and gifts and counter-gifts between different realms (after Goldhahn 2009).

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Figure 8.12 (right). Dialogues between ‘ships’ and ‘waves’ (quartz veins) at Stenkyrka on Tjörn, Bohuslän. Photo: Johan Pettersson, now in Vitlycke Museum Archive. Figure 8.13 (below). Examples of quartz quarries at rock art sites from various places in southern Scandinavia: A and B, two angles of the relationship between rock art and quarry at RAÄ 7 in Borg parish (close to Himmelstalund) in Östergötland, Sweden; C) Berge in Hardanger, Norway, and, D) RAÄ 50 in Utby parish in Bohuslän, Sweden. Photo: Joakim Goldhahn, except photo D by Johan Ling.

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it seems fair to view places as a portable and fluid phenomena, far beyond the spatial notions that use to govern our thinking about space and place in our modern world. Through the hau of place and its materiality transformed into gifts and counter-gifts, material culture became embodied and bestowed with agency (Figures 8.4, 8.10). Among other things, the perspective presented above might highlight some of the reasons behind the depositions of artefacts at and/or in front of rock art sites and panels (see Bakka 1975; Bengtsson 2004; Milstreu & Prøhl 2007; Lahelma 2008; Lødøen this volume). Moreover, judging from the arrowheads that seems to have been fired against the decorated panel at Flatruet in Jämtland, Sweden (Hansson 2007), and the acts of defacement of certain rock art sites and panels at various sites in northernmost Europe (Goldhahn 2007: 79–81; Nash 2008, Nilsson this volume), the dialogue between different realms might not always have been so friendly.

be seen as a reordering and re-creation of the sacralised world – an act of emplacement. The interpretations put forward here suggest that we must perceive rock art as a vital part of the prehistoric societies that made and used this medium. Rock art was a total social phenomenon. However, by putting the enigmatic images and their connotations to one side for a while enables us to move beyond the images and rock art site per se, to explore other pathways that might teach us new and different things about the meaning and significance of rock art. Such an approach calls out for a more holistic and sincere archaeology of rock art places. By taking this approach I believe that we then can return to the images themselves with new answers and questions that can offer ways to new problems and possibilities in our quest to understand rock art as a social and religious phenomena in past and present societies. I give the last words to Neil Young: There’s more to the picture than meets the eye! Hey hey, hau hau…

Conclusions: the act of emplacement and hau of sacralised places

Acknowledgements

The relationship between stone quarries, rock art and esoteric knowledge has been noted before, both internationally (Taçon 1991, 2008; Rajnovich 1994: 145–157), as well as within northern Europe (Hood 1988; Bergsvik 2002; Lødøen this volume). What I wish to append to these discussions is that rock art, the act of emplacement and the hau of these places might all be understood as part of a wider and broader social system of gift-giving. In line with Mauss’ and Godelier’s arguments, I also assert that this reciprocal system included both material and immaterial forces, powers and authorities, which (sometimes) link the creation of rock art to the gift as a total social phenomenon. In the northernmost part of Europe and the huntergatherer rock art traditions it has been demonstrated that the emplacement of rock art can be linked to the quarrying and the creation of artefacts that required quartzite, asbestos, ochre and soapstone. For the southern traditions it has likewise been demonstrated how certain rock art sites can be linked to the smith and the production of bronze artefacts which might explain the obvious relation between images cast in bronze and pecked in stone (see Almgren 1927, 1934; Althin 1945; Marstrander 1963; Glob 1969; Malmer 1971; Kaul 1998; Tilley 2008, cf. Goldhahn 2007). Quarrying is per se an act that alters and changes the sacralised world, and by doing so the primordial order is put at stake. The act of creating pictures on rocks at quarries and altered surfaces could therefore

I wish to thank the participants on the workshop Changing pictures for stimulating discussions. My warmest thanks goes to Inga-Maria Mulk and Tim Bayliss-Smith for thought-provoking discussions and permission to use photos and figures from Badjelánnda in Laponia. For the same reasons I also wish to thank Berit Andersson at the County Museum of Västerbotten and Thomas B. Larsson at Umeå University for information and permission to use their photos from Finnforsberget in Västerbotten and Nämforsen in Ångermanland. I am grateful that Richard Bradley, Reading University, UK, and David S. Whitley, US, found time to read and make valuable comments on an earlier draft of this article. Last but not least, a great deal of thanks to Andy Jones, Southampton University UK, for stimulating discussions that helped me frame my own thoughts and for improving my English. Thanks also to the Swedish Research Council (Vetenskapsrådet) for supporting my research. None of the mentioned persons or institutions is responsible for views expressed herein.

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9 Cosmology and Performance: narrative perspectives on Scandinavian rock art Peter Skoglund

In this paper I discuss five rock art contexts in south-east Sweden dating to the period c. 1500–900 cal BC. All the rock art is associated with graves and is analysed from a narrative perspective. It is argued that the narratives were modified to fit into the needs of different kinds of publics and three points are put forward. First, it is argued that the social position of the dead person is elaborated on the rock art. This is done in two different ways, however. There are the Ör and Hjortekrog examples where the individual is subordinated to a greater narrative concerned with the movement of the sun by the means of a horse or ship. Here we are dealing with a cosmological understanding about the world – i.e. how the world is maintained by the help of animals and vehicles. There are the motifs on the Sagaholm and the Klinta slabs where the heroic performance of a single person is underlined by the killing of a stallion by means of a bow. Second, there seems to be two different kinds of ways to structure a narrative. Scenes from a narrative could either occur as a single snap-shot that by association can be connected to a wider spectrum of a myth; or different motifs could be related to each other in a chronological sequence. In contrast to the individual metal razor, where lack of space made it impossible to depict longer narratives, the potential for lengthy elaborations of narratives was sometimes explored on rock art. Third, the narratives were related to the landscape the public inhabited, demonstrated by the various uses of ship images. Keywords: Cosmology, Bronze Age, narrative, performance, rock art, sun-symbolism

Introduction In recent years interpretations of Scandinavian rock art has been revitalised by researchers using a narrative perspective (Fredell 2002, 2003; Kristiansen & Larsson 2005). A common trend for this research is a perspective where rock art is viewed according to a background of oral Indo-European tradition. Myths that were retold in India and the Mediterranean have become sources of inspiration for the interpretation of Scandinavian rock art motifs. In this paper I will adopt a narrative perspective; but I will highlight it in a slightly different way. I will argue that rock art primarily is not an oral tradition but a narrative tradition that has to be studied on its own premises; and instead of using distance geographical analogies I will try to adopt a contextual based framework drawing on narratives recently interpreted from Scandinavian metal items.

Any narrative can be played out in different media. In today’s society a narrative might be performed as a written text, as a movie or a theatre play. All of these media have their own characteristics that give the narrative a specific tune. A plot involving sounds and colours can easily be elaborated in a movie, but needs more consideration if expressed as a written text. In a Scandinavian Bronze Age perspective we might conclude that narratives focusing on ships were played out in different media that all had their specific characteristics. In the Bronze Age the ship was depicted in different contexts, such as rock art (Malmer 1981) and metal items (Kaul 1998). As a complement to these media there were also graves built in the shape of stone ships (Capelle 1986, 1995; Artelius 1996). The great variety of the contexts in which ships are represented suggests that these representations were not intended simply to remind viewers of real ships,

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Figure 9.1. Map showing the location of the five locales discussed in the text.

but of what ships stood for; these ships had, at least in part, a narrative significance. These different media all had their benefits and the help of different media could underline obstacles and various aspects of the ship symbolism. The most comprehensive interpretation of ship symbolism is based on a study of decorated bronze items including metal razors. From this study carried out by Flemming Kaul, it is clear that the pictures reveal a narrative about ships and the movement of the sun. The ships on the studied metal razors do not occur in isolation but with other figures such as horses, birds, snakes and sun symbols. Each razor tells only a sequence of the narrative, but the images on the razors overlap and by linking them together a description about the sun’s daily journey can be reconstructed (Kaul 1998, 2004). The basic arrangement of the myth is that the sun in the morning and evening is pulled in and out of the mundane world in various ships with the aid of fish, birds and snakes. At midday only a horse draws the sun and in the night it is transported below earth in a ship.

The decorated metal items are most common in Denmark but they occasionally occur in Sweden and Norway. They date to the Late Bronze Age – 1100–500 cal BC. The basic components of this myth, however, with the sun being drawn by a horse, was introduced to Scandinavia about 1600 cal BC; consequently sun symbolism was one of the key ideological components in the transition from the Neolithic to the Bronze Age in Scandinavia (Kaul 1998, 2004). Similar narratives as those expressed on the metal items might also be observed in rock art (Bradley 2007, 2008). However one of the main problems with interpreting rock art in the open air is that the motifs might have accumulated over several centuries. Therefore it is often impossible to know what motifs were originally contemporary. This has little or no importance if focusing on single motifs (e.g. Malmer 1981), but when trying to reveal a narrative this question becomes crucial. Therefore this paper takes its starting point in five rock art contexts that can be associated with monuments with a firm archaeological date. The relations between the rock art and the grave varies

Cosmology and Performance: narrative perspectives on Scandinavian rock art from being depicted on a kerb, inside a cist and on an outcrop all covered by the grave itself, to being depicted on a boulder and on an outcrop that most probably can be associated with a grave. With a high degree of plausibility these five contexts were made on a single occasion, each in connection to the construction of the five burial ceremonies, which took place in the time span 1500–900 cal BC. The five graves are all situated in south-east Sweden (Figure 9.1). This area is chosen for two reasons. It contains two of the most informative rock art sites made in connection to death burials in the whole of northern Europe: the Sagaholm and the Kivik rock art (Randsborg 1993; Goldhahn 1999). Secondly, the area neighbours Denmark from where most of the razors, which provide the empirical basis for the narrative of the suns journey, are found. The theme and structure of this narrative is an important source of inspiration for the conclusions drawn in this paper. In the following I will argue that these five burial monuments present two different aspects of a narrative that were retold in southern Scandinavia during the Bronze Age. I will also discuss the specific values attached to the media of stones and how different aspects of the myth were underlined in various sociogeographical contexts.

The movement of the sun – cosmology In 1921 two stone settings, measuring 10 and 5 metres in diameter were excavated at Ör, approximately 16 kilometres north of Växjö in central Småland (Figure 9.1). The finds were sparse, consisting of fragmentary bones, a little pottery and two hammer stones found in each of the two graves respectively. Judging from the construction of the larger grave, built around a central boulder and comprising a 0.5 × 0.5 quadratic stone cist, this grave most probably dates to the Late Bronze Age, 1100–500 cal BC (Skoglund 2006: 40ff ). Around 350 cup-marks were found just southeast of the larger grave and in addition a few noninterpretable motifs. In 2001, in connection with a project led by the present author, another panel of motifs was found just four metres north of the cupmarks. This panel is dominated by 32 foot soles but there are also 3 horses, 3 spirals and 2 snakes, 27 cupmarks and in addition unidentified and fragmentary motifs (Skoglund 2006: 29f). There are two compositions of motifs on this panel that can be related to the myth about the sun’s journey through heaven and below earth. These two compositions were probably made in connection with death rituals carried out when the people in the two graves were buried. An important argument is

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that the two hammer stones found in the two graves respectively are most probably related to the making of the rock art (Skoglund 2006: 40ff ). Because of an insufficient record the relationship between the two graves and the rock art is not evident. However, judging from the record, at least some of the rock art motifs were hidden below the two graves before excavation. In this article I will focus on a composition consisting of an oval shaped line, a cup mark, a spiral, two foot-soles and a horse (Figure 9.2). The spiral is slightly thicker in the right end, and as an alternative, I have suggested that it can be interpreted as snake with a raised head. The snake and the horse occur in connection to the myth about the sun’s daily journey. On the metal items studied by Kaul both the snake and the horse helps to transport the sun across the heaven. Therefore in this context the oval shaped line points out the journey of the sun across heaven and the cup mark is a representation of the sun itself. The two foot-soles plausibly refer to a person and it is reasonable to argue that they represent one of the persons buried in the two graves. Since the two foot soles are inserted in the snake there is an interaction between a person and an animal. Possibly the person is being bitten by the snake or alternatively the snake is smashed by a foot. There is no obvious chronology in this narrative, but it is a condensed version of a greater story, where some key-objects representing various aspects of a narrative are highlighted. The Hjortekrog cairn, close to the coast of northeastern Småland, measuring 12 metres in diameter, was excavated c. 1960 by K. G. Petersson (Widholm 1998). The cairn was laid out around a central boulder and next to the boulder was a rectangular stone cist where pieces of bones, a fragmentary bronze item and tweezers were found. The tweezers are from Montelius period IV and date the grave to 1100–900 cal BC. Separated from the stone cist was a pot with remains of food. The cist and the pot were situated inside the innermost of two concentric kerbs (Widholm 1998: 71ff ). On the outcrop below the cairn and inside the innermost brim were 18 ships, one cup-mark and one unidentified motif (Figure 9.3). Only one ship has crew strokes indicating a vessel run by five people. The ships are not to be found in any particular order, but they seem to be more or less randomly spread out on the surface. However the ship with the crew strokes and the cup-mark is centrally positioned inside the inner kerb. It seems possible that this rock art as well as the one in Ör primarily associates itself with the movement

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Figure 9.2. The Ör site; the composition of motifs discussed in the text. Photo: Peter Skoglund.

there is an intimate spatial relation between the pot with the cremated bones – i.e. the remains of the dead person buried in the grave – and the rock art motifs.

The movement of the sun – performance

Figure 9.3. The Hjortekrog rock art (from Widholm 1998: 76).

of the sun. The singe cup-mark in the centre of the engraved area should probably be interpreted as a sun-symbol and the two kerbs might point to the circular movement of the sun across the sky and below the earth. There are many similar details in the construction of the Ör and the Hjortekrog graves, but in this case there is no motif referring to a single person. Instead

The Sagaholm mound, just outside the town of Jönköping, was excavated in 1971 (Goldhahn 1999, 2000; c.f. Randsborg 1993: 89ff ). The mound, 22 metres in diameter, probably dating to Montelius period II or III (1500–1100 cal BC) is famous because of its inner kerb that at the time of excavation consisted of 46 slabs whereof 16 are decorated with rock art motifs. The mound was badly damaged in the 19th century and a little less than half the mound had been taken away before the 1971 excavation. In addition to the 16 decorated slabs found in situ, another 6 decorated slabs were found as stray finds. All together 31 horses, 9 ships, 4 people, 2 cup-marks and 4 uninterpreted motifs have been documented (Figure 9.4) (e.g. Goldhahn 1999). It has been suggested that not all the 31 animals represent horses but that stags and goats occur as well (Randsborg 1993: 89ff; Kristiansen & Larsson 2005: 328). This is because in two cases the animals have horns. However masks with horns designed for horses as well as miniature horses with horns are known from the Late Bronze Age (Kaul 1998: 29f; Goldhahn 1999). This indicates that the mythological animal could act primarily as a horse but also have qualities that are not associated with horses as we define them today.

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Figure 9.4a (left). The Sagaholm barrow during excavation, autumn 1971. The rock art was found on the outside on the second kerb. Photo: Anders Wihlborg (after Goldhahn 1999). Figure 9.4b (below). Depicted slabs from the Sagaholm mound: slab nos 6, 23, 30, 31 and 42 (after Goldhahn 1999).

30 31 23

6

42

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Since the motifs are found on a kerb our reading of them is structured in a horizontal direction – i.e. either from left to right or from right to left. Given that 30 of the 31 horses are heading to the right it is reasonable to conclude that the motifs are ordered from left to right. To this observation could be added that six of the nine ships are sailing to the right, but two of the ships are sailing to the left while in one case the direction of sailing is uncertain. This gives us another chronological dimension, since Flemming Kaul in his analysis of ship-motifs on metal items, demonstrated that ships in connection to sun-symbols sailing to the right are active during the day and ships sailing to the left are active during the night. The argument is that in the northern hemisphere the sun in the day-time moves from left to right, and during its supposed movement below the earth from the point of setting to the point of departure, it moves from right to left (Kaul 1998). The ordering of the day and night ships indicate that the narrative represents events taking place during three days and two nights. This is a minimum considering that there probably were more ships at the part of the brim that was destroyed before excavation. The horses are not randomly spread out on the 46 slabs, but they cluster in groups of three or two, or they occur in isolation, moreover both stallions and mares can be identified (Figure 9.4). The identification of a stallion is based on the occurrence of an over dimensioned horse with a penis on slab No. 6 and the occurrence of a mare is based on the fact that a male person is having sexual intercourse with a horse in two occasions (slab Nos 23 and 30). The overall impression is that we are dealing with a narrative about one stallion and two mares. An important theme in the narrative is that the male human person is successively taking the position of the stallion; firstly by having sexual intercourse with the two mares (slab Nos 23 and 30), thereafter bringing them aboard a ship (slab No. 32) and finally by killing the now lonely stallion (slab No. 42). It seems reasonable to identify the male person with the person buried inside the grave, even though it is not possible to identify the sex of the deceased because both skeleton and grave goods are lacking. A similar narrative can also be identified on the Klinta slab measuring 1.2 × 0.7–0.5 metres. It was found close to a cairn at southern Öland in the early 20th century. Arne carried out a small excavation of the cairn in 1917. Even though the exact location of the decorated stone is not known, it was most probably a part of the grave construction and it has been suggested that it was lying on the top of the cairn.

At the Klinta stone we find three horses, two ships, three concentric circles arranged around a cup-mark and in addition around 150 cup-marks (Figure 9.5). The excavator Arne proposed that the c. 150 cup marks made on the back of the boulder, in a surface that is less suitable for rock art, indicates that they post-date the motifs on the other smooth side. If this suggestion is correct the stone was turned upside down after the death rituals and thereafter used for a longer period (Arne 1917). There is a distinction between a single horse in the centre of the stone moving towards the left and two horses at the bottom of the stone that are aboard a ship. In contrary to the horse in the middle, the ship and the two horses are moving towards the right (Figure 9.5). While the two horses at the bottom are depicted in a stylistic way the horse in the middle of the stone is more elaborate, making it possible to distinguish four legs (or three legs and a tail) and a shorter line that ought to be a penis making this horse a stallion. Having the Sagaholm narrative in mind I would interpret this scene as the stallion being removed from his two mares. The mares are aboard the lower ship together with a human person who is lying down as if he is resting or sleeping. Close to the body is a curved line that in this context ought to be interpreted as a bow; making this scene coherent with the man and the bow on slab No. 42 in Sagaholm. The ship with the two horses aboard corresponds to slab No. 32 at Sagaholm where one, or possibly two horses, can be seen aboard a ship together with a human being. Thus it seems as if the same basic narrative is manifested at the Klinta stone and the Sagaholm stones respectively. In contrary to the chronological ordered motifs in Sagaholm, the motifs on the Klinta stone seem to correspond to a situation where only the central theme of the narrative is presented – i.e. the unification of the human persons and the two mares. Our last example is the famous Kivik cairn, restored to a size of 75 metres in diameter, a monument that has attracted the interest of both laymen and scholars since the cist was opened by plunderers in 1748 (Nilsson 1864: 1–36; Almgren 1927: 170ff.; Nordén 1933; Randsborg 1993: 107ff., 119; Verlaeckt 1993: 26ff.; Goldhahn 2005: 223ff; Skoglund 2005: 119ff ). In 1931 an archaeological excavation was carried out; on this and other occasions parts of metal objects and bones have been found in, and around, the c. 3.8 × 0.8 metre large stone cist. The fragmentary metal objects have been identified as part of a sword or dagger and a large bronze cauldron. The first object has been dated to Montelius period II (1500–1300 cal BC) while the latter object can be dated to Montelius period II–III

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Figure 9.5. The rock art at the Klinta stone. Photo: ATA/Stockholm (after Goldhahn 2005: 110).

(1500–1100 cal BC) (Randsborg 1993; Goldhahn 2005: 223ff ). However, recently a slightly older dating has been suggested by Kristiansen and Larsson (2005: 186ff ) implying that the monument and the rock art could have already been made in Montelius period I (1700–1500 BC). Joakim Goldhahn has made 14C-analysis on the fragmentary burned and unburned pieces of bone and teeth that were found at the archaeological excavation in 1931. Based on the 14C-dated bone and a new osteological analysis Goldhahn concludes that three phases of depositions can be identified during the time span 1400–800 cal BC. In each time span, several people were buried and most of these were teenagers. It seems clear that the Kivik monument was used repeatedly during a larger part of the Bronze Age (Goldhahn 2005: 243ff; 2009). The Kivik grave is famous because the eight slabs making up the cist are on the inside, decorated with

symbols and motifs relating to a death ritual (Figure 9.6). Most researchers agree that the motifs depicted on slab No. 7 and No. 8 display death rituals played out in reality and these will not be dealt with in this paper. Instead we shall focus on slab Nos 1–6. On these slabs we see three ships, four horses, four wheel crosses, and two mushroom-shaped symbols and finally, in close relation to each other, two axes, two spears (?) and a feature that has been interpreted as a hat (Figure 9.6). These later items – the hat, the axes and the possible spears – have been interpreted as personal belongings – i.e. items connected to a buried person. Moreover the hat with this specific shape is acknowledged as sign of very high rank in a north-European context (Randsborg 1993: 111ff; Kristiansen & Larsson 2005: 189ff ) Consequently we can conclude that also on the Kivik rock art the dead person is represented. Thereafter we find the three ships in close relation to each other, then

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Figure 9.6. The Kivik rock art. From Goldhahn (1999: 159).

the four horses on the same slab and finally the wheel crosses – symbolizing the sun and the two mushroom symbols that lack an evident interpretation. In addition to this there are the zigzag-symbols that have a close relation to the horses and the sun-symbols. All the key narrative components identified at Sagaholm and Klinta are evident also at Kivik: the dead person, ships with and without a crew, horses, and the sun symbols. We do not get to know any details about the myth, but it seems – in contrary to the Sagaholm and Klinta versions – that the removal of the stallion from the two mares is not a central part of this narrative. However the grouping of the horses in pairs of two and two on slab No. 3 indicate that the two mares represented at Sagaholm and Klinta might also be at hand in Kivik. On the other hand, following the logic from the Klinta stone, we may also argue that the three horses oriented towards the right are the stallion and the two mares, while the horse to the bottom right oriented towards left is the same stallion being separated from the two mares. The Kivik narrative seems to combine two ways of telling a story. The motifs are ordered in a sequence

where each sequence follows the other in a chronological order. But on the other side it is a comprehensive version of the myth, where only the most important parts of the narrative are displayed on the slabs.

The media and the message As pointed out by Åsa Fredell there are at least two different ways of structuring a narrative on the Scandinavian rock art sites (Fredell 2002, 2003). On the one hand the motifs can be randomly spread out on the surface. This corresponds to a well-known custom in oral societies where the most important part of the narrative is told initially and thereafter you get the background story which explains how this situation occurred. In this way of telling a story the chronology is of no or little importance. On the other hand, there are the linear way of telling a story where the sequence follow each other in chronological order. This way of presenting a story dominates in societies that are depending upon written texts (Ong 1990: chapter 3; Fredell 2002, 2003: 67ff ). These differences can be identified on the metal razors. The decoration on the razors makes sense

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both when used and displayed as single objects and also when several are put together in a sequence. Most probably the razors were used singly during the Bronze Age. This is because razors were personal items: they occur as single items in connection to specific individuals in graves but not in deposits or at settlements. Osteological analysis made on bone material from south Sweden demonstrates that razors were associated with men about the age of 20 or older (Arcini et al. 2007: 144). Since it has been possible by current research to connect the motifs on various razors to a narrative, each motif on the razors must have been made explicitly in relation to a larger sequence of events. This indicates that the persons engraving the motifs were aware of the complete narrative about the sun’s journey, even though they only engraved a specific detail of the total myth on the razor. The important methodological point is that when we try to identify myths in rock art we could expect them to occur either as a single snap-shot that by association can be connected to a wider spectrum of a myth; or we will be able to reveal a series of motifs that are related to each other in a chronological sequence. In contrast to the individual metal razor where lack of space made it impossible to depict the total myth about the suns movement, both ways of elaborating on a story are possible on a single rock art site. When using a slab as in the Klinta case the motif is a representation of a greater story – giving us only some important details that it is possible to make associations around. At Sagaholm where 46 slabs were put together in a kerb the potential of relating different motifs into a sequence was explored in a systematic way. In rock art the large size of some of the panels provides the potential for elaborating certain themes at length – something that is not possible on, for example, the limited size that is available on a metal razor. On the other hand, on the metal medium details can be depicted in a more thorough way than on rocks. The differences in the types of media which used to present a given narrative, structured what kind of information it was possible to express on the slabs and the razors respectively.

with a cosmological order is played out differently where either the individual or the movement of the sun is underlined. Probably we are dealing with two various kinds of myths that represent two themes in a mythological understanding of the world. There is the Ör and Hjortekrog examples where the individual is subordinated to a greater narrative concerned with the movement of the sun by the means of a horse (Ör) or ships (Hjortekrog). In these two examples the motifs deal with a cosmological understanding of the world – i.e. how the world is maintained by the help of animals and vehicles. There are the motifs on the Sagaholm and the Klinta slabs where the heroic performance of a single person is underlined – i.e. the killing of a stallion by the means of a bow. This is a hunter theme with references to strength; a quality in many societies regarded as typically male. In between these two categories is Kivik, which, due to the abstract character of the motifs, could be interpreted either as a hero myth or as a sequence referring to a cosmological understanding of the world. On the metal razors only the first kind of myth is evident – i.e. a cosmological understanding of the world. As another source of inspiration we could therefore turn to the Old Norse religion. In the early medieval written records there are, on the one hand, the stories about humans with supernatural virtues, who do various heroic deeds that cannot be done by ordinary man. On the other hand, there are sagas concerned with cosmology – i.e. how the world was founded, is constructed and is maintained by the help of the gods (Steinsland 2007: 44ff.). Judging by the above interpretations of the rock art, this duality between narratives focusing on either heroic deeds played out by heroes or a cosmological understanding of the world, is not only evident in Old Norse written sources, but goes back to the Early Bronze Age at least. If this interpretation is correct, it is not only key-symbols in Late Iron Age religion like the tree (Andrén 2005) or the ship (Skoglund 2008b) that have a long history, but also some of those principles that structured the ways myths and narratives were retold.

Cosmology and performances

The socio-geographical setting

In the five examples discussed above there are both variety and homogeneity. All narratives seem to be concerned with the integration of the dead person into a mythological world where the sun is being transported above heaven and below earth by the means of horses and/or ships. But this integration

The narrative perspective enables us to view the motifs on the rock art in a dynamic way, where focus is not on formal similarities, but on how the one and same theme is related to different situations. In contrary to written stories that are fixed in time and space, stories in oral societies have to be in tune with the specific

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situation in order to evoke the audience’s response and sympathy. This observation goes also for rituals that are continuously changing in oral societies. As pointed out by Ong – when there is disappointment with the outcome of a ritual the ritual is modified in order to fit the needs of the participants. However this modification takes place inside a set of traditional values and it does not challenge established ideals (Ong 1990). This quality – i.e. to adjust the specific situation – explains why there are both similarities and dissimilarities in the composition of the motifs made in connection to the death-rituals. The narrative had to be in tune to the specific social status of the dead and therefore we find the dead person being represented in various ways: with axes and a hat indicating very high rank (Kivik), a human person depicted with a bow referring to the skill of the hunter (Sagholm, Klinta), two anonymous foot soles (Ör) or finally not evident at all in the rock art itself (Hjortekrog). Furthermore the narrative had to be familiar to the public, this being dependent upon the character of the landscape they inhabited, being for example a coastal area or an inland area (c.f Skoglund 2007). This perspective – i.e. the importance of relating to the experiences of the public – is demonstrated by the variety in the ways ships are used in the rock art. There are examples of ships dominating the site as in Hjortekrog as well as examples where ships together with other motifs make up an integrated and balanced part of the narrative – i.e. Sagaholm, Klinta, Kivik – and finally Ör where ships are missing. Even though there are differences in the layout and use of ships, there is a similar basic structure on most of the sites. The narrative seems in all cases to elaborate on ideas on how the dead person, by defeating or relating to an animal, gets integrated into a mythological world where ships and/or animals like the horse and the snake are helping the sun to be transported above heaven and below earth.

Concluding remarks Scandinavia differs from most other parts of Europe because of its many rock art sites with concrete motifs. The abundance of tangible motifs has encouraged research on typological and chronological issues making it possible to relate, for example, various ship motifs to different parts of the Bronze Age (Glob 1969; Rostholm 1972; Kaul 1998; Ling 2008). The realistic ways of depicting humans, animals, ships (Kaul 2003), wagons (Nilsson 2005) and ards (Glob 1951; Skoglund 2008a) – that changes through time – indicate that the inspiration for many of

the motifs were taken from peoples’ experiences. A common way to explain this situation is that the pictures reveal rituals played out in reality (Almgren 1927; Kaul 1998, 2004) even though alternative views have been put forward (e.g. Ohlmarks 1963; Glob 1970). Only recently Scandinavian rock art has been viewed from a narrative perspective. Based on a semiotic approach it has been argued that rock art motifs are structured as a programme where one motif is related to another as a series of events (Fredell 2002, 2003). Recent research has also demonstrated the potential of using a narrative perspective on the motifs depicted on the metal items (Kaul 1998). The motifs on the razors, when linked together, describe a cosmological understanding of the world where the maintenance of the life-giving sun is dependent upon various factors like the ship and the horse. To some extent, parts of this narrative have been identified on, for example, rock art in Bohuslän; but in general it has not been possible with any accuracy to identify this myth on the rock art (Kaul 1998: 265ff ). However, as has been argued in this article, there is a clear possibility that some rock art motifs instead of myths referring to the movement of the sun, revealsmyths about deeds carried out by heroes. Such an interpretation has much in common with the way the Gotlandic picture stones have been interpreted. The Gotlandic picture stones date generally to the period 400–1100 AD, in the later part of this period we find motifs like people, animals, wagons and ships on the stones, that by association, can be related to the themes played out in Old Norse mythology, as it is known from early medieval written sources (Lindqvist 1941, 1942; Andrén 1989, 1993; Nylén & Lamm 2003). It is interesting to note that the understanding of picture stones and rock art have followed two different lines of interpretation. In the first case the discussion is not whether the pictures depict myth but what kind of myth is depicted, while in the latter case there is a disagreement as to whether the motifs display rituals or myths. The similarities in the lay-out of the motifs on the picture stones and the rock art respectively indicate that the rock art motifs might have a similar narrative significance – even though we should not expect themes from Old Norse mythology to appear on them. It seems quite possible to go on with a contextuallybased and comparative analysis and try to identify some of the key scenes from the Sagaholm and Klinta stones or rock art in other parts of Scandinavia. Given that myths, by their very character, are changed and adjusted to various specific situations, we should

Cosmology and Performance: narrative perspectives on Scandinavian rock art not expect an exact similarity between compositions of motifs in different regions. However similar compositions to those in the Sagaholm and Klinta slabs also seem to occur outside south-east Sweden, in, for example, Denmark (Glob 1969: 14ff ) and Middle Sweden (Fredell 2003: Planch V).

References Almgren, Oscar. 1927. Hällristningar och kultbruk. Bidrag till belysning av de nordiska bronsåldersristningarnas innebörd. Stockholm: Kungliga Vitterhets Historie och Antikvitets Akademiens Handlingar 35. Andrén, Anders. 1989. Dörrar till förgångna myter. En tolkning av de gotländska bildstenarna. In: Andrén, A. (ed.) Medeltidens födelse. Krapperup: Gyllsenstiernska Krapperupsstiftelsen, 287–319. Andrén, Anders. 1993. Doors to other worlds. Scandinavian death rituals in Gotlandic perspectives. Journal of European Archaeology, 1993 (1), 33–56. Andrén, Anders. 2005. I skuggan av Yggdrasil. Trädet som idé och realitet i nordisk tradition. In: Andrén, A., Jennbert, K. & Rauderve, C. (ed.). Ordning mot kaos – studier av nordisk förkristen kosmologi. Lund: Nordic Academic Press, 389–430. Arcini, Caroline., Höst, Elisabeth. & Svanberg, Fredrik. 2007. Gravar, bålplatser och två bronsåldersfamiljer i Guallöv. Studier av en gravmiljö. In: Artursson, M. (ed.). Vägar till Vætland. Stockholm: Swedish National Heritage Board/ Kristianstad: Regionmuseet Kristianstad, 107–168. Arne, Ture. J. 1917. Ölands första kända bronsåldersristning, Fornvännen 12, 196–201. Artelius, Tore. 1996. Långfärd och återkomst. Skeppet i bronsålderns gravar. Stockholm: Swedish National Heritage Board. Bradley, Richard. 2007. Danish razors and Swedish rocks. Cosmology and the Bronze Age landscape. Antiquity 80, 372–389. Bradley, Rirchard. 2008. Ship setting and boat crews in the Bronze Age of Scandinavia. In: Goldhahn, J. (ed.) Gropar & Monument. En vänbok till Dag Widholm. Kalmar: Studies in Archaeology IV, 171–184. Capelle, Torsten. 1986. Schiffssetzungen. Praehistorische Zeitschrift 61, 1–63. Capelle, Torsten. 1995. The Bronze Age Stone Ships. In: The Ship as Symbol in Prehistoric and Medieval Scandinavia In: Crumlin-Pedersen, O. & Munch Thye, B. (eds.). Copenhagen: National Museum, 71–75. Fredell, Åsa. 2002. Hällbilden som förskriftligt fenomen – en ansats för nya tolkningar. In: Goldhahn, J. (ed.) Bilder av bronsålder. Ett seminarium om förhistorisk kommunikation. Rapport från ett seminarium på Vitlycke museum 19–22 oktober 2000. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International, 243– 260. Fredell, Åsa. 2003. Bildbroar − figurativ bildkommunikation av ideologi och kosmologi under sydskandinavisk bronsålder och förromersk järnålder. Gothenburg: Department of Archaeology, Gothenburg University. Glob, Peter, Vilhelm. 1951. Ard og Plov i Nordens Oldtid. Jysk arkæologisk Selskabs Skrifter Bind 1. Aarhus: Universitetsforlaget.

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Glob, Peter, Vilhelm. 1969. Helleristninger i Danmark. Jysk arkæologisk Selskabs Skrifter VII. Köpenhamn. Glob, Peter, Vilhelm. 1970. Højfolket. Copenhagen: Gyldendal. Goldhahn, Joakim. 1999. Sagaholm – hällristningar och gravritual. Umeå: Studia Archaeologica Universitatis Umensis 11. Goldhahn, Joakim. 2000. Hällristningar, kosmologi och begravningsritual – exemplet Sagaholm. Primitive tider 2000, 22–53. Goldhahn, Joakim. 2005. Från Sagaholm till Bredarör. Göteborg: Gotarc Serie C. Arkeologiska Skrifter 60. Goldhahn, Joakim. 2009. Bredarör on Kivik: a monumental cairn and the history of its interpretation. Antiquity 83, 359– 371. Kaul, Flemming. 1998. Ships on Bronzes. A Study in Bronze Age Religion and Iconography. Köpenhamn: Nationalmuseet. Kaul, Flemming. 2003. The Hjortspring boat and ship iconography of the Bronze Age and Early Pre-Roman Iron Age. In: Crumlin-Pedersen, O. and Trakadas, A. 2003. (ed.) Hjortspring. A Pre-Roman Iron Age warship in context. Roskilde: Viking Ship Museum in Roskilde, 187–207. Kaul, Flemming. 2004. Bronzealderens religion – studier af den nordiske bronzealders ikonografi. Copenhagen: Det Kongelige Nordiske Oldskriftselskab. Kristiansen, Kristian. & Larsson, Thomas, B. 2005. The rise of Bronze Age society. Travels, transmissions and transformations. Cambridge: Cambridge University press. Lindqvist, Sune. 1941–1942. Gotlands Bildsteine 1–2. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. Ling, Johan. 2008. Elevated rock art. Towards a maritime understanding of rock art in northern Bohuslän, Sweden. Göteborg: Gotarc Serie B. Gothenburg Archaeological thesis 49. Malmer, Mats. P. 1981. A Chorological Study of North European Rock Art. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International. Nilsson, Lars Erik. 2005. Hjul på hällar. Sävedalen: Warne förlag. Nilsson, Sven. 1862–64. Skandinaviska Nordens ur-invånare. Ett försök i komparativa Ethnografien och ett bidrag till menniskoslägtets utvecklings historia. Andra bandet Bronsåldern. Stockholm: Norstedts förlag. Nordén, Arthur. 1933. Graven i Kivik. Några anteckningar kring Sveriges till ytan största gravminnesmärke. Ord och Bild. Illustrerad Månadstidskrift Nr 42. Nylén, Erik. and Lamm, Jan Peder. 2003. Bildstenar. Stockholm: Gidlunds. Ohlmarks, Åke. 1963. Hällristningarnas gudar. Stockholm: Kronos. Ong, Walter, E. J. 1990. Muntlig och skriftlig kultur. Göteborg: Anthropos. Randsborg, Klavs. 1993. Kivik, Archaeology & Iconography. Munksgaard: Acta Archaeologica 64 (1). Rostholm, Hans. 1972. Danske helleristninger. Holstebro Museums årsskrift 1971/1972, 20–47. Skoglund, Peter. 2005. Vardagens landskap – lokala perspektiv på bronsålderns materiella kultur. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International. Skoglund, Peter. 2006. Hällristningar i Kronobergs län. Motiv, myter och dokumentation. Lund: Department of Archaeology and Ancient History, Lund University. Skoglund, Peter. 2007. Landscape, History and Monuments – A Material Culture Perspective. In: Salisbury, R. S. & Keeler, D. (eds.) Space – Archaeology’s Final Frontier. An Intercontinental

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Approach. Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 244–271. Skoglund, Peter. 2008a. The composite ard in Sweden – its introduction, geographical distribution and consequences for landscape management. In: Goldhahn, J. (ed.) Gropar & Monument. En vänbok till Dag Widholm. Kalmar: Kalmar Studies in Archaeology IV, 323–339. Skoglund, Peter. 2008c. Stone ships – continuity and change in Scandinavian prehistory. World Archaeology 40 (3), 390–406.

Steinsland, Gro. 2007. Fornnordisk religion. Stockholm: Natur & Kultur. Verlaeckt, Koen. 1993. The Kivik Petroglyphs. A Reassessment of Different Opinions. Germania 71, 1–29. Widholm, Dag. 1998. Rösen, ristningar och riter. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International.

10 ‘Should I stay or should I go’: on the meaning of variations among mobile and stable elk motifs at Nämforsen, Sweden Ylva Sjöstrand

This article concerns variations in the depictions of elks, as manifested on rock art sites in northern Sweden. I will focus on the difference between elks with straight and angled legs. Elks with straight legs appear in clear organised compositions, while elks with angled legs are represented in more chaotic contexts. I also discuss the possibility of a correlation between the number of straight-legged elks and the frequency of human figures. The main purpose of the paper is to question functional interpretations of the elk motif. I will argue that certain aspects of the depiction of elks contradict the view that they were simply depicted as components of prehistoric people’s diet. Keywords: rock art, Nämforsen, key symbol, elks, symbolism, Neolithic, Bronze Age

Introduction No one who has studied the prehistory of northern Fennoscandia could doubt the importance of elks. They are everywhere. Elks appear as rock art motifs, on slate objects and elk bones are the most common animal remains found on settlements (Hallström 1960; Baudou & Selinge 1977; Ekman & Iregren 1984; Wennstedt Edvinger 1993; Bolin 1999). At Nämforsen, one of the largest rock art sites in this part of the world, depictions of elks amount to more than 50 per cent of the total number of engravings (Lindqvist 1994: 183). The pictorial presentations of this animal are, however, diverse. They appear in various compositions and with a wide range of attributes and there are many examples of elks that seem to transform into boats or humans. There are also images of elk-headed tools as well as boats with elk-head shaped sterns. The elk is, without a doubt, a complex motif with multiple and ambiguous meaning (e.g. Tilley 1991). Thus, I will claim that it is a fatal mistake to ignore this variety within the motif by reducing it to a signifier with a single meaning. Instead of considering and interpreting them as a homogeneous group, we need to investigate the range of variations within this motif group.

There are many aspects of the elk motif that can be taken in to account. One can for example analyse whether they are depicted with body marks, if they are provided with antlers, or the shape of their bodies (e.g. Forsberg 1993: 203; Wennstedt-Edvinger 1993). In this paper I intend to focus on an aspect that has been overlooked; I will discuss the depiction of the legs of the elk. Elks are usually depicted with either straight or angled legs. Straight legs are simply vertical lines while the angled legs are shaped as a horizontal V (Figure 10.1). This phenomenon is easily observable at Nämforsen, but it is important to remark that this variation in the elk motif is also apparent at other sites in Fennoscandia (see Gjessing 1936, 1945; Hallström 1938, 1962; Lahelma 2008).

The locality Before discussing the question of the elk’s legs any further, a general discussion of Nämforsen is necessary. Nämforsen is located in Ådals-Liden parish, Ångermanland, in northern Sweden. The history of research on the site dates back to 1705. During the 18th and 19th centuries a number of antiquarians visited Nämforsen. Nils Ekdahl made a visit accompanied

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a

b

c

d

Figure 10.1. Examples of different elk types. a). Surface-pecked with straight legs; b). Surface-pecked with angled legs; c) Contourpecked with straight legs; d). Contour-pecked with angled legs (after Hallström 1962).

by an illustrator in 1828 and a few decades later, Karl Sidenbladh reported on the site for the benefit of the Royal Swedish Academy of Antiquities. His report remains unpublished (Hallström 1928, 1960: 132; Baudou 1997, 2001, 2005; Fransson 2004). Even if both Ekdahl and Sidenbladh made drawings of the rock carvings, the documentation was neither accurate nor complete. A qualified documentation first occurred when Gustav Hallström presented the results of more than 50 years of research in his ‘Monumental Art of Northern Sweden from the Stone Age: Nämforsen and other localities (Hallström 1960).

Nämforsen has more than 2500 motifs, making it one of the largest rock art sites in Sweden. The motifs, which mainly consist of elks, boats and humans, are distributed over three islands and on the south river shore (Figure 10.2). Gustav Hallström distinguished 264 compositions and found 719 elks, 366 boats, 87 anthropomorphic motifs, 80 tools, 34 cup marks, 30 undefined figures, 25 footprints 19 fishes, 15 elk headed tools and 9 birds (Hallström 1960: 139f, 284f). This account has, however, been revised by later scholars. Most of the engravings are to be found on the island of Notön, which lies in the middle of the river channel. The images are, with few exceptions, on the southern faces of the rocks. Just opposite Notön one of the largest settlement sites in the region of Norrland is situated. Radiocarbon dates indicate that the settlement was occupied from around 4200 cal BC and continued in use until the Middle Ages (Baudou 1977: 77ff; Forsberg 2001; George 2001). The excavation from 1944 generated a wealth of finds, with over 600 arrowheads, 6 kg of ceramics and more than 118,000 lithics found. Interestingly, recent research excavations on a settlement on the northern shore has revealed the remains of large scale red ochre production (Larsson et al. 2003; George & Engelmark 2004; Goldhahn 2006). The results from this excavation are still awaiting publication which means that in the future we will have further information on the character of settlement and the environment in the proximity of this amazing rock art site (Baudou 1992; Käck 2001). Nämforsen has been the subject of a number of interpretations. The site has been interpreted as a central place for hunting, trade, religious ceremonies or social activities. It has been suggested that the panels express a shamanistic cosmology or are related to sympathetic hunting magic (e.g. Hallström 1960; Hultkrantz 1989; Malmer 1989; Ramqvist 1992; Forsberg 1992, 1993; Lindqvist 1994, 1999; Fandén 1995; Helberg 2001; Lindgren 2002). Such interpretations are, to some extent, feasible. Nevertheless, the complexity of the depictions of elks suggests something more than simply the depiction of an animal of dietary importance. The date of the Nämforsen carvings is the subject of intense debate. It is not an overstatement to state that there are as many plausible suggestions of dates as there are scholars on the site (Goldhahn 2006). Christian Lindqvist suggests an early date for the site; on the basis of shoreline displacement he argues that the production of engravings at Nämforsen began around 4200 cal BC, with another phase around 3000 cal BC, with an end in the early Bronze Age (Lindqvist 1994: 213). Evert Baudou similarly claims

Figure 10.2. Nämforsen (after Hallström 1962).

‘Should I stay or should I go’ 141

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Figure 10.3. Elk leg from Gärde, Offerdal socken, Jämtland. Photo: Christina Thumé.

‘Should I stay or should I go’ that Nämforsen has been in use from 4000 cal BC to the middle Bronze Age (Baudou 1995: 95ff ). Lars Forsberg and Per Ramqvist suggest a slightly later date for the initial activities, as they believe that the carvings belong to the period 3000–1500 cal BC (Ramqvist 1992; Forsberg 1992: 57; Lindgren 2001: 58). The above suggestions contrast with Mats Malmer, who sees the engravings as a Bronze Age phenomenon (Malmer 1981: 98ff, cf. Lindqvist 1983). Göran Burenhult is of the same opinion (Burenhult 1999). Research on the chronology of Nämforsen is welcome. In the absence of chronology it is difficult to interpret the role of the carvings for prehistoric society. Nevertheless it is critical to consider the question of stylistic changes, and think about what stylistic changes express. I believe that stylistic changes in elk motifs occur because of modification in their meaning. Variations in the study of elk motifs are not only chronologically informative, they also tell us about how meaning has changed over time.

The elk’s legs Elk’s legs seem to have been of great significance. The RANE project’s documentation of engravings at Gärde, revealed a carving depicting a single huge elk leg (Figure 10.3). At the same locality there are elk figures with marks on their shoulders that may be interpreted as lines separating the legs from the body. The osteological material in at least two mounds of fire cracked stone (Gäddede, Frostviken parish, Jämtland and Tjiträsk, Stensele parish, Lappland) also contained a surprisingly high amount of fragments from the elk’s lower extremities (Sellstedt & Gejvall 1967; Ekman & Iregren 1984). Clear indications of the symbolic significance of the legs is indicated by a grave find from Oleni Ostrovskii, near Lake Onega, north west Russia. In one of the graves a necklace composed of beads made from the toe bones of elk was found (Gurina 1956). The significance of the elk’s legs is partially practical. As prehistoric hunting methods often resulted in damage to the body and entrails of the animal, the meat from the shoulder and leg was probably the best to consume. The straight hard bones from the feet were also suitable for tool production. The most important reason for the legs’ special significance must, however, have been connected to the symbolical connotations of this element of the body. As the legs are significant for locomotion, it is their motion and position which sets the tempo of the animal. By depicting elks in a variety of leg positions, elk figures appear to be in different states of motion. When elks with dissimilar leg positions are contrasted with one another it is

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possible to express the opposition between mobility and stability. The difference between the depiction of elks with angled and straight legs has been overlooked (for exceptions see Tilley 1991; Ramqvist 1992). The leg position of the elk affects the visual identity of the motif to such an extent that it seems obvious they were intend to signify different concepts. The heads of elks with angled legs are often raised, seemingly more alert, as if they are on the run. The panels in which these figures are located are usually chaotically composed. The carvings are often superimposed over each other, with no apparent pictorial structure. Following the ideas of Ian Hodder (1990), it seems as if the panels are intended to express agrios, wildness and mobility. If the elks with angled legs give a chaotic and wild impression, those animals with straight legs must be consider as their antonym. The vertical depiction of legs make the figures look as if they are standing still. The compositions are usually clearly organised, and the elk figures are structured in clear rows. Elks seem to be stable, stationary and organised, and following the argument of Hodder (1990), express the domus.

Straight and angled legs – a dichotomy In this paper I argue that the existence of a dichotomy between elk figures with straight and angled legs is significant. I argue that the binary opposition mobile–stable has significant meaning. This point is underlined by a comparison between the two most remarkable panels at Nämforsen, from the islands of Brådön and Notön. At Brådöhällan almost every elk is contour-pecked with the legs at a clear angle (Figure 10.4). This panel contains just two human figures, and they are both located in a peripheral position. Motion appears to be the dominant theme of the composition. The elks are overlapping each other, as well as figures from other motif categories. Footprints, wheel crosses and boats are so entangled with the elk herd that it is sometimes hard to distinguish between motifs. When looking at the Notö panel (Figure 10.5), the impression is almost the complete opposite. On this rock, every elk is surface-pecked with legs in vertical lines. More than 25 human figures are part of the composition, and these are also located amongst the elks. Few, if any, animals are overlapping. The elks look obedient, almost tame. Several of the less monumental panels are indicative of the validity of the dichotomy between mobile and stable. There are few panels in which elks with straight and angled legs are mixed. If this does occur, one of the types usually dominates over the other. There are

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Ylva Sjöstrand straight or angled legs appear in different compositions alongside anthropomorphic motifs.

The elk motif as a key symbol

Figure 10.4. Brådöhällan (after Hallström 1962).

also examples of panels in which the two elk types are positioned in opposition to each other. The variation in leg posture is a means of expressing the opposition mobile–stable although this is, of course, an interpretation that is impossible to ‘prove’ or ‘confirm’. Nevertheless I believe the interpretation is valid. In this paper I will extend my discussion of this interpretation with a wider study to support these ideas. My strategy in this study is to examine possible correspondences between differences in leg posture and other motif variations. My central question relates to whether differences in leg posture relate to differences in carving technique and whether elks with

Works in varied disciplines like psychology, sociology and cultural studies clearly show that in the contemporary world visual images express a variety of subtle messages, concerning for example, gender classifications, wealth or status (e.g. Barthes 1969; Brenner 1988; Jameson 1994; Hannez, Liljeström, & Löfgren 1982). Bearing this in mind, it is remarkable that we often ascribe prehistoric pictures with simplistic or shallow meanings. We tend to view images of elks as depictions of the real and living animals in the landscape, and interpret the compositions as realistic or idealistic images of hunting activities (e.g. Hallström 1945: 48f; Layton 1991; Lindqvist 1994: 140f; Thackeray 2005, cf. Tilley 1991; Bolin 1999; Lindgren 2001; Lødøen 2003). Of course, it would be ridiculous to deny that elk motifs may depict real, living elk. Equally it is plausible that narratives and myths are related to the compositions on the panels. There is more to the picture than meets the eye! It is important to remember, however, that the meaning of pictures need not be explicit; pictures may be unintentionally embodied with new meanings. Panels that once depicted a narrative could be reworked through the addition of new figures and, consequently, new connotations may be associated with the panels. Given this, it is difficult to understand the carvings solely as reflections of substantial needs or religious beliefs without abstracting them from their unarticulated levels of meaning. Here I want to focus on the unconsciousness and unarticulated significance of elk motifs. I argue that the elk is a ‘key symbol’ in the Neolithic and Bronze Age societies of Norrland.

Figure 10.5. The Notöpanel (after Hallström 1962).

‘Should I stay or should I go’ A key symbol can be understood as a ‘tool for thought’. According to Sherry Ortner, a key symbol is characterized by its capacity to be adjusted to express almost any message. Through small changes in context or visual approach, its whole content can be altered. Ortner exemplifies this with the pastoral Dinka’s relationship to cattle. In Dinka society cattle are constantly used as a referent when abstract subjects such as time, wealth or society are discussed (Ortner 1973). Ortner is clear that key symbols are typically profane and quotidian in character. This is because the raw material from which complex dichotomies, values and categorisations are modelled must be strongly connected to the real and concrete lifeworld (Lövgren 1981; Bradley 2005: 1–81). The choice and deployment of key symbols is symptomatic of the discourse of a given society. In order to make this more concrete, I would like to exemplify with the use of a contemporary analogy. Let us take a look at one of the most powerful symbols in our own culture; individuality. Ideas about the autonomous self are a dominant theme of modernity (Thomas 2004). Given this, the opposition between the individual and the collective is expressed both consciously and unconsciously. It is not surprising then that it is the isolated individual that is one of our most important key symbols, and is a common motif. This motif can be found in a variety of contexts and is often depicted in the shape of a stick figure. The circular head, the thick lines that constitute the body and extremities, can, through small adjustments, suit a series of meanings and contexts. Put a triangle for the torso and the key symbol is transformed into a sign for female. Bend its legs and shift its centre of gravity a bit and it will express the sign for escape route (Figure 10.6). Note that the modifications of the motif can be both contextual and artistic in nature. In order to symbolise abstract concepts or dichotomies in an effective and comprehensible manner, we utilise contemporary key symbols, such as the

Figure 10.6. Key symbol of our time?

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individual. Individuality is something that all of us can comprehend. For that reason, it serves as an effective means of deciphering abstract concepts. If we return to the elk figures at Nämforsen, my claim is that the variation within this motif group is a result of its role as a key symbol. For that reason, it offers the potential to reveal information relating to how categories operated within ancient society. I do not exclude the possibility that the motifs can be understood in terms of shamanism or hunting magic. Nevertheless, the long continuities at the site suggest that the motifs had numerous connotations. Differences in shape are therefore not only the result of differences in age or cultural origin; stylistic change may also relate to meaning. If this approach is adopted as a framework for the study of the elk motif at Nämforsen, some interesting consequences emerge. From this perspective the challenge is to look beneath the elk motif as a cipher for prehistoric religion and examine how it was used for expressing dichotomies between aspects of the prehistoric life-world. The elk motif must be considered as a multifaceted tool for thinking. We have to realise that it is a polysemic symbol, and carries numerous parallel messages. It is not a contradictory statement to point out that the elk was important at a dietary, religious and discursive level. Rather, it is hard to see how these three levels of meaning could be separated as autonomous spheres; the meaning of the symbol branches deep and wide. A range of meanings fan out from the visual image, covering countless fields. These symbols are connected to environmental preconditions, they are embedded in myths and stories and are a tool for thought, a medium for the hidden discourse of prehistoric society.

Descriptive Review In the study of rock art, it is taken as read that our estimation of motif frequency cannot be anything but subjective (e.g. Lahelma 2008, Hallström 1960). The objective identification of motifs is problematic. Given this, the diagrams presented here do not contain absolute or definite numerical values. Still, they are an attempt to present visual trends; they are a tool for conveying the patterns I observed in the field. A brief estimation of the numerical distribution of elks with straight and angled legs respectively was first done in the field. The calculations presented here were made with the aid of the charts published by Gustav Hallström. I have also used his account of the number of figures in the different motif groups. Since Hallström’s publication on monumental art in northern Sweden (1960), numerous new figures have

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Figure 10.7 (above). The distribution between the four elk types at Nämforsen. Figure 10.8. Diagram a) (top right) and b) (centre right) shows the proportion of human figures that stands in a close compositional relation to elk figures. Diagram c) (bottom right) shows the opposite condition. From this it is clear that antromorphic motifs are connected to elks’ figures to a larger extent than vice versa.

been found at Nämforsen, especially when the site was re-documented by researchers at Umeå University between 2002–2005. I have had the opportunity to look at this material to compare with my results and, happily, found the relative distribution was unchanged in principle. Another important point to note is that only figures which are clearly identifiable have been taken into account. Uncertain or fragmented motifs have not been classified. The number of elk figures included in the analysis amount to a total of 482.

Surface and contour-pecked elks The most significant variation between the elks at Nämforsen is that some are completely infilled by pecking while others are just depicted in outline. Given this, it is not surprising that carving techniques have attracted most research over time (Malmer 1981; Lindqvist 1983, 1994; Ramqvist 1992, 2002a, 2002b; Forsberg 1993; Goldhahn 2002; Sognnes 2007). Studies of carving technique have often been related to chronology. The hypothesis that surface-pecked carvings are older than contour-pecked carvings has been supported in several studies (Bakka 1976; Ramqvist 1992; Baudou 1993; Forsberg 1993; Lindqvist 1994). Lars Forsberg came to this conclusion after studying the elk motif statistically. The use of cluster analysis and multi-dimensional scalar analysis indicates that carving technique must be seen as a chronological gradient of the material. Forsberg argues that this chronological series goes from surface

pecking to contour pecking by referring to other finds and localities. The first analogy is made with the decorated slate object that was founded by Hallström when he excavated the settlement of Råinget. On this slate, one contour-pecked elk (with straight legs) was engraved, as well as one human figure of the type that Hallström referred to as ‘athletes’. The item was found beneath a hearth and the stratigraphy dates it to the late Neolithic (Ramqvist et al. 1985a 1985b, 1988; Baudou 1993; Forsberg 1993: 214). The carvings at Norrfors are Forsberg’s second analogy. At this locality all elk figures are executed in contour-pecked technique and the humans are also of the ‘athlete type’. This site is one of the few that can actually be dated accurately through the study of shoreline displacement. Today the carvings are on a cliff, but before the change in water level they were

‘Should I stay or should I go’ located on a small island in the middle of the river channel. Local curves of shoreline regression indicate that the panels would have been underwater until 2200 cal BC. The initial carving activities must therefore have taken place after this date. According to Forsberg, it is plausible that the carvings were made around 2100 cal BC and that this date could be used as a guideline for deciding the change between surface and contour pecking (Forsberg 1993: 216). Given this background it is interesting to see if differences in leg posture correspond to differences in carving technique. As shown in Figure 10.7, there is a relatively even distribution between the two carving techniques. 235 of 482 figures are surface-pecked while 247 are contour-pecked. The relationship between elks with straight and angled legs is more asymmetrical. The number of elks with straight legs amount to 378 while elks with angled legs only totalling 104. When these two parameters are analysed together a remarkable pattern emerges (Figure 10.7). At the outset, it is clear that surface-pecked elks with straight legs are the most dominant group (223). After that the second most numerous group is contour-pecked elks with straight legs (155). This is not unexpected as straight-legged elks are dominant in general. The interesting pattern emerges when we examine the distribution of angled legged elks. Of the 104 exemplars of this elk type, only 12 are surface-pecked, all the rest are depicted by contours (92). Since elks with angled legs are contour-pecked in principle, the practice of depicting elks with this leg position must be considered as a component of the ‘contour pecking doctrine’. That angled legs did occur as a style element at the same time as the contour pecking thus emerges as a possibility. From this analysis four different elk types have crystallised (see Figure 10.1). It seems that elks’ leg posture affects, or is affected by, carving method. To sum up, it is clear that contour pecking is associated with elks with angled legs. On the basis of the chronologies discussed above, angled legs can therefore be considered as younger. As straight-legged elks are to be found in both surface and contour pecking style one can assume that this method of depicting elks has a longer chronology, or greater time depth, than angled legged elks.

Elks and humans The study was extended to see if the shape of elks’ legs change depending on the absence or presence of human figures within the composition. According to Hallström there are 719 elks, 87 human figures and 25 foot soles at Nämforsen (Hallström 1960: 284,

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Figure 10.9. The spatial relation between elk figures and footprints.

cf. Wennstedt-Edvinger 1993; Lindqvist 1994: 183). I found that 60 per cent of the human figures and 56 per cent of the foot soles had at least one elk figure in a circumference of 100 cm. If we turn the tables and instead look at the number of elk figures that have either a human or foot sole at the same distance it is just 24 per cent. I therefore conclude that anthropomorphs seem more compositionally bound to elk figures than vice versa (Figure 10.8). It is hard to define the boundaries of a composition, and therefore I have based my study on a measurement of how many elks are to be found within a certain circumference (20 and 100 cm respectively) from a human figure. The calculation of the number of elks that could be found within these distances simply confirmed my previous observations. Elk figures with angled legs are more distinct from depictions of humans than those animals that have straight legs. On panels in which these elks are numerically dominant human figures are usually excluded. At the same time, elks with straight legs are usually to be found on panels that contain many anthropomorphic figures (e.g. Ramqvist 1992: 43ff ). This is best exemplified by comparing the big panels on Brådön and Notön with one another (see Figure 10.4, 10.5). An interesting phenomenon is that surface-pecked elks with angled legs appear in closer relation to footprints than any other elk type. As showed in Figure 10.9, the majority of elks located close to foot soles are contour-pecked with angled legs. Footprint symbols have been ascribed various meanings and are the topic of a huge discussion within archaeology in south Scandinavia. They are usually associated with ‘rites of passage’, and it has been suggested that footprints leading down from the water symbolise a return to that element in the afterlife (Bradley 1999). It is interesting to note that the carving at Gärde (the same site that contained the big elk leg carving, mentioned

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in the introduction) contains a set of human foot soles leading up to an elk. Also footprints of elks appear in the composition, and there is obviously a connection between footprints and the elk motif.

Ideas and interpretations As stated in the introduction, the relationship between elks depicted with straight and angled legs is assumed to be a dichotomy. This hypothesis is supported by the descriptive review discussed above. As we have seen, elks with either straight and angled legs are distributed in different patterns. These could be summarised as: •Elks with straight legs are executed in both surfaceand contour-pecking technique and are connected to human figures. •Elks with angled legs are executed in contour-pecking technique and are connected to footprints. Given this, these observations can be used to support a more complex interpretation. The reader will recall that my initial interpretation was related to understanding the dichotomy between straight and angled legs as a manifestation of the binary opposition mobile–stable. When discussing the concept of ‘binary oppositions’ it is important to point out that this concept need not refer to some final, fixed or isolated meaning. As numerous scholars have remarked, a number of meanings may exist in parallel. When it comes to such complex material culture as rock art, it is obvious that the mobile–stable dichotomy is one of many meanings immanent to the elk symbol. For example, the difference between stability and motion must be considered as a component of the wider concept of ‘motion’, which is linked moreover to the concept of ‘time’. Concepts are interrelated in a chain of signification or network, and binary oppositions therefore need not be understood as the basic or only content of a cultural phenomenon (Derrida 1991: 124). It is still important to be aware that the binary opposition mobile–stable is a component of such a chain of signification and can be interpreted on a number of different levels. Let us return to the elks. Figures with angled legs can be understood as images of ‘mobility’. Mobility was mainly mediated or expressed by the associations provided by leg posture. Legs are angled when the body is in motion and the assumption that this depicts an animal ‘in mid leap’ must be considered as both concrete and intuitive. Such hypotheses are supported by the results from my investigation. Elks with angled legs are almost exclusively contour-pecked and can be interpreted as an intention to leave the animals’ bodies ‘open’. The connection between angled-legged elks and

footprints can also been interpreted as an indication of the concept of mobility. Foot prints must be interpreted as traces of movement, as a sign of an absent presence, of transferral and movement. Footprints provide a hint that the opposition between ‘mobility–stability’ relates to other concepts, and can probably be related to the opposition ‘absent–present’. It is more difficult to argue that elks with straight legs represent the concept of ‘stability’ based on the results of the variation study. As with the study of angled legs, the associations apparent from the Notöpanel are an important element of my argument. An animal with straight legs is an animal standing still; it might be as simple as that. There are, however, indications that this leg posture is a more complicated phenomenon. In fact, I think that elks with straight or angled legs are a good example of how a key symbol has been modified to suit different purposes. In other words, it is not impossible that compositions, such as the Notöpanel, had been carved with a single intention, and then, as the angled-legged elks were initiated, were ascribed with the connotation of ‘stability’. As we shall see, there are indications that such an interpretation holds true.

Modification of the key symbol Like all key symbols elks carry multiple connotations, and, more importantly, are continually adjusted to encompass the need for new symbolic expressions. Such modifications are often carried out in order to contrast a symbol one wants to change against another one. As we noted in the analogy with the stick figure, the basic figure becomes a symbol for male gender when it is juxtaposed with a figure with a triangular torso. This is an example of the potential of key symbols. Instead of constantly enlarging the symbolic alphabet, key symbols are varied with respect to context, shape or attributes. I suggest that elks with straight legs have been subject to this kind of metamorphoses (Figure 10.10). That straight-legged elks are subject to change can be argued chronologically. As discussed above, contour-

Figure 10.10. Examples of stylistic elks with straight legs. (After Hallström 1962Pl XVI. Main group II, Subgroup C 3).

‘Should I stay or should I go’ pecked elks must be considered as more recent than surface-pecked elks. Since elks with straight legs are executed in both surface- and contour-pecking, it is clear that this leg posture has the longest continuity. Chronologically we can observe that straight legs had an important symbolic role after angled legs have been introduced. The initiation of the contour-pecking style cannot be seen as a radical break with the earlier tradition and should thus instead be seen as a new way of elaborating the elk motif. Even if representatives of elks with straight legs are to be found in both carving techniques, there are interesting differences between them. This fact supports my second argument. When contour-pecked elks are depicted with straight legs, the legs are often absolutely vertical (Figure 10.10). These elks are also more unrealistic in general, and are best considered as stylistic images of an immobile and static animal. Another interesting point is that contour-pecked elks with different leg positions often are to be found in clear contrast against each other (Figure 10.11). There are also many examples of contour-pecked elks that have been engraved so they contrast with a surfacepecked animal. The surface-pecked elks’ proximity to human figures comprises the third argument. As noted above, these elks are, with just a few exceptions, depicted with straight legs. When humans and elks are depicted together, the panels tend to look carefully planned. The compositions are usually so coherent that it is hard to argue against the idea that these panels were made in order to mediate a message of a narrative or religious kind. Given this, interpretations of the carvings as expressions for a shamanistic, totemistic or hunting magic are all the more feasible. However, I argue that these meanings are only related to the panels for a brief period of time. As we have seen, the connection between humans and elks begins to disappear as contour-pecked elks are introduced. This is also true of the structured compositions, even if that is hard to support statistically. However, in my opinion, the phasing out of the spatial relationship between elks and humans might indicate that the elk motif was undergoing modification. The elk motif was relinquished from its initial and precise significance and began to be used as a key symbol. If we summarise my analyses we arrive at the following lines of argument: • Elks with straight legs have longer time of use than the one with angled legs. In fact, very few elks with angled legs seem to have been existent during the time when surface pecking was dominating.

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Figure 10.11. Examples of opposition between countoure pecked elks with straight and angled legs (After Hallström 1962 Pl XXIV, Main group III, Subgroup E 2–3).

• Elks with straight legs seem to become more schematic as the contour-pecking techniques comes to use. The contour-pecked elks with straight legs look like travesties of an immobile animal. • Contour-pecked elks often appear in compositions that contrast straight- and angled-legged animals against each other. • Surface-pecked elks (that are straight-legged with only 12 exceptions) are to be found in compositions that fit interpretations of hunting magic or shamanism to a large extent. But when the contour-pecked style is introduced, the connection between humans and elk figures disappears. Instead, elks are placed so that those with straight legs contrast with those with angled legs.

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Figure 10.12. Forsberg’s illustration of the Neolithic (a) and Bronze Age (b) site pattern. After Forsberg 1993.

In my opinion, the indices outlined suggest that the opposition mobile–stable is initiated during the same time as the carving pecking technique. As already stated, this took place around 2000 cal BC. But how should this be understood? Could it be that something happened during the late Neolithic that created this strong need to express the dichotomy between mobility and stability? Was it some slowly operating change that transformed the elk into a key symbol in order to handle this bipolarity? If that is the case; what processes enabled this binary opposition to emerge? In short, it must be noted that the introduction of the contour-pecking technique coincides with complex changes in living patterns.

Elks in motion – societies in change According to Lars Forsberg, the change from late Neolithic to Bronze Age was characterized by the development of an increased mobility among the inland population (Figure 10.12). Parallel to this, coast settlement became more and more sedentary (Forsberg 1989: 65f, 1993: 238f). Even if the dualism between coast and inland is overplayed and, in the extreme cases, connected to a cultural dualism, it is nevertheless important to take these settlement differences into account. The notion that prehistoric Norrland had many groups with different lifestyles does not mean that contact between these groups was not important. Rock art is a good example of such an exchange. Following Forsberg’s argument, the groups in the forest region were organised as a system of small units which used limited resource territories during the early and middle Neolithic. Åsa Lundberg sketches an image of their localization patterns in her study of mounds of burnt stone and coastal settlements. According to Lundberg the people who occupied this could be referred to as complex

hunters, ‘neolithicized’ in many respects (Lundberg 1985, 1997). She uses the term ‘villages’ to highlight the point that these settlements must be considered in terms of sedentism. However, around 2000 cal BC many of the mounds of burnt stone appear to have lost their importance. Later dates exist, but it is clear that the main phase of use was over (Lundberg 1997). The settlement patterns were changing during this period and the settlement sites began to increase in numbers and size. Elks are no longer of primary nutritional importance since wild reindeer are more frequent in the landscape. The groups are following the herds along the rivers on their seasonal moves between forest and mountain regions. The excavated settlement sites indicate that groups are growing in size during this period, and that the previous system of small, stable territories was changing into larger and more mobile units (Forsberg 1993: 238). In the coastal zone, the opposite development takes place. From approximately 2500 cal BC the settlement sites become more stable and the economy more sedentary. From some of the settlements, like Bjurselet and Norrböle, the use of agriculture is in evidence. According to Evert Baudou, people lived as ‘part-time farmers’ in stable and settled family groups (Baudou 1968: 147f; 1973; 2003). If the processes described are accepted as correct, we can easily comprehend that the opposition between mobility and stability was important. These concepts were connected to the settlement changes that dominated the period. The question of whether a mobile economy was to be adopted instead of a relatively sedentary life was of concern for every individual, group or society. To put it simply, ‘Should we stay or should we go’? Two lifestyles began to arise, but it is important to bear in mind that these lifestyles were not so different that their representatives were unable to share elks as a key symbol. The relationship between this key symbol and

‘Should I stay or should I go’ societal process operated at the unconscious level. The kinds of decisions bound up with questions of mobility were realised through extremely slow processes, or several generations, of change. From this perspective, it seems reasonable that an animal associated with survival, such as the elk, operated as a key symbol. Its concrete role in prehistoric peoples’ lives enabled it to be employed to articulate questions of mobility and stability. As changes in settlement and subsistence occurred in the late Neolithic, a new style element was introduced and the elk motifs were ascribed with fresh meanings. Straight legged elks became stylised with extremely vertical legs, and a brand new type of elk motif that embodied motion and mobility was introduced. From this perspective, variations in leg posture doubtless described differences in meaning. The angled legs are a modification made in order to express or state a separation from elks with straight legs. The elk becomes a tool for thought, an instrument for contrasting mobility with stability, alongside all the other associations bound up with such concepts.

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inlandsvattenvägar i Nordfennoskandinavia. Meddelanden från Marinarkeologiska sällskapet 1 (2), 2–4. Lindqvist, Christian. 1994. Fångstfolkets bilder: en studie av de nordfennoskandiska kustanknutna jägarhällristningarna. Stockholm : Theses and Papers in Archeology 5. Lindqvist, Christian. 1999. Nämforsenristningarna: en återspegling av jägarnas liv och världsbild. In. Bergvall, M. & George, O. (eds). Tidsspår: forntidsvärld och gränslöst kulturarv. Härnösand: Ångermanlands och Medelpads hembygdsförbund, 105–119. Lødøen, Trond. K. 2003. Late Mesolithic rock art and expressions of ideology. In: Larson, L., H. Kindgren, K. Knutsson, D. Loeffler and A. Åkerlund (eds). Mesolithic on the Move. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 499–507. Lövgren, Orvar. 1981. On the Anatomy of Culture. Ethnologia Europea XII (1), 26–46. Lundberg. Åsa. 1985. ‘Villages’ in the inland of Northern Sweden 5000 years ago. In: Backe, M. et al. (eds). In Honorem of Evert Baudou. Umeå: Archaeology and environment 4, 293–303. Lundberg, Åsa. 1997. Vinterbyar: ett bandsamhälles territorier i Norrlands inland, 4500–2500 f. Kr. Umeå: Studia Archaeologica Universitatis Umensis 8. Malmer, Mats, P. 1981. A chorological study of North European rock art. Stockholm: Vitterhets-historie- och antikvitetsakademien. Malmer, Mats, P. 1989. Bergkonstens mening och innehåll. In: Jansson, S., Lundberg, E. B. & Bertilsson, U. (eds). Hällristningar och hällmålningar i Sverige. Stockholm: Forum, 28. Malmer, Mats, P. 1992. Har nordlig och sydlig hällristningstradition påverkat varandra – och i så fall hur, och varför? Arkeologi i norr 1990 (3), 7–18. Mandt, Gro & Lødøen, Trond. 2005 Bergkunst. Helleristningar i Noreg. Oslo: Det Norske Samlaget. Moberg, Carl-Axel. 1956. Vad hällristningarna berättar och vad man berättar om hällristningar. In: Fredsjö, Å., Janson, S. & Moberg, C-A (eds). Hällristningar i Sverige. Stockholm: Forum, 9–43. Norberg, Erik. 2008. Boplatsvallen som bostad i Norrbottens kustland 5000 till 2000 år före vår tideräkning. En studie av kontinuitet och förändringar. Umeå: Studia Archeologica Universitatis Umensis 23. Ortner, Sherry 1973. On key symbols. American Anthropologist 1975, 1338–1346. Ramqvist, Per, H. Forsberg, Lars & Backe, Margareta. 1985. ‘…and here was an elk too…’ A preliminery report of new petroglyphs at Stornorrfors, Ume River. In: Backe, M. et al. (eds). In honorem Evert Baudou. Umeå: Archaeology and Environment 4, 313–337. Ramqvist, Per H. 1988. Boplats och hällristningar i Norrfors, Umeälven. Arkeologi i norr 1988 (1), 29–49. Ramqvist, Per H. 1992. Hällbilder som utgångspunkt vid tolkningar av jägarsamhället. Arkeologi i norr 1990 (3), 31–54. Ramqvist, Per H. 2002a. Aspekter på hällbildernas stil och rumsliga fördelning. In: Klang, L., Lindgren, B. & Ramqvist, P. H. (ed.) Hällbilder & hällbildernas rum. Örnsköldsvik: Regional arkeologi 2, 87–101. Ramqvist, Per H. 2002b. Rock-art and settlement : issues of spatial order in the prehistoric rock art of Fenno-Scandinavia. In: Nash, George & Chippendale, Christopher (eds). European landscapes of rock-art. London: Routledge. Rybakov, Boris Aleksandrovic & Osibkina, Svetlana Viktorovna (eds) 1996. Archeologija SSSR. Neolit Severnoj Evrazii. Moskva.

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11 Reused Rock Art: Iron Age activities at Bronze Age rock art sites Per Nilsson

In recent years a number of excavations at rock art sites have been conducted in southern Scandinavia. The rock art in this region is mainly dated to the Bronze Age, but many of the finds and features found at these excavations have been dated to the Iron Age. This raises some questions: How did people during the Iron Age relate to rock art sites? Were they regarded as pictures from an ancestral past, were they abandoned or perhaps simply forgotten? In this article it is proposed that the finds and features found in close connection to rock art sites can be seen as the material remains of a dialogue with the past. It is also suggested that in a time of societal change the past can become the ‘Other’. I will give some examples of reused rock art sites from different parts of southern Scandinavia, with a focus on the rock art region of Himmelstalund in the south-eastern part of Sweden. Keywords: rock art, Bronze Age, Iron Age, runes, Himmelstalund, the ‘Other’.

Introduction In the spring of 2007, a small excavation was conducted beneath one of the major panels at the rock art site of Himmelstalund, situated west of the town of Norrköping in the south-eastern part of Sweden (Figure 11.1). Two hearths were found in close connection to one of the panels and they were both 14C-dated to the Early Iron Age. The figurative rock art in this region has been dated to the Bronze Age, so the datings of the hearths gave rise to some questions: If the hearths had been dated to the Bronze Age the connection between them and the panel had seemed pretty clear. What, then, was the role of the rock art site of Himmelstalund during the Iron Age? How did people during the Iron Age relate to rock art sites in general? Were they abandoned, reused or perhaps simply forgotten? In this paper I would like to discuss these questions and present some thoughts and ideas regarding the role rock art sites could have played when the tradition of making figurative rock art had come to an end. The paper begins with a brief introduction to the history of rock art research in the Himmelstalund region, followed by a presentation of the excavations made in connection to rock art sites in this area.

Figure 11.1. Map showing the location of the Himmelstalund region in Östergötland, Sweden.

Reused Rock Art: Iron Age activities at Bronze Age rock art sites

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Figure 11.2. Map over Himmelstalund showing the location of the new rock carvings (A+B), the hearths and the settlement remains.

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I will further discuss results from other excavations at rock art sites in southern Scandinavia, the focus being excavations with datings from the Iron Age. Different aspects of reuse or revisits at rock art sites are discussed, such as the relation between rock art and Iron Age graves, traces of fire and runic inscriptions on rock art sites. The paper ends with a discussion regarding possible theoretical approaches to the phenomenon of reused rock art sites. I am especially interested in discussing if the returning/reuse can be regarded as a kind of dialogue with the past, and it is suggested here that in a time of societal change the past can become the ‘Other’. One of Scandinavia’s densest concentrations of rock art is to be found around the now regulated rapids in the river Motala Ström, west of the town of Norrköping. The best known site is Himmelstalund, with some 60 panels featuring more than 1,700 figures (Selinge 1985: 110f; Nilsson 2008a). What makes this region special is the connection between the rock art sites and contemporary grave fields such as Fiskeby, Ringeby and Klinga and the nearby settlement

at Pryssgården (Lundström 1965, 1970; Stålbom 1994; Kaliff et al. 1996; Borna-Ahlkvist et al. 1998). The settlement at Pryssgården is one of the largest prehistoric settlements in Scandinavia. More than 90 houses were found, and the major part is to be dated to the Late Bronze Age and Early Iron Age. During the last decade several dissertations and studies have been published, focusing on different aspects of the Bronze- and Early Iron Age societies in this region such as; grave-fields and eschatology (Kaliff 1997), settlement structure (Borna-Ahlkvist 2002) and rock art studies (Wahlgren 2002; Fredell 2003). In addition to this a number of documentations and excavation reports as well as more detailed studies have been published (Broström & Ihrestam 1993; Stålbom 1998; Coles 2003; Helander 2005; Ericsson & Nilsson 2007; Nilsson 2005a–b, 2007, 2008a–b; Tilley 2008). Although the rock art at the Himmelstalund-site was discovered during the first half of the 19th century, the first scientific investigation did not take place until 1871 (Nordén 1925). The rock art at Himmelstalund has been documented on several occasions since then. In 1903 it was documented by Oscar Almgren and

Figure 11.3. A house from the Early Iron Age was found between the rock carvings and the nearby river Motala Ström. Photo: Per Nilsson.

Reused Rock Art: Iron Age activities at Bronze Age rock art sites the then Crown-Prince Gustav Adolf, and during the 1910–20s more thoroughly by Arthur Nordén. Nordén’s dissertation, ‘Östergötlands bronsålder’ [Östergötland’s Bronze Age], published in 1925, is still the most comprehensive study of the county’s – and especially the Norrköping area’s – rock art. The two most recent documentations of the Himmelstalund site were conducted by Göran Burenhult (1973, 1980) and also in connection with the national ancient monument survey of 1980 (Selinge 1985), when a significant number of new figures were discovered.

Excavations at rock art sites In recent years there has been an increasing interest in performing excavations at rock art sites in Scandinavia (Bengtsson 2004; Goldhahn 2006; Kaul 2006). Some common traits have been found at several of the excavated sites, such as stone pavings/constructions, heaps or layers of fire-cracked stone, hearths and other traces of fire, broken or crushed pottery, burnt clay, flint and quartz, etc. (Bengtsson 2004). The south Scandinavian rock art tradition has mainly been dated to the Bronze Age, and several of the finds and features discovered at these excavations can be dated to this period. What is especially interesting from my point of view is that there is also a significant number of finds and features from later periods, mainly from the Early Iron Age. In the following I will present some examples of excavations at rock art sites in southern Scandinavia, beginning with excavations from the Himmelstalund region. Only a few excavations at rock art sites have been conducted in the Himmelstalund region since Arthur Nordén’s ground breaking research in the 1910–20s. When Nordén was searching for new rock art he in many cases had to remove the existing topsoil to find the figures. In quite a few cases he noted that the motifs were covered with a layer of fire-cracked stone, charcoal and soot. He also excavated several heaps of fire-cracked stones (burnt mounds), at some of the rock art sites. Nordén noted that in many cases there existed a spatial relationship between rock art and later remains, such as grave mounds from the Iron Age. The main aim for Nordén though, as well as for most of the rock art scholars working in this area, has been to bring about new documentation of earlier known sites and/or discover new rock art. Later excavations with the expressed ambition to study the relationship between rock art sites and contemporary (or later) finds and features have been rare (cf. Lødøen 2006: 5).

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The Himmelstalund-site Arthur Nordén makes some important observations while uncovering new panels at the Himmerstalund site. He notes that some of the panels were covered by a layer of fire-cracked stones and black sandy soil and that several of the figures had been damaged by fire (Nordén 1925: 48f). When the panel beside the two Iron Age hearths (see Figure 11.6) was documented in the beginning of the 20th century, at least a part of it was covered by a thick layer of soil (Prince Gustav Adolf 1904). Unfortunately it is not possible to determine whether this layer also contained firecracked stones. About 100 metres to the north of the rock art site some hearths, post holes and cultural layers have been discovered (Persson 1998). Two of the features were dated to the transition between the Late Neolithic and the Early Bronze Age (1920–1740 BC, 1740–1530 BC, Cal 1 Sigma). The oldest figures in the Norrköping area should probably be dated to the

Figure 11.4. Recently discovered rock carvings at Himmelstalund (Panel A). Photo: Per Nilsson.

Figure 11.5. Two hearths were found beneath one of the panels at Himmelstalund. Photo: Per Nilsson.

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Figure 11.6. Rock art covered with fire-cracked stones at Leonardsberg. From Nordén 1925.

transition between Early Bronze Age Period I and II, i.e. c. 1600 BC (Wahlgren 2002: 178). If this is accurate these settlement remains could be contemporary with, or perhaps even older than the oldest rock art motifs at Himmelstalund. Nevertheless, it is interesting to note the existence of remains from a Late Neolithic/Early Bronze Age-settlement, as well as a more substantial settlement from the Early Iron Age. What we have not found yet is finds or features from the period when the rock art activity was most intense, e.g Bronze Age Per III–VI (Wahlgren 2002: 238f). Up until today only small areas have been thoroughly excavated at the Himmelstalund site. Perhaps a settlement from this period is yet to be found, but it is also possible that the Himmelstalund site is yet another example of a major rock art site with no or few finds and features that are contemporary with the rock art (Goldhahn 2006: 92). In recent years the Swedish National Heritage Board has carried out archaeological excavations at Himmelstalund. The excavations have been undertaken in conjunction with a protection and visualization project organized by the Norrköping Municipality. The aim of the project was not only to protect the rock art but also to emphasize the uniqueness of the place and make it more accessible for visitors. Prior to the creation of a new cycle path an archaeological investigation was carried out (Ericsson & Nilsson 2007). A c. 7.5 × 3 metres large three-aisled house was found on a natural ledge between the rock and the river Motala Ström (Figure 11.3). The house consisted of

three pairs of trestles and two pits filled with burnt clay were found along its walls. A row of post holes, which might have signified a confined area between the rock and the river, were found at the western gable-end of the house. Charcoal from one of the post holes inside the house was dated to 45 BC–25 AD (Cal 1 sigma). Settlement remains were also discovered some 100 metres to the west of the rock art site. Three wells, hearths, pits of different kinds and an earth oven were found within a 15 × 10 metre radius. The constructions also contained a great number of finds – mainly sherds of Early Iron Age pottery. Five 14C-datings indicated that the settlement had been in use between 350 BC and 235 AD (Cal 1 sigma). The second stage of the project involved the construction of a timber decking along a former rough gravel track that earlier had crossed the rock. Prior to the installation of the timber decking loose sand and gravel was swept from the rocky areas of the cycle path. An inventory and documentation of the surfaces was conducted and compiled (Figure 11.4). In all, more than 120 new figures were registered consisting of 34 ships, 13 animal figures, 4 circular, or ring figures, a human figure, an axe, about 50 cupmarks and a number of fragmentary and indefinable figures (Broström 2007; Nilsson 2008a–b). The two hearths mentioned in the beginning of the article were found about a metre or so away from one of Himmelstalund’s best known motifs (Figure 11.5); a deeply carved geometrical figure (or perhaps a net?)

Reused Rock Art: Iron Age activities at Bronze Age rock art sites associated with a human carrying a spear. The two hearths were dated to the Pre-Roman and Early Roman Iron Age (90 BC–20 AD, 135–230 AD, Cal 1 sigma). One question that arises relates to the connection of the two hearths with the adjacent rock art panel. Were they connected in any way, or had the motifs been forgotten or lacked significance when the fires by the rock were lit? The time interval between the two hearths is too great for them to be contemporary with each other, so the hearths belong to two chronologically-separate occasions. An interesting detail is that the more recent of the two hearths contained a considerable number of large splintered stones. The panel with the geometrical figure shows signs of having been touched up or reworked in some way, and it is quite possible that the stone splinters in the hearth originate from the adjoining rock. As the two hearths are both contemporary with the settlement remains to the south and west of the rock it is reasonable to suggest that they can be associated with activities carried out in connection with these settlements, regardless of whether or not the activities were of a ritual or more everyday nature.

Leonardsberg Traces of fire-related activities such as layers of fire-cracked stones covering rock art and figures damaged by fire were found by Arthur Nordén at Leonardsberg – another major rock art site situated about a kilometre to the west of the Himmelstalund site (Figure 11.6). Since Nordén’s excavations in the 1920s only one excavation has been performed at this site. A few years ago a burnt mound beside one of the panels was excavated (RAÄ 29, Wahlgren 2002). Before the excavation was started up, the presupposition seems to have been that there existed some kind of relationship between the burnt mound and the panel with the images. During the excavation the burnt mound turned out to be a grave from the Late Iron Age. Under the grave five hearths were found and they were interpreted as parts of a larger system of hearths. Two of the hearths were dated to the Roman Iron Age, (240–340 and 206–410 AD, Cal 1 sigma). But a layer of soot, situated on top of the panel, was actually dated to the Late Bronze Age, (900–800 BC, Cal 1 sigma). One interesting thing about this site is that it has been repeatedly used since the Bronze Age up to the Late Iron Age.

Herrebro In connection with the creation of a new motorway west of the town of Norrköping a rock art site was documented before a part of it was blown away.

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Close to the rock panels cultural layers as well as finds and features from the Iron Age were found. The excavators interpreted the site as a market place from the Late Iron Age. No finds or features were dated to the Bronze Age though. The oldest date comes from a hearth that was situated about two metres from one of the panels (40+170 AD, uncalibrated). The hearth was found beneath a thin cultural layer, which contained charcoal, soot and burnt clay and some finds from the Late Iron Age (Lindeblad & Nielsen 1994: 45).

Fiskeby At Fiskeby a large grave-field with more than 500 burials was excavated in the 1950s (Lundström 1965, 1970). The grave field was established in the Late Bronze Age and it continued in use until the Late Iron Age. It was situated in the centre of the rock art area, not far from the now regulated rapids in Motala ström. What is especially interesting about this grave field is that it was located just beside a rock art site. The excavators were explicitly searching for rock art during the excavation but only one of all the graves covered a rock art panel. They also noted that no graves were placed on the rocky surfaces that divided the grave field and when more graves were added during the Iron Age, the grave field expanded to the opposite direction of the panels (Lundström 1970: 116). It therefore seems likely that the motifs were known and in a sense also respected during the Bronze Age as well as during the Iron Age (Figure 11.7).

Rock art excavations from other regions There are many examples of possible reuses of rock art sites from different parts of southern Scandinavia. In a study from 2004 Lasse Bengtsson presents a list of 30 excavations at rock art sites in Sweden and Norway (Bengtsson 2004). Bengtsson’s survey is partly based on Patrik Nordström’s survey of rock art excavations from 1995. Nineteen of the 30 sites are from the West Coast of Sweden (the county of Bohuslän) and the other excavations are from southern and middle Sweden plus two sites in Østfold in Norway. The list below is based on both Nordström’s and Bengtsson’s studies and it only includes finds and 14C-datings from periods later than the Bronze Age. Bengtsson’s survey is based on different categories of finds or features, and the examples below are therefore presented in the same way: Pot-sherds were found at 18 of the 30 excavations. The sherds that were found at the excavations in Bohuslän were all dated typologically to the Early Iron Age. But it is important to note that it can be hard to separate Late

Figure 11.7. The grave field at Fiskeby. Map by Lundström, copy from the Museum of National Antiquities (ATA). Squares and rectangles=rock art panels, circles=graves.

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Figure 11.8. At Lille Strandbygård on the Danish island of Bornholm, two houses were found beside the rock art. From Sørensen 2006: 72.

Figure 11.9. The runic inscription from Himmelstalund. Photo: Per Nilsson.

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Bronze Age ceramics from Early Iron Age ceramics. At three of the sites; Drottninghall (Scania), Kalleby (Tanum in Bohuslän) and Hällby (Uppland), sherds were also found that probably should be dated to the Early Iron Age/Migration Period (Nordström 1995: 31). Stone pavings/constructions were found at 14 of the locales. Two carbon samples from a stone-paving in Högsbyn in Dalsland (RAÄ 11) were dated to the Pre-Roman Iron Age/Early Roman Iron Age, (350 BC–60 AD, Cal 1 sigma) and the Early Middle Age (1060–1400 AD, Cal 1 Sigma). In Bohuslän two stone pavings were possible to date, and they were both dated to the Iron Age; RAÄ 1371 in Tanum (390–170 BC) and RAÄ 446 in Tossene (50 BC–180 AD). Nordström makes an interesting remark when it comes to the site RAÄ 11 in Högsbyn. At this site the excavators apparently had expected the 14C-datings to be contemporary with the rock art, i.e. the Bronze Age. According to Nordström, the excavators doubted the value of the 14C-datings from the layer of fire-cracked stones, but were convinced that it was possible to connect the quartz flakes found in the same layer to the rock art. Hearths and layers of fire cracked stones were found at nine of the 30 locales. At the site RAÄ 897 in Tanum a hearth was dated to 200 BC–130 AD. A bead from the Roman Iron Age was found in a layer of firecracked stones at the same site. Because of the late dating, Bengtsson suggests that the layer could have been placed by the rock art more by chance, but also points out the possibility of a contextual relationship between the rock art and the layer of fire-cracked stone during the Roman Iron Age. What is interesting is also that only one of the hearths found at rock art sites in Bohuslän have been dated to the Bronze Age, according to Bengtsson (2004). Another example is from Drottninghall in Scania where a hearth was found beneath one of the panels. The hearth was 14C-dated to 560–780 AD (Cal 1 Sigma). Layers of fire-cracked stone were found at 12 of the locales. Bengtsson notes that there seems to be a clear connection between rock art and fire-related activities such as hearths and firecracked stone.

More recent excavations Further excavations have been conducted during recent years at the Tossene-site in Bohuslän and they have recently been summed up by Bengtsson & Ling (2007). There are many interesting results from these excavations, but what is especially important for my own concern is the possible re-use of the site during the Iron Age. At one of the panels there is a fascinating motif of a warrior caught in an acrobatic pose and in

front of this panel two hearths were found. The hearths were dated to the Late Roman Iron Age (250–410 AD and 250–420 AD, Bengtsson & Ling 2007: 45). The similarity between the latter site and the hearths found at Himmelstalund is striking. What is also interesting is the similar connection to a domestic area. No more than 50 metres to the northeast of the rock art site at Tossene, parts of a prehistoric settlement was excavated. No regular houses were found, but three charcoal samples from post-holes were dated to the Roman Iron Age and one sample to the Early Bronze Age. Other features were dated to the Late Bronze Age as well as the Roman Iron Age. In a report published after Nordström’s and Bengtsson’s surveys were made, the excavation at the so called ‘Monument’ at Svarteborg is presented. The site is located in Munkedal on the west coast of Sweden. The ‘Monument’ is a complex ritual and sacrificial site consisting of an oval-shaped rock surrounded, and partly covered by a 37-metre-wide stone paving. It was situated within a minor burial site close to a settlement from the Pre-Roman Iron Age (Munkenberg 2004: 17f). Underneath the stone paving rock art figures were found, and beside the rock there were marks in the soil from a wooden platform and some hearths. Remains from a long-house were also found close to the ‘Monument’. There are several 14C-datings from this site, but according to the excavators the chronological development of the site was complex to determine. Most of the features were dated to the Pre-Roman Iron Age, though. The rock art was covered when the Monument was built and Munkenberg’s conclusion is that this was probably done during the Late Iron Age. In recent years a number of excavations at rock art sites have been carried out on the Danish island of Bornholm (Kaul et al. 2005; Kaul 2006; Sørensen 2006). At Madsebakke a cultural layer at the ‘entrance’ to the panel was dated to the Early Roman Iron Age (0–150 AD). Pot sherds from the same period were also found. During the later part of the Iron Age, about 200–600 AD, a grave field was established on top of the rock at Madsebakke. A house structure from the Late Iron Age was also found in close connection to the rock art. House structures were also discovered at a minor excavation at Lille Strandbygård, on the southern part of the island. Here, two successive house structures dated to the Iron Age were found just beside the rock art. The entrance to the house(s) was most probably placed just by the decorated panel (Figure 11.8): ‘The deeply cut rock carvings on the rock by Ll. Strandbygård must have been visible during the Iron Age, and the location of the houses thereby hardly coincidental’ (Sørensen 2006: 73, my translation).

Reused Rock Art: Iron Age activities at Bronze Age rock art sites

Relating to rock art sites during the Iron Age The examples above have shown that in many cases there exists a clear spatial relationship between rock art sites and later remains, such as barrows, grave fields and settlements. But is it possible to determine whether this spatial relation also reflects a contextual relationship? A clear answer to this question is hard to give, and the aim of this article is not so much to give an answer, but rather to discuss possible and feasible reasons for such a relation (Kaul 2006: 46f). One way of discussing this is to make a difference between the rock art site and the rock art per se. Even if the motifs were not understood in the same way as during the Bronze Age, the site itself could have been loaded with special connotations. For example it could have been regarded as an important ancestral place and as such it could have been incorporated in myths and legends. In a recently published book Christopher Tilley discusses a number of rock art sites in the Himmelstalund region using a phenomenological approach. Many of the rock art motifs have been placed in glacial grooves, and Tilley suggests that the grooves themselves could have been regarded as creations of ancestral beings by the Bronze Age people (Tilley 2008: 251f, cf. Bradley 2000; Fredell 2003: 225, 259). This can of course also hold truth for the significance of the rocks during the Iron Age. In some of the above mentioned examples the excavators were convinced of a contextual relationship between the rock art and the adjacent remains during the excavation. But when the 14C-datings arrived, the idea of such a contextual relationship was questioned. To determine whether the relationship is contextual and not only spatial is of course always a challenge and it is important that each site is studied within its own specific context. But I do believe that we should be more open to the possibility of the existence of such a relationship, especially when it comes to excavations at rock art sites. In the following I will present some more examples of possible reuse or reutilization of rock art sites during the Iron Age.

Rock art and Iron Age graves In a dissertation from 1987, Ulf Bertilsson discusses the close relation between rock art and Iron Age graves in Bohuslän. Bertilsson clearly states that the location of the graves on or adjacent to the rock art panels was a conscious act (Bertilsson 1987: 149). This relationship is also discussed by Bengtsson and Ling, who admits that they are a bit puzzled by the strong reminiscence of Iron Age activity at rock art sites in Bohuslän. Their reflection on this is similar to that of Bertilsson:

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‘In fact, in the Tanum area, barrows from the Roman Iron Age have the closest spatial relation to rock art, of all archaeological features’ (Bengtsson & Ling 2007: 48, cf. Goldhahn 2006: 106; Ling 2008: 154).

The disappearance of the figurative rock art coincides with the first general impact of agriculture in Bohuslän. Bengtsson and Ling regards the rock art sites as reflections of mobile/seasonal activities during the Bronze Age, and proposes that this system was altered during the Iron Age when a more agrarian system was established. The rock art sites were then used/reused or revitalized within the agrarian tenure system, although no new (figurative) motifs were made (Bengtsson & Ling 2007: 48–49). There are several examples from the Himmelstalund region of what can be interpreted as a conscious location of grave mounds close to rock art sites, for instance at the earlier mentioned grave field at Fiskeby, at Karlsberget (RAÄ 43–44), and also at Borgs Säteri (RAÄ 16–17). At the latter site, there is a complex relation between Iron Age barrows, burnt mounds and rock art panels (Nordén 1925: 82f; Wahlgren 2002: 149). Settlement remains have also been found close to the rock art at this site (Ängeby 1995). Worth noting is that several of the barrows classified as burnt mounds turned out to be Iron Age graves after excavation. To add some complexity to this, there are also examples of burnt mounds from the Bronze Age/Early Iron Age that have been reused as graves during the Late Iron Age (Nordén 1925: 83).

Iron Age rock art The rock art tradition in the Himmelstalund region has been dated to the Bronze Age, with a possible continuation throughout the Pre-Roman Iron Age (Wahlgren 2002: 179). Perhaps a few of the motifs in the Himmelstalund region can be dated to the very Late Bronze Age or Early Pre-Roman Iron Age. One example is a ship with a loop-like stem on one of the panels at Himmelstalund (Fredell 2003: 229). But a brief survey of the panels documented by Nordén shows few chronological traits from this period, such as horse riders with rectangular shields or ships with bifurcated stems (Kaul 2004: 310, 394f). In other areas, such as Tanum in Bohuslän, Bornholm and Trøndelag, there are several examples of ship figures that can be dated to the Pre-Roman Iron Age (Kaul 2004: 394f.). Johan Ling has recently shown that at least 130 of the ship figures from the parish of Tanum could be classified as ships from the Pre-Roman Iron Age (Ling 2008: 196). If this dating is correct, it is also conceivable that other, older motifs could have been re-carved and revived during this period.

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Runic inscriptions on rock art panels An interesting example of an early approach (or dialogue?) with the rock art at Himmelstalund is the line of runic inscriptions carved on the same rock as the geometrical figure, some metres to the northwest of the hearths (Nordén 1925, 1936). The line of runes consists of 5–6 (reversed) characters of the older futhark and has been interpreted in several different ways (Figure 11.9). The most likely interpretation is Braido or Brajdo, which could refer to a woman’s name meaning ‘the wide or the broad’ (Svante Lagman, personal communication). Another alternative is Buajdo, i.e. ‘I did’ (Patrik Larsson, personal communication). The authenticity of the runes has been discussed, but if genuine they could have been carved as early as 200–300 AD – although a later dating to 400–500 AD is also reasonable. Other examples of runic inscriptions on rock art panels can be found in Tanum and Utby on the Swedish West Coast, as well as in Kårstad in Norway (Gerdin & Munkenberg 2005; Mandt 2005; Ling 2008: 72–73).

Rock art and traces of fire Traces of fire-related activities have been found at many rock art sites. In the parish of Askum in Bohuslän no less than 71 of the 247 sites showed traces of fire damage (Bengtsson 2004: 37). In some cases rock art has even been destroyed by fire. Whether these damages should be regarded as contemporary with the rock art or not can be hard to determine. One possible explanation for some of these damages is that they are traces from Bronze Age cremation ceremonies (Goldhahn 2007: 261f). But the number of fire-related activities dated to the Iron Age at rock art sites indicates that some of the damage could have been made during this period too. A source critical aspect is that fire-damage could also have been made in historic times, for example in connection with May or spring fires (Nordén 1925: 59f; Bengtsson 2004). One specific topic is the relation between rock art and layers/heaps of fire-cracked stones (burnt mounds). Nordén found traces of fire-related activities at many of the rock art sites he investigated; for example at Leonardsberg, Himmelstalund, Skälv, Egna Hem and Borg (Nordén 1925, cf. Wahlgren 2002: 258). At one of the sites he excavated a large burnt mound that partly covered a panel with rock art. During the excavation he found a button from the Late Bronze Age. For Nordén this was a clear indication that many of the burnt mounds could be dated to the Bronze Age (RAÄ 46, Nordén 1925: 64). During the Early Iron Age there seems to be an emphasis on different aspects of fire, and hearths and other features are found in large numbers not

just at rock art sites but also at settlements and grave fields. One alternative is that the hearths found at rock art sites ought to be regarded as temporary remains of resting shepherds grazing their animals. This has recently been suggested as one possible explanation for the large number of isolated hearths dating back to the Late Bronze Age and Early Iron Age in Östergötland (Petersson 2006: 169). I think it is reasonable to interpret the main part of the hearths and layers/heaps of fire-cracked stones at rock art sites as consciously located (cf. Kaliff 2007: 105). There is of course also the possibility that some of the hearths were lit by shepherds. The large-scale herding system was established during the Bronze Age and it is therefore likely that the rock art sites located within the grazing areas were connected with special beliefs or perhaps myths during the Iron Age too.

Towards a more problematic past In southern Scandinavia the Pre-Roman Iron Age has been described as an era characterised by major cultural changes as well as stability. During the first half of the 20th century two discourses dominated Swedish research. The first argued for a dramatic decline of the society caused by drastic climatic changes during the Pre-Roman Iron Age. The period was even categorized as the ‘fimbulvinter’ (the three year long winter without any summers, as described in the Nordic mythology). This was challenged by another research direction where the results from excavations and pollen analysis showed that societal changes had not been as dramatic as earlier proposed. (The discussion has recently been summed up by Arnberg 2007: 205). Today the PreRoman Iron Age is still considered as a period of a cultural and/or economic break with the former societal order (Arnberg 2007: 207). In the transition between the Late Bronze Age and the Early Iron Age a number of major changes occur; the deposition-traditions changes; large grave mounds are no longer being constructed; there is an increasing uniformity of grave goods and a gradual discontinuation of imported objects (Jensen 1997: 218; Kristianssen 1998; Kaul 2005). The tradition of making figurative rock art also ends during this period and not much remains of the characteristic Nordic Bronze Age iconography after 500 BC. Kaul suggests that the disappearance of the rock art tradition was caused by a number of societal changes combined with, or caused by, massive changes in the societies north of the Alps. He also puts the disappearance in connection with possible religious changes at the end of the Late Bronze Age (Kaul 2005: 43). Kaul suggests that the very late rock art, such as ships and horses dated to the PreRoman Iron Age should not be associated with the ritual

Reused Rock Art: Iron Age activities at Bronze Age rock art sites system of the Bronze Age religion. These motifs were according to Kaul more practical symbols, associated with war and battle (Kaul 2005: 44). In major parts of southern Scandinavia the Early Iron Age was also a period of settlement expansion. This holds true also for the Himmelstalund region (Borna-Ahlkvist 1998; Petersson 2006). Interestingly enough the expansion centres on the area where most of the rock art was located (Nilsson 2007). The south Scandinavian Bronze Age societies have most often been interpreted as hierarchic and stratified (Kristiansen & Larsson 2005). In this society the older (monumental) structures, such as barrows, cairns and major rock art sites played an important role for the reproduction of the existing society. But what role did these monumental places play when the Bronze Ageculture came to an end? During the Early Iron Age the thousand year’s old tradition of making (figurative) rock art ended. How long did the memory of this tradition and the places connected with it remain in the minds of the people during the Iron Age? Since the early 1990s there has been an increasing interest in discussing how and why monumental remains were used and/or reused during later periods, a field of research also known as ‘The past in the past’ (Bradley 2002). This field can also be seen as a subdivision of a broader discussion concerning different conceptions of time within archaeological and anthropological research (Lucas 2005). Another subdivision is the biographies, or life-histories of certain types of prehistoric remains, mainly different kinds of monuments (e.g. Holtorf 2000–2007, 2008). A number of articles and monographs have been published and the history of research on the subject is extensive (see Bradley 2002; Lucas 2005; Thäte 2007). In Sweden, the discussion has mainly focused on the way barrows or burial grounds were used or reused during later periods (e.g. Artelius 2004; Munkenberg 2004; Larsson 2005; Strömberg 2005; Artelius & Lindqvist 2007; Tegnér 2007; Thäte 2007). One exception to this is Borna-Ahlkvist’s discussions of how people during the Late Bronze Age related to older houses, or house ruins at the Pryssgården settlement (Borna-Ahlkvist 2002, cf. Gerritsen 1999). Another aspect of this is the reuse of house-sites for Iron Age graves discussed by Thäte (2007: 102f.). The reuse of, or depositing/sacrifices at older graves and settlements have most often been interpreted as a legitimizing act, as a way of demonstrating the rights to use or inhabit a certain area. But these places could also have been regarded in a different way. There are some interesting examples of other, perhaps more problematic views of the past. One example is the deliberate placing of secondary graves in either the top or the edge of Bronze Age barrows discussed

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by Tegnér (2007). Tegnér regards this as a kind of respectful attitude towards the dead person in the original grave (Tegnér 2007: 152, cf. Lindquist 1981). This is interesting to compare with Borna-Ahlkvist’s discussion of how older house ruins could be regarded as still inhabited by the feared spirits of the ancestors (Borna-Ahlkvist 2002: 189, cf. Holtorf 1999: 443f.; Tilley 2008: 251f.). A critical response to the use of ancestral theories is presented by James Whitley in the article ‘Too many ancestors’ (Whitley 2002). Whitley criticizes the widespread use of the ancestors in explaining why monuments were reused in Britain. He suggests that we should look at alternative hypotheses for the reuses and depositing at monuments, which includes the offerings to and worshipping of aliens and previous races (Whitley 2002: 124). Another interesting point of view is presented by Andrew Jones. In an essay called Memory and Material Culture he discusses different aspects of how we remember (Jones 2007). One of his points is that material culture could be viewed as mnemonic traces, and as such act as aids for remembering. What is especially interesting from my point of view is Jones discussion of indexicality: ‘Each event, whether the production of an artefact, its deposition, the act of building monuments, or the act of inscription, is an index related to other events as part of an indexical field’ (Jones 2007: 226).

These indexes can also relate to past events, and I believe that the deliberate placing of, for example Iron Age graves and layers/heaps of fire-cracked stones on top of or beside the rock art, could be interpreted as just such an indexical relation to the past.

The ‘Other’ During the Bronze Age as well as during the Early Iron Age, a number of grave fields and settlement sites are established, while others are abandoned (Petersson 2006: 20ff ). This holds true for many of the rock art sites as well. Not all of them were used during the whole of the Bronze Age, or at least no new figures were made. There are also examples of rock art figures where additions have been made during the course of the Bronze Age (Fredell 2003: 229). How are we to understand these abandoned places and remade figures? Were some of them connected, or loaded, with negative connotations? Could the deliberate coverings of rock art panels with layers and heaps of fire cracked stones be interpreted as an example of a more problematic relation to the past? There are many possible ways of approaching these questions. As Whitley has shown, the idea

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that the ancestors or the past played an important role during prehistory must be discussed further. One way of discussing this relation to the past is to consider if the past could also have been regarded as something unwanted, or at least as something one no longer wanted to be associated with. This can also be described with a philosophical term – the ‘Other’. The use of the ‘Other’as a philosophical concept has a long history and it was used already by Hegel, in describing how one’s Self is always constituted by the ‘Other’. Within postcolonial theory the concept has been used to describe how the West treated, or understood, the people in the colonized countries (e.g. Fanon 1962; Said 1978; Bhabha 1994). With influences from post-colonial theories, the concept has also been used within Swedish archaeological research. One example is a discussion regarding cultural meetings and different uses of the concept of the ‘Other’ by Cornell and Fahlander (2002: 27). The term has also been used to discuss how archaeology has given the past an exotic touch, as something fundamentally different to ourselves (Källén 2004: 22). Another influential concept that was introduced by Homi K. Bhabha is the notion of ‘the third space’ (Bhabha 1994). The third space can be defined as an area where an encounter of two distinct (and unequal) social groups takes place, and where culture is disseminated and displaced from the interacting groups, making way for the invention of a hybrid identity. Within rock art research different aspects of the use of the ‘Other’ and the third space have been discussed by Lise Nordenborg Myhre (2004) and Johan Ling (2005). Nordenborg Myhre’s intention is to create what she calls a ‘trialectic archaeology’, as a critical response to the dialectic use of the concept of the ‘Other’ in centre–periphery theories (2004: 5, 29). In an article from 2005 Ling discusses if the cultural meetings that took place at some of the maritime rock art concentrations on the West Coast could be interpreted as a kind of third space: ‘A space in between dominant social formations where cultural identity was being created, transmuted, articulated, communicated by the making, reading, interpretation and misinterpretation of rock art carvings’ (Ling 2005: 455).

This definition of the third space could perhaps also count as a good description of the rock art sites that were being reused in different ways during the Early Iron Age, the difference being that the dialogue was now conducted between the living and the places and figures from the past (Jones 2007: 3). It is also likely that people during the Iron Age could have regarded the figures as symbols made by the ancestors.

As mentioned previously, the disappearance of the south Scandinavian Bronze Age culture, as well as the adjoining tradition of making figurative rock art, have been explained as the effect of a number of combined factors. I would like to add another aspect to this by regarding this disappearance not only as a passive adjustment to external factors, but rather as a conscious act, performed by different groups on different occasions. For example, there are several rock art motifs from the west coast of Sweden that can be dated to the Pre-Roman Iron Age while the tradition seems to have vanished in the Himmelstalund region by this time. By the conscious act of not making (figurative) rock art anymore the Early Iron Age societies in the Himmelstalund region dissociated themselves from the old tradition. But the rock art – or the rocks themselves – continued to be important during the Iron Age, as shown by the reuse and revisits at many of the rock art sites. This renegotiation of the meaning of the sites can also be viewed as a kind of dialogue with the past, probably understood by the Early Iron Age people as a dialogue with the ancestors. My point is that in times of cultural change places connected with the ancestors, such as grave fields and rock art sites can become loaded with both positive and negative meanings. In other words – the past can become the ‘Other’.

Back to Himmelstalund I would like to end this article by returning to the Iron Age hearths found beneath one of the panels in Himmelstalund. As mentioned in the beginning of this paper, the panel beside the two hearths showed signs of having been touched up or reworked. In one of the hearths a considerable number of large splintered stones were found, and it is reasonable to suggest that the stones in the hearth originate from the adjoining rock. An interesting question is whether figures were also broken away or damaged in connection with this possible stone breaking? There were no signs of any figures on the stone fragments found in the hearth, though. The splinters had been significantly damaged by fire, which meant that such traces would have been erased. Whether the panels beside the hearths were originally covered by fire-cracked stones is hard to determine from the existing documentation. Other panels at Himmelstalund were covered by such a layer, just as many other rock art sites in this region (Nordén 1925). One possibility is that the fire-cracked stones were produced in the hearths found at many rock art sites. Some of the panels could have been covered already during the Late Bronze Age, but there are also indications of a deliberate covering of rock art during

Reused Rock Art: Iron Age activities at Bronze Age rock art sites the Early Iron Age. Katherine Wahlgren discusses the relationship between fire-related activities and rock art. When it comes to the possible connection between rock art and later remains, she makes an interesting reflection: ‘Some aspects even indicate that the most important rockcarvings in a phase of abandoning, or in line with new traditions, were covered with layers of soot, coal and firecracked stone. This practice can be likened to the burial of the images according to the same practices as the dead in the cemetrey’ (2002: 258, cf Nordström 2002).

As we have seen, the dialogue with the past – and perhaps also with the ancestors – could be performed in many different ways. Some places were fully abandoned, some were continuously used and some were revisited. There probably existed a number of ways and strategies to relate to rock art sites during the Early Iron Age. Some possible reasons for this have been proposed by Ulf Bertilsson, when it comes to the location of Iron Age graves at rock art sites: ‘First: the act expresses the striving for connection with old beliefs and cults. Second, it expresses respect for the ancestors and third, it expresses the continuous claim to adjacent territories’ (Bertilsson 1987).

Besides these possible reasons for the reuse of rock art sites, I would like to add one more possibility, and that is that the rock art could have played a problematic role, especially during the end of the Late Bronze Age and the Early Iron Age. Some of them were covered with thick layers of fire-cracked stones or soot and some of them were perhaps even destroyed. The graves or burnt mounds erected on top of some of the panels can also be viewed in this context, as a deliberate covering. All of these possible approaches can be regarded as different dialogues with the past, dialogues that resulted in that the actual place, what we now call the rock art site, continued to hold a meaningful, yet transformed meaning during the Iron Age. And it was through the dialogue with the past that this altered meaning was created.

References Personal communications Svante Lagman, runologist. Patrik Larsson, runologist The Swedish National Heritage Board, Runes Dept. (Runverket).

Archive The Royal Swedish Academy of Letters, History and Antiquities (Antikvarisk Topografiska Arkivet, ATA.

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12 ‘Cracking’ Landscapes. New documentation – new knowledge? Jan Magne Gjerde

In this study of rock art from northern Fennoscandia from the Stone Age, the author argues that natural features are included in the rock art narrative. Revisiting and redocumenting sites with a ‘landscape perspective’ reveals new information stored in the rocks. Through a number of examples and a few case studies the interaction between rock art and natural features is discussed and visualised. Rock art interacts with landscape at many levels and rock art is viewed both in relation to micro-landscapes and macro-landscapes. Some of the natural features act as geographical references in the landscape and visualize a place specific narrative. It is argued that rock art acts as ‘memoryscapes’ or components of collective memory. The visitation and revisitation of some of the large concentrations of rock art would have made these places nodes in the hunter-gatherer landscape storing long-term mnemonic records. Keywords: rock art, documentation, landscapes, micro-landscapes, macro-landscapes, memoryscapes, Fennoscandia, Norway, Sweden, northwestern Russia

Documentation of art and the art of documentations There is always a close relationship between documentation and the interpretation of rock art. The researchers’ aims and approaches when documenting the art will guide and constrain the interpretations based on the documentation. Documentation is always a reduction of reality. First and foremost, it is important to question what to document, and what not to (e.g. what is to be included in the documentation); second, how we are documenting (e.g. tracings, photography etc.), and; thirdly the lost information (e.g. changed landscape, lost relationships). Therefore, it is crucial to bear in mind the aims and approaches of previous researchers when applying previous documentation in our contemporary interpretations. Documenting rock art is problematic. Previous documentation mainly focused on the motif and documenting the rock art with the utmost accuracy (Helskog & Høgtun 2004; Helskog in press). This benefited comparative analysis, and enabled typological and stylistic analysis of rock art. Problems

encountered when observing rock art have led to variable and different documentation of figures and sites. An example of this is from Leiknes in northern Norway where Gustaf Hallström documented one swan depiction, while Gutorm Gjessing documented two swans. Revisiting Leiknes reveals that most likely both researchers missed a key part of the visualization (Figure 12.1). An interesting aspect of the panel is the clear quartz line running over the swan motif. This might reveal the reason for the location of the swan. The part of the swan motif that is under and over the quartz line represents swans sitting on the waterline. The swans are depicted as if sitting on the quartz line, where the quartz line could act as a representation of the water line. The swans are depicted as if one would make an animation of a swan on the waterline at sea. This could be the first animated visualization in Fennoscandian rock art. Numerous techniques are applied when documenting rock art. Tracings onto see-through plastic or from photos are most common today. Experiments with digital scanning of the rock surface shows promising prospects (Bjelland & Helberg 2006). The advantages

‘Cracking’ Landscapes. New documentation – new knowledge? of representing the figures traditionally from tracings are sometimes invaluable for the interpretation of rock art. Moreover, photographs can visualize the context of the rock art and its relation to its surroundings. Clearly, today we have the upper hand when it comes to the methods and techniques of documentation compared to previous researchers. Per Fett’s (1934: 85) aims within ‘archaeophotography (my translation)’ are not far from current standards. He took photos of rock art at three levels: technical photo, group photo and landscape photo. The technical photo holds information on the depth of the carving, technique and rock type. A group photo aims to show where on the rock outcrop the carvings are made. Finally, the landscape photo shows how the site is located in relation to the terrain. ‘Everything is allowed, as long as it gives a good impression of the landscape’s character and tells us why they made the rock art exactly where it is (my translation)’ (Fett 1934: 80). Within the interpretation of rock art and landscape, it is the group photo and the landscape photo that is most important. Even though Fett’s terminology is not applied, I think it is important when documenting rock art in relation to landscape that one observes and documents the rock art in relation to different scales. The aim must not only be focused on the actual motif, but also the wider context of the rock art. At many places the context of the rock art has changed dramatically. To be able to see the Nämforsen carvings or the carvings at Vyg before the large hydropower systems were built must have been extraordinary. Thereby one should not underestimate previous documentation by rock art pioneers. In many cases, their descriptions and photographic record reveal invaluable information that we are not able to observe today due to changes in the landscape. Many rock art sites and their surroundings have undergone vast changes within the last century (e.g. Figure 12.5).

Rock art and landscape When discussing landscape, attempting to grasp this indefinable concept, one eventually comes to grip with the notion that landscape is a term that both invites and defies definition. Following Layton and Ucko, the concept and idea of landscape are particular ways of expressing conceptions of the world and means of referring to physical entities (Layton & Ucko 1999: 1f). Others have welcomed the ambiguity of the concept as fruitful, hence: ‘… it is the very fullness and ambiguity of the concept of landscape that makes it so useful and helps span the gaps that might otherwise exist between a number of disciplines. The thread that binds

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geography, archaeology and anthropology together around the theme of landscape is the notion of history that can be derived from it’ (Gosden & Head 1994: 115f). Landscapes offer particular ways of expressing conceptions of the world and a means of referring to physical entities. A wider definition with roots in experience is Johnston’s ‘paradox of landscape’ where landscape includes all our relationships with our surroundings, material culture, architecture, ecology, memories, narratives and cosmologies (Johnston 1998: 317). An important notion that is often neglected is the point that the same landscape can be seen in many different ways by different people (Franklin & Bunte 1994; Mack 2004). In other words; one landscape is many landscapes through different experiences. Lately, the nature-culture dichotomy has been questioned in social sciences as a modern Western construction (e.g. Descola 1994; Descola & Pálsson 1996; Roepstorff & Bubandt 2003). Archaeologists have also reviewed their idea of landscape in relation to concepts of nature and culture (cf. Bradley 1998 and Bradley 2000). In addition, the discussion of ethnographic landscapes has been emphasised (e.g. Krupnik et al.. 2004: 4f). Several researchers have convincingly shown the weakness in earlier landscape approaches that overlook the cosmology, myths and symbolism that give meaning to the natural landscape; advocating the use of aboriginal knowledge of landscape and landscape use in order to remove ourselves form the Western ‘gaze of nature’ (e.g. Arsenault 2004a: 71ff; Smith & Blundell 2004). The study of rock art in landscapes could be carried out at several levels: at inter-regional levels; at regional levels or; at local level; at site level or at panel level (Sognnes 2002: 198). The aspect of scale or levels in landscape studies will be important when attempting to study a totality of landscape in relation to rock art. Kalle Sognnes focuses on sites and the comparison between sites. An addition to Sognnes approach could be the study of compositions, scenes or even at the motif/figure level in relation to landscape at the panel or at the site itself. The study of rock art and landscapes can be seen divided in three different parts, however often related. The first is the study of the rock in relation to the wider topography or the macro-landscape (e.g. Mandt 1972, 1978; Sognnes 1983, 1984). Second the perception of the rock art and landscape (e.g. Bradley 1993; Tilley 1994). Thirdly the miniature landscape or the rock surface can be embedded with meaning interwoven with the rock art figures (e.g. Lewis-Williams & Dowson 1988, also Brody 1989; Helskog 2001, 2004; Lewis-Williams 2002, Chap. 5). The three components discussed above can also be seen as a trajectory of

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Figure 12.1. Documentation of the swans at Leiknes, northern Norway. Tracing on the left after Hallström (Hallström 1938: plate V–VI). Tracing on the right after Gjessing (Gjessing 1932: plate IX). Photo and illustration: Jan Magne Gjerde.

Figure 12.2. The rock art site at Landverk, northern Sweden. Photo top and bottom left courtesy of the Gustaf Hallström Archive, The Research Archives, Umeå University Library. Photo bottom right and illustration: Jan Magne Gjerde.

approaches within research history where landscape has moved from being natural to being regarded as cultural, to a recognition that natural features may also be regarded as cultural features in the sense that they are embedded with meaning. At a physical level, landscape can be sectioned in two parts that in most cases are complementary; micro-landscapes that mainly focus on the close surroundings of rock art and macro-landscapes that studies rock art within the wider landscape and the surroundings.

Micro-landscapes – interaction between rock art and natural features Gustaf Hallström pioneered rock art studies in northern Fennoscandia. His wide focus made him notice natural lines or features that could be part of the reason for the rock art location (Hallström 1907a: 222, 1907b: 185, 1908: 55). He showed that the surroundings should be accounted for when interpreting rock art: ‘Some of these clues will — as the researcher so often finds — consist of nothing but misread natural structures,

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Figure 12.3. The elk at Slettnes 2. The fissure in the rock is applied as the elk figure. Photo: Tromsø Museum Archive. Tracing after Hesjedal 1993.

Figure 12.4. The ‘river’ at Vyg. Tracing of New Zalavruga 15. Tracings from Savvateyev 1970: plate 70 and Ravdonikas 1938: plate 19. The tracings from Savvateyev and Ravdonikas are reworked and joined together. The left part of the ‘river’ is from Ravdonikas documentation. One can here clearly see that Ravdonikas and Savvateyev documented the carvings with different methods. Photo of the same composition. Illustration and photo: Jan Magne Gjerde

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veinings, variously coloured strata in the surface of the rock, etc. Many such pictures drawn by Nature herself, have attracted the attention of the Lapps, by whom they have been worshipped as in some way or other connected with their deities or myths’ (Hallström 1938: 19). Hallström already in 1907 interpreted the two animals depicted at Landverk as moving along the water’s edge in order to drink (Hallström 1907b: 188). Hallström later withdrew this interpretation for the Landverk carvings (Hallström 1960: 85), however, by revisiting Landverk, I support his initial interpretation (Figure 12.2). Supported by ethnography, several scholars have interpreted the rock surface as laden with meaning and sometimes as a visual representation of the landscape (Lewis Williams & Dowson 1990; Ouzman 1998; Helskog 1999, 2004; Nash 2002; Keyser & Poetschat 2004). According to San belief in South Africa, the rock surface constitutes an interface between this world and the spirit world (e.g. Lewis Williams & Dowson 1990). Similar observations are presented for the Algonkian rock art in northern America. Cracks, crevices and cave entrances in cliffs and rocks served as passageways for these spiritual beings (Arsenault 2004b: 299ff ). Knut Helskog has shown that the topography and the natural features related to the rock art may also represent a ritual or a physical landscape (Helskog 1999, 2004). The interpretation of such phenomena in rock art can be very subjective, but it is a recurring phenomenon at many places: from applying natural cracks to the motif/figure or striation marks from the ice age to the use of water pools as ‘lakes’ or running water as rivers. In other words, interaction with specific features in the rock surface might explain the location (or the positioning) of the motif, scene or composition. Natural elements should be studied in relation to figures, scenes and compositions. Observations of natural features can be done at the figure level where features within the rock surface have been applied or could be a part of the figure. An example of this is from Jo Sarsaklubben in northern Norway where an impressive life-size reindeer is polished into the rock surface. There is only one crack in the rock surface and this crack makes out the mouth of the reindeer (Gjerde 2006: 202). Another example is from Slettnes in northern Norway. At Slettnes 2, one clearly observes that the body of one of the elkfigures is made out a fissure in the rock (Figure 12.3). Secondly, the scene or composition level shows how the landscape might be evident within the placing or the location of a scene, scenes or compositions. Examples of this could be at Leiknes, northern Norway, discussed above, where a large quartz vein

interacts with the swans (Figure 12.1). This can also be seen at Vyg, in northwestern Russia where the calmly running water most likely represents the river where the actual whale hunt occurred (Figure 12.11). The micro topography and the inclination of the rock has been applied as a means of showing skiers moving in the terrain, both at Vyg and at Kanozero (Gjerde 2006: 204, Fig. 5). Then at the panel level, one may see that the whole panel is placed within ‘borders’ in the rock outcrop laden with meaning. An example of this is at New Zalavruga where the rock art panels might mirror their landscape of islands and islets in the river mouth/estuary (Gjerde 2005; Gjerde in press).

Macro landscapes – rock art in the wider landscape The location of rock art has puzzled researchers from the initial discoveries. Locational factors were sought both to explain the rock art and as a means of finding more rock art. An example of such common factors is the hunting place interpretation for the hunters rock art depicting large game (e.g. Wetterberg 1845, also Gjessing 1945) or good arable areas for agrarian rock art (e.g. Gjessing 1939). Hence, the economy of the makers could ‘reveal’ the location of rock art panels. At a macro level, one is studying rock art within the wider landscape and its surroundings. Studies have shown that rock art sites have been located near nodes and landmarks in the landscape that could be embedded with meaning. The most striking of these are the rock art sites placed in waterfalls and rapids (Goldhahn 2002) or in the vicinity of protruding mountains (Mandt 1998). Such landmarks are often connected to myths and stories. The majority of the large rock art sites are found along main communication lines along the coast, at lakeshores, along rivers or in large river estuaries (e.g. Ausevik, Vingen, Nämforsen, Alta, Vyg, Kanozero, Onega, etc.) with adjacent settlements. This strengthens the notion that these places could have been nodes in their landscape. The most striking feature within the macro-landscape that seems to have been structuring the location of rock art in northern Fennoscandia is the shoreline location. Traditionally this was explained by the lack of vegetation (Bakka 1975; Mikkelsen 1977). The shoreline connection has also been explained through circumpolar cosmology (Helskog 1999); the shorelines are in the intersection between the three most important elements in the cosmology: the sky, the rock (land) and the sea. Thereby the shorelines were zones of communication with the spirits from these elements (e.g. Helskog 1999), making this the optimal location for ritual as

‘Cracking’ Landscapes. New documentation – new knowledge? well as residential sites, positioned in the middle (Bergsvik in press). Traditionally, studies at a site-level would focus on rock art according to a locational perspective, in relation to the natural environment (e.g. rivers, cliffs) and other cultural remains (settlements, burial cairns, hunting places). A description of where the rock art site is located has generally been applied as grounds for locational analysis. Caves with rock art are places where the rock art is placed in the liminal zone between light and darkness (Bjerck 1995b). The shape and form of the actual rock outcrop can also be of relevance for the location. At many Finnish rock painting sites, whole cliffs with rock art have an anthropomorphic shape (e.g. Sarvas 1975: 46–47, also Lahelma 2008). This has also been observed in Sweden (Fandén 2002: 7) and in Norway (Slinning 2002) hence suggesting that the rock art is positioned to interact with the rocks also at a site level. Stories connected to ‘shapes and forms’ in the rocks can be found in vast parts of the world. For example the geomythology of Vitaliano (Vitaliano 1973) has off ered a fresh perspective on rocks and their meaning (Piccardi & Masse 2007). Numerous examples connect landforms or aboriginal landform lore to myths and stories (Manker 1957). The interpretations of rock surfaces as being imbued with human or animal attributes have been questioned due to their subjectivity. However, we know that the Saami seide stones or places have been attributed to animals or persons. In Varanger, northern Norway a boulder in Saami ethnography is named the bear stone (Bjørnesteinen). This boulder takes the form of a bear when observed from the right angle (Vorren & Eriksen 1993: 114–116). Without the ethnographic knowledge, one would most likely never see the boulder as a bear representation. The example shows how in most cases one is left out of the context of the site or, as Taçon has implied when discussing rock art and ethnography, ‘If you miss all this story, well bad luck’ (Taçon 1992). At Lillestraumen, northern Norway a boulder with rock art is found between house structures dated to the Late Stone Age (Grydeland 2001: fig 51). A bear is depicted on the boulder. This boulder could represent a bear. However, unfortunately for my story, I have ‘no’ complementary ethnography. At a regional level the location or distribution of the sites are typically studied. Most often, this has resulted in distributional analysis applying geographical models that rarely accounted for the landscape background (Sognnes 1987). Sites are studied and compared within a regional area or a naturally defined larger area. Fjords might be lines of division or communication, while river systems, lakes or large landscape features

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might divide or link sites within a region. Examples of this is the Ofoten fjord, the Alta-fjord or lakes, such as Onega or Kanozero. When studying sites at a regional and inter-regional level it is important to look at dating before relations between sites are discussed. At an inter-regional level natural communication lines in relation to the location of rock art sites might help us to look at similarities over large distances that suggest cultural contact. Fjords river systems, or large landscape features may offer natural communication routes for both animals and humans. The rock art on the Islands of Kanozero would be a central place when moving between the Barents Ocean and the White Sea. Another such example is the Alta region from the interior to the coastal areas, where the interior valleys are funnelled into the Alta fjord. It has been suggested that Alta is such a communication place between inland and coastal groups (Hood 1988). The similarity in rock art at Vyg and Onega has been noted by several scholars (Linevskii 1939; Savvateyev 1977, 1982). The waterway between Lake Onega and the White Sea strengthens the interpretation that there was contact between the groups at Vyg and Onega. At this level, similarity in rock art and the natural lines of communication would be important to look at. Lately, satellite photos and better maps makes it easier to study rock art at this level. People in prehistory were not equipped with these tools, hence looking at landscape through a birds-eye view has been criticized (Tilley 1994). Yet, it must be an advantage for us trying to grasp the wider landscape and how communication lines might have been in prehistory (see e.g. Rączkowski 2001). The geographical knowledge documented amongst hunter-gatherers in various ethnographic sources (e.g. Collignon 2006b) shows that we have to include these tools when journeying through archaeological landscapes. The different levels of landscape discussed above are not meant as a straightforward terminology for the study of rock art and landscape. Nevertheless, they offer one means by which one can look at rock art and landscapes at different scales or levels. The main objective in defining these different scales is that this is a heuristic tool when documenting the different relations between rock art and landscape.

Memoryscapes – making unfamiliar landscapes familiar Through the ethnographic record of hunter-gatherers, we know that through orientation, the memory of places and their relationships is important (Rundstrom 1990; Aporta 2004, 2005). The ethnographic record

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Figure 12.5. The landscape view at Nämforsen where changes are observed. The top left photo shows Nämforsen in 1916 during spring. The top right photo shows Nämforsen in 1924 during winter. Now the bridge has been built. The bottom left shows Nämforsen in 2004. The rapids are shut down by the power Station. In 2008, I got the chance to experience a glimpse of the massive rapids of Nämforsen again. The changes in the landscape can be quite comprehensive. Photos by Gustaf Hallström by courtesy of the Gustaf Hallström Archive, The Research Archives, Umeå University Library and Jan Magne Gjerde.

indicates that hunter-gatherers have a remarkable knowledge of the landscape. Bear in mind though that ethnographic landscape knowledge is described by people who have lived in a place for a long time (Kelly 2003). Ethnographic hunter-gatherers can draw fairly accurate, detailed maps of large areas that are familiar to them (Boas 1888: 643–648; Nelson 1983 [1899]: 197). Some rock art motifs have been interpreted as maps in different parts of the world (Smith 1982; Lewis 1998: 57ff; Maggs 1998; Fossati 2002, 2003; Montelle 2003;). Okladnikova has also shown that rock art of northern Russia could be viewed as maps. She discusses rock art in terms of cosmological and geographical maps. Rock art provides the earliest indications that huntergatherer societies had the ability to represent a spatial understanding of things both mythical and nonmythical (Okladnikova 1998: 329–330, also Animosov 1963). At Vyg in north-western Russia a rare motif in rock art has been interpreted as both a whale-hunting

scene and a river: ‘Durchhaus wahrscheinlich, daß es sich um den Teil eines realen oder mythologischen Flußweges handelt. Damit läge hier eine der ältesten topographischen Skizzen vor, die zwar noch primitiv ist, aber doch monumental und von ewiger Dauer’ (Sawwatejew 1984: 149). When you look at the composition there is a long line representing the river (Figure 12.4). The boats are connected to this line and the line is bending, twirling through the landscape as the Vyg River. Along the river, different activities or taskscapes are depicted. There are no beluga whales in this composition and only one beluga to the far right of this panel. The best interpretation of this composition is that it is depicting a river. In sum, hunter-gatherer landscapes are sets of named and/or ‘storied’ places. These are generally made into a cognitive map. The map is relational, that is, one place is known as being a certain distance or time and direction from another place (Kelly 2003). Mark Nuttall initiates and applies the term

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Figure 12.6 (above). An elk at Bergbukten 4A, Hjemmeluft in Alta drinking from the ‘lake’. Photo Jan Magne Gjerde. Figure 12.7 (right). Documentation of a boat figure at Brådön, northern Sweden. Tracing top left after Hallström (Hallström 1938: plate XXIII). Photos and illustration: Jan Magne Gjerde. Figure 12.8 (below). The surroundings till Nämforsen and the miniature landscape with the river. Photos: Jan Magne Gjerde.

memoryscape in relation to landscape. ‘…, but by way of a brief definition, memoryscape is constructed with people’s mental images of the environment, with particular emphasis on places as remembered places’ (Nuttall 1992: 39). Stories and myth unfold against a geographical backdrop. Events, whether contemporary, historical or mythical, that happen at certain points in the local area tend to become integral parts of those places. These events are remembered with reference to specific events and experiences.

Memories then, take the form of stories about real and remembered things. They cannot be separated from the land even though place names do not immediately reflect such stories. Place names may be mnemonic devices, triggering a collective memory of events that was significant for the community, groups or individuals (Nuttall 1992: 54–55). Place names are important in story-telling as they are situating devices locating narrated events in the settings where they occurred (Basso 1984: 32). Through land

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and sea use, myth and historical events, an image of the community is reflected in the landscape. Memory is then a manner of articulating relationships between community and landscape, or between the landscape and individuals. Traces of memory are left ensuring activities in the landscape (Nuttall 1992: 57). Nuttall also sees the memoryscape as crucial when journeying through landscapes. Without knowledge or memory of places and reference points, land becomes unknown territory to those who have no knowledge or memory of it (Nuttall 1992: 57). Beatrice Collignon observes this amongst the Inuit where geographic knowledge is knowledge in action, best described as a holistic ‘wisdom of the land’. It involves a mix of practical skills and oral tradition. Stories and place names are told and remembered. They transform the wide expanses of the physical landscape into memoryscapes, inhabited by human beings, animals and spirits of all kinds (Collignon 2006a). As argued by Kelly and Todd, pioneers in a landscape would not initially know the landscape (Kelly & Todd 1988: 235). When moving into ‘new’ or unfamiliar landscapes, they need to be lived in and enacted to become familiar. Thereby the ethnographic landscapes or the ethnographic landscape knowledge is a result of people’s experiences through generations; enacting with landscape and its surroundings, creating stories of landscape and place. With a constantly changing landscape, sometimes dramatic as the result of the eustatic processes, places would change, and memory connected to places would have to be negotiated. When looking at rock art, the concept of memoryscape may help us understand rock art sites as just such a fixation of the past related to memory and place. This can be viewed in the light of similar ideas presented for Australian rock art where it is seen as part of marking the landscape. Humans are communicating knowledge visually, thereby socialising landscapes (Taçon 1994, 2002; Tilley 1994: 18). One can see through different ethnographical examples how important places, place names or marked places are to indigenous peoples around the world (Collignon 2006a; Schreyer 2006). Appellative place names which connect nature to culture amongst indigenous people (Qvigstad 1944), are part of the process of remembering places. The rock art site at Leiknes is called ‘the animal rock’ (Dyreberget). This potentially could have been the name given to the site thousands of years ago (Bjerck 1995a). Rock art could be remembered places, where stories are embedded into the rock. Rock art could then be a component of both individual and collective memory. Locationally some rock art sites were restricted to just

a few individuals while others would be available to ‘everybody’. The variation both in extent, motifs, scenes and location (place) suggests that the activities connected to different rock art places cannot have been the same. There are not two exactly similar panels in all of northern Fennoscandia. Therefore, most likely they represent different stories or events. Sometimes these stories would have shown similar traits, however they are all unique or individual. The large rock art areas, like Alta in northern Norway, Vingen in Western Norway, Nämforsen in the middle parts of Sweden and Vyg in north-western Russia, are clearly such remembered places where rock art act as collective or individual memories that are hewn into the rock surfaces, repeatedly through thousands of years. People revisited Alta and made rock art for more than 4000 years. These sites with rock art are most likely central in hunter-gatherer memoryscapes where stories could be told and retold representing long memories.

Changing landscapes As stated above, landscape can be studied at several scales or levels. There is no doubt subjectivity involved in the interpretations of landscape since landscapes are perceived through experience. The same landscape can be seen in many different ways by different people (Franklin & Bunte 1994; Mack 2004). Temporal changes like seasons and weather will provide different experiences of a landscape. Landscape is constantly changing. Some of these changes have altered the landscape dramatically. The most visible of such changes in northern Fennoscandia is the postglacial land uplift. The lost relationships have to be accounted for when studying rock art and landscape. Modern alterations of the landscape have altered many landscapes dramatically. The Hydro Power related constructions at Vyg and Nämforsen have altered the whole area. Most of the sites have undergone massive changes within their macro-landscape. Therefore, as already stated by Coll in 1902, it is important to include references to places where the landscape has undergone few or minor changes (Coll 1902: 57). Examples of such sites are the inland localities at Onega in north-western Russia or Landverk in northern Sweden. At some places, like Nämforsen, we have a clear understanding and documentation of how the landscape has been changed by modern installations (Figure 12.5). Changes work at all levels in landscape studies, e.g. who is to claim that the cracks in the rock surface have always been there? Different changes like the weathering of the rock surface or the disappearance of bits and pieces of the rock through time can lead

‘Cracking’ Landscapes. New documentation – new knowledge? to flawed interpretations. It is very important that one is aware of such changes taking place over time within the micro-landscape. It is highly problematic to conduct studies of micro-landscapes through photos and/or tracings. One should study the rock art in situ, preferably over time and/or through re-visiting. The pitfalls are many in landscape studies, thereby one needs to be careful when interpreting situations in the rock surface or in the landscape that was not present in the past. Through short-term visits to rock art sites, it is questionable whether we will grasp the experiences or the perceptions people in the past had with their landscape. We are likely to miss out on significant natural and cultural elements. An example from the micro-landscape is from Bergbukten in Alta where, visited on a sunny day, one would not see that the elk is drinking from a lake (Figure 12.6). Although one might observe the discolouring in the rocks where the water collects, the examples are numerous where short-term experiences can lead us to neglect aspects of the rock art. When questioning whether archaeologists can study the landscape, Tim Ingold’s statement, there is no better definition of archaeology than the temporality of landscape, is left unchallenged (Ingold 1993: 162). Archaeological fieldwork is about spending time in the landscape.

Case studies Case studies will show how landscape and natural features interact with rock art at different levels. This strengthens the fact that some rock art depicts not only imaginary landscapes but also physical landscapes. Thereby not just the rock art, but also the natural features of the rocks and the surroundings could have worked as mnemonic devices where stories and place names were told and remembered. We also need to account for these natural features in the documentation and the interpretation of rock art.

Nämforsen, northern Sweden The rock art at Nämforsen was first decribed in 1705 (Hallström 1960: 130). Recently, more carvings were discovered, and today the total number is c. 2300. They are dated to c. 4200–1000 BC (Larsson & Engelmark 2005). Due to the land uplift, the river estuary with the waterfall at Nämforsen is located c. 140 km from the present coastline (Hallström 1960: 128). When the carvings were made, they were located within the rapids in the river estuary of Nämforsen. The massive roaring rapids at Nämforsen would have been the main character of the landscape. At times, when rivers are high, it is impossible to enter the

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islands in the river. Gustaf Hallström spent several seasons documenting the rock art before he could approach Brådön, the island in the middle of the waterfall. However, at winter, it would be easy to approach the islands. In the main concentration of rock art at Brådön, there are small rivers running close to the rock art. Further down the elk motifs are running along the river. There are no figures where the water would originally have been running at this place. Without water, the area where the water is running gets a dark greyish patina due to the discolouring of the rock. At this place it looks like the figures are located as if they are representing a miniature landscape that would resemble the surroundings at Nämforsen (Figure 12.8). The miniature river could then act as a link between the surroundings and the stories told in the rock art. One of the large boat representations at Nämforsen in northern Sweden is located at the island of Brådön within the rapids of Nämforsen. The boat was immaculately documented by Hallström (1960: pl XXIII). Revisiting the Nämforsen site with a landscape focus is somewhat bizarre as the main character of the landscape, the massive rapids, are regulated by the power station. The elk-boat representation at Brådön is common in northern Fennoscandia. This boat representation with 25 lines most likely representing the crew of people suggests that this was a large boat (Figure 12.7). The boat is located where the water runs after rainfall. The dark blackish lichen is present where the water runs. Here one observes that the boat figure is placed where the water would be running in a miniature river on an island in the waterfall. Looking carefully at the micro topography in the rocks it resembles the macro topography at Nämforsen. I doubt this is a coincidence. Here one can see that by documenting or observing the rock art anew, one may gain an impression of the landscapes character. One can here see how the figures are related to a micro-landscape that most likely acts as a miniature or a representation of the macro-landscape at Nämforsen.

Onega, north-western Russia Another major rock art site in northern Fennoscandia is found at Onega site in north- western Russia (Grewingk 1854). More than 1300 carvings have been documented at Onega. The rock art is generally dated to the Late Stone Age due to its connection with the adjacent settlements (Ravdonikas 1936; Savvateyev 1988). They are located on rock slopes and islands along the eastern shores of the Onega Lake. The seasonal fluctuating water level in the lake sometimes leaves parts of the

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Figure 12.9 (left). The Chornaya river in the rock at Peri Nos, Onega, NW Russia. Photos: Jan Magne Gjerde. Figure 12.10 (below). Top image: general view towards the North from the southern part of New Zalavruga. Bottom left and right, photo of New Zalavruga 4 with water in front of the panel. Photos: by Jan Magne Gjerde. Figure 12.11 (bottom). Photos and tracing of New Zalavruga 8. Tracing after Savvateyev (Savvateyev, 1970: fig. 48). Illustration and photos: Jan Magne Gjerde.

‘Cracking’ Landscapes. New documentation – new knowledge? rock art underwater. Some contemporary rock art sites located on points or promontories would have been located on islands in the Stone Age (Lobanova 1995). The rivers, Vodla and Chornaya are major lines of communication running westwards into the eastern shores of Onega Lake where the rock art is located. The main concentrations of rock art are situated near these rivers. At one of the panels, Peri Nos, a thick line of black coloured rock stands out from the red granite. The inlay of black rock flows like a river towards the lake. Only one motif is carved into the black rock, a boat representation (Figure 12.9). The nearest river, Chornaya (the black river), is located c. 2 km to the south. The river is black due to colouring from the black soil eroding from the river banks further upstream. Here we see how the different colouring in the rock or the different rock type might have been the reason why the boat is made exactly where it is. In addition, the natural feature representing the river might act as a reference to the macro-landscape, the nearby Chornaya River. Thereby, the boat figure is interacting with the micro-landscape that represents a miniature of the surroundings, the macro-landscape.

Vyg, north-western Russia The rock art at Vyg was rediscovered in 1926. New rock art is still being found, and a conservative estimate would suggest there are more than 2500 carvings at this site. They date to the Late Stone Age, although the initial phase might be dated to the latter phase of the Early Stone Age. The rock art is located on small islands and at the shores of the Vyg River. The Hydro Power stations and the White Sea Canal have altered the flow of the Vyg River, leaving the area where the rock art is located today on dry land. The rock art once made on the shores of the White Sea, is today located c. 8 km inland between 14.5–19.5 m.a.s.l. When the rock art at Vyg was made, the whole area would have been a complex maze of islands and riverbanks in the estuary area. The estuary area would have been constantly changing and with the changing sea level the shoreline would also have been changing. The low angle of inclination of the landscape would have made the land uplift change the shoreline area dramatically. Changes most likely observed from generation to generation. The relation between rock art and landscapes at Vyg have previously been presented in more detail (Gjerde 2005, in press). Here I will focus on the relationship between micro-landscape and macro-landscape. The rock surface at New Zalavruga, consists of a ‘flat’ horizontal area where water collects in shallow pools between the carved panels. Once these pools dry up,

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one can see that no carvings are placed in these pools. However, there is virtually always water in these pools and it is likely that they would have been more permanent features when the shoreline was present. It is possible that these pools were filled by the tide. If this possibility is accepted, the whole area at New Zalavruga could be viewed as an area of islands or islets. The panels with rock art could then represent islands (Figure 12.10). For instance, the panel New Zalavruga 4 would then be an island. The landscape they are depicting on the rock surfaces reflects the surroundings and could be seen as a reflection of a physical landscape. This indicates that the scenes, compositions and panels could be made up of several landscapes or stories embedded with different meaning interwoven in the rock surface. The panels selected could be references to the macro-landscape in the river estuary area. At New Zalavruga 8, a whale hunting scene is depicted where the water gently runs over the panel. The level of inclination is c. 10°. The people depicted in the six boats have harpooned a Beluga whale. More frequently, the whale hunting scenes are carved into flat surfaces (e.g. at New Zalavruga 13) most likely depicting hunts in the bay or in the White Sea. At New Zalavruga 8, the hunting lines are hanging downwards after the whale. The Beluga Whale is either swimming fast with six boats attached, and/or the whale hunting scene is depicted in the river or in the river estuary. A likely interpretation is that the whale hunt occurred in the river or river estuary. The boats were forced behind the whale by the current of the river or small rapids while the hunt occurred. The whale is swimming, also making the boats drag after the whale. However, due to the location of this rock art scene, I am inclined to suggest a link between the micro-topography and the rock art (Figure 12.11). The inclination works as a spatial reference to the macro-landscape where the hunt actually occurred.

Concluding Remarks A number of examples presented in this paper describe and visualize natural features in relation to rock art. Such natural features might encode information that could be part of the narratives in the rocks. Caution should be stressed when interpreting microlandscapes in rock art. It is important that one is aware of the changes within the rock surface and the micro-landscape. I think it is virtually impossible to conduct studies of micro-landscapes through photos and/or tracings. One needs to approach the rock art with fresh eyes and with a wider scope when it comes to documentation. The rock art should be studied in situ, preferably over time or through re-visiting. The

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weathering of the rock-surface, the disappearance of bits and pieces, new cracks or vegetation change through time could give us flawed interpretations. From personal experience, revisiting sites makes one observe different features within rock art panels. New figures and details in figures might reveal themselves. Changing light conditions, weather or seasons makes one observe different elements within the rock art. It is, therefore, important to reconsider how documentation is done and has been done by previous researchers documenting rock art. When stressing the subjectivity in the interpretation of rock art and landscape, there is no doubt that natural features interact with rock art. Natural features are part of the panel narrative and would most likely have worked as mnemonic references to a cosmological and real landscape. Most often, we cannot relate the actual place of reference with the story told in the rocks. However, the Beluga hunting scenes at Vyg most likely depict stories that occurred at the shores, bays, inlets or islands in close connection with the with rock art. On the other hand, the reindeer corrals in Alta were located at other places than at the actual rock art location. The rock art narratives could relate to known places within their taskscape like at Onega where the black inlay of rock might resemble a nearby river there seems to be a link that refers to a place where the natural features actually refers to known places. Often, one does not find a direct link. Many of these narratives would have been part of individual or collective memories. Some of these rock art sites, panels, scenes or motifs acted as place specific memories while others represent imaginary landscapes. Nonetheless, they would have worked as memoryscapes where communication and information was manifested in the rock art. The fact that huntergatherers in northern Fennoscandia revisited these places repeatedly making new rock art, telling and retelling the panel narratives suggests that rock art are part of long memories or narratives. The rock art sites acted as places with meaning. Some places acted as nodes in the landscape, creating collective memories for thousands of years. The large rock art sites in northern Fennoscandia are also placed in or are adjacent to favourable places for communication connected to large aggregation sites. Most likely people met at these places at certain times of year at favourable places or nodes in the landscape for inter-societal communication. The fact that they are making rock art at places for a long time enhances and enforces the stories that were part of their collective memory. Through new documentation and the revisiting of sites, it is evident that new interpretations of rock

art are revealed. When it comes to the location of rock art, countless different factors have influenced the placing of rock art. Studying different levels of landscape in relation to rock art can help us gain a better understanding of the location, the landscape and some of the meaning embedded in the rock art. We cannot crack the landscape code; however, we can get more information from the rock art by observing where the rock art is located, hence what features it interacts with. Thereby we might get closer to an understanding of these ‘cracking’ stories in the rocks. However hard we try, Eva and Per Fett’s statement from 1941 still stands: ‘A total objective rock carving investigation is today not thinkable (my transl.)’ (Fett & Fett 1941: 11).

Acknowledgements The results from the fieldwork presented in this paper are part of my PhD-study at Tromsø University Museum. Special thanks to Norsk Arkeologisk Selskap for funding a revisit to Nämforsen. Fieldwork at the different sites investigated has been funded by Tromsø University Museum, The Research Council of Norway, the Norwegian Barents Secretariat, Roald Amundsen Centre for Arctic Research and Institute for Comparative Research in Human Culture. Without their funding, the comprehensive fieldwork would have been impossible. Thanks to participating colleagues at the seminar Changing Pictures for some narrative days in Kalmar with fruitful discussions. Thanks to Knut Helskog for constructive comments to this paper.

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13 Bronze Age Rock Art and Religion in a Maritime Perspective Melanie Wrigglesworth

In the early 20th century, rock art was interpreted as religious statements by several researchers, in particular Oscar Almgren, who introduced the notion of fertility cult and sun worship. This has become an established “truth” as far as Bronze Age rock art is concerned. However, as processual archaeology developed, it was generally thought that it was impossible to learn anything about religion and ritual in prehistory. This attitude has changed over the last 20 years, and religion is now seen as a legitimate area of research and new theoretical perspectives have been applied. In this paper I will trace the history of research on rock art in terms of religion, ritual and ritualisation, and discuss to what degree recent theoretical approaches have influenced or changed our interpretations of Bronze Age rock art. Keywords: Bronze Age, rock art, religion, history of research, maritime

Introduction

Archaeology and religion

In the early 20th century, rock art was interpreted as religious expressions by several researchers, in particular Oscar Almgren, who introduced the notion of fertility cult and sun worship. This has become an established ‘truth’ as far as Bronze Age rock art is concerned. As will be demonstrated in this paper, religion has been used to interpret and explain rock art since the late 19th and early 20th century. In this paper I will give a short review of how religion has been used for the interpretation of rock art, and assess recent approaches to Bronze Age rock art. South Scandinavian rock art is usually interpreted within an agrarian ‘paradigm”, in which the images were created by an agrarian population whose religion centred on the sun and fertility. However, the Bronze Age is not uniform in Scandinavia, and I will argue that we should consider regional diversity to a much larger degree. I will suggest that as ships are the dominating motif in West Norway, rock art was made within a maritime sphere.

Religion is a difficult area of study in terms of prehistory, not only because our knowledge of prehistoric religion is vague at best, but also because what religion is has been the subject of much debate. Definitions range from simple, such as beliefs in supernatural beings, to complex, such as Durrans’ definition of religion as ‘a system of collective, public actions which conform to rules (“ritual”) and usually express “beliefs” in the sense of a mixture of ideas and predispositions’ (Durrans 2000: 59). Where Bronze Age religion is concerned, we need to find definitions that serve our purpose. We also need to acknowledge that although religion in itself is not political, it can be used politically or as part of a political agenda. In a hierarchical society such as the Scandinavian Bronze Age society, religion could well have been an important factor in maintaining social relations and practices. There are many clues to the nature of religious beliefs, cosmology, and rituals in the Bronze Age: burials, votive deposits, cult houses, and iconography as represented in rock art and decorated

Bronze Age Rock Art and Religion in a Maritime Perspective bronze objects. Burials are the focus of most studies on religion and ritual, however, burials have more often than not been considered in terms of power and social and political significance, and their religious or symbolic significance has been considered to a lesser degree (Dommasnes 1991). As Insoll points out, the term religion implies an opposition between profane life and religious life (Insoll 2004: 6–7). Archaeologists tend to interpret material culture either as functional and profane, or non-functional and sacred. Settlements, fields, wells etc., are seen as functional and related to subsistence, technology, and economy. Rock art, burials, and votive deposits are not functional in terms of subsistence or economy, and must consequently belong to the sacred sphere. This distinction between the sacred and the profane is likely to be a reflection of modern society, where religion is seen as a separate sphere, rather than a prehistoric reality. The boundary between religious life and profane life is blurred; people continuously slip between one and the other. Religion can provide rules for how one leads one’s life; it can pervade all aspects of life, both individually and on the community level (Insoll 2004). Religion is a framework for making sense of the world and one’s position within it. This includes moral values, existential questions, cosmology, mythology, rules and regulations. There is also an emotional element, as well as aspects linked to identity and memory. Timothy Insoll (2004: 23) argues that religion should be seen as an aspect of life, rather than studying religion as a separate phenomenon on a par with technology or subsistence. This is a perspective that I think is useful for getting to grips with religion in prehistory. Religion, however we choose to define it, was as important to people in prehistory as it is to people in the present. It is likely that everyday life might have included religious observances that were so integrated in life that they were routine actions. Everyday life could also have included what could be defined as superstitions and superstitious actions. Religious festivals would have broken this rhythm, but essentially, religion could have been a natural aspect of the world, in such a way that people probably would not even think about it – that was just how the world was. If we consider religion as a natural part of life, we do not need to separate between the sacred and the profane. This has implications for how we think about sites that are interpreted as having religious significance, such as rock art sites. We tend to think of these sites as highly ritual, where religious specialists made new carvings, or re-carved them, as part of rituals. Archaeologists appear to be more comfortable with using the term ritual, rather than religion, and

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indeed some have advocated the study of ritual instead of religion (Wold 2005; Goldhahn 2006). Religion encompasses so many things: emotion, history, relationships, rules and regulations; it is intangible and can appear to be irrational and this is something we have to accept. For this reason, ritual has become a preferred concept for archaeologists; as ritual is considered as action (e.g. Bell 1992: 19) it is perhaps easier to look for traces of rituals in the archaeological record. Ritual is complex and much of the debate has focused on what ritual is (Bell 1992). One central point is whether ritual reflects religious beliefs, mythology and cosmology and whether we can infer anything from the archaeological material. I would argue that although we can never fully know the details of Bronze Age religion, much insight can be gained by analysing religious or ritual practice, on the assumption that ritual reflects mythological and cosmological ideas (cf. Melheim 2001).

Rock art and religion from the 1800s to present In this section I will give a short review of how religion has been used in the interpretation of Scandinavian Bronze Age rock art, starting with the culture-historical paradigm. Culture-historical archaeology is what we might call descriptive archaeology, concentrating on describing the history of cultural groups, descriptions of objects and creating typologies and chronologies so that the archaeological material could be ordered (Trigger 1989). History was seen in evolutionary terms with a unilinear development. Chronology was most important in studying the evolution of human history. Culture-historical archaeology introduced the term culture in order to study regional diversity. Material culture was equated with groups or cultures, and identical material culture in a given area was seen as evidence of a people with a common language and identity. The idea that rock carvings could be religious representations was first proposed by the Danish archaeologist Ole Worsaae in the 1880s, who argued that rock carvings were made in order to secure divine protection as well as fertility. Motifs such as ships, rings, horses and chariots were interpreted as sun symbols, and humans were interpreted as depictions of various gods (Mandt 1991: 124). This model was rejected by other scholars at the time, who thought that the rock art rather depicted everyday activities, for instance Oscar Montelius who believed that rock art could give information on maritime history, farming and animal husbandry (Mandt 1991: 124). In 1860, C.A. Holmboe suggested that the carvings could have been made as memorials to the dead,

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but this was refuted by his contemporaries (Mandt 1991: 119). However, these ideas resurfaced in the early 20th century, and were discussed especially by Gunnar Ekholm (1917), who argued that rock art was made as part of a death cult. Rock art sites were places where the living made sacrifices to the dead and helped them on their journey to the Netherworld (Mandt 1991: 128). Ship motifs depicted the boats that were used to cross a river or lake in order to reach the realm of the dead. Other motifs were considered to be magic formulae that were supposed to aid the dead on their journey, or help them in their next life. Cup marks were related to offerings to the dead. In the early 1900s, the view that rock art was a religious expression became more widespread. Oscar Almgren presented a model based on the notion that rock art was used in order to promote fertility by an agrarian population (Almgren 1927). He used mythology and ethnographical comparison as well as comparisons with Egyptian religion as part of his argument. His use of Mediterranean and south-eastern sources was in line with the general idea at the time that culture originally came from the south-east. Almgren argued that the rock art depicted symbolic cult scenes as well as representations of mythology and that Bronze Age religion centred on sun worship and fertility, much like Egyptian religion. He based this on depictions of plants, ploughing scenes and ships that appear to carry rings or discs, and argued that this was the religion of a population that depended on agriculture and consequently good crops and fertile animals. Rock art was not meant for the dead, but for the living; the images would ensure good crops and fertility. A central theme was thought to be the life and death of a fertility, or sun, god. The ship was the main symbol, as it was associated with a sun god and guided the god on his journey through the Netherworld. Rings also symbolised the sun and a sun god. Another approach was trying to identify specific gods and mythological events based on Norse sagas (Bing 1937). Culture-historical interpretations were questioned from the 1960s and especially in the 1970s. This coincided with the introduction of ‘New Archaeology’ or processual archaeology, which was the result of discontent with the culture-historical approach and its fixation on cultures and objects. Instead, some archaeologists began arguing for an anthropological and ‘scientific’ archaeology (Binford 1962). Positivism was a cornerstone in the new approach; culture-historical archaeology was criticised for being subjective, and so the key to more knowledge was objectivity, and the formulation of testable hypotheses. Culture was seen as a functional system with subsystems; Binford identified the social, ideological and the technological

subsystems as the most important. Society and culture were considered as systems that had a balanced relationship with nature, i.e. if a variable was out of sync with the rest of the system, change would be the result (Trigger 1989; Olsen 1997). Culture was a tool for human adaptation to the environment. Consequently, variation in material culture was not due to migration and diffusion, but to ecological and economical differences and adaptations. In Scandinavia, the general interest was in ecology and the environment (Olsen 1997). Rock art research had concentrated on documentation, chronology and typologies (Fett & Fett 1941; Althin 1945; Marstrander 1963), and on interpreting individual motifs as well as scenes or compositions on the panel in order to identify myths, rituals, and other religious expressions (e.g. Glob 1969). Rock art was implicitly understood to be religious expressions. In the 1960s and 1970s this was criticised as being too one-dimensional. Part of the problem was that although there was a theoretical debate within archaeology, there was no real theoretical approach to rock art studies. Several archaeologists argued that rock art should not be seen as a separate discipline; rather it should be studied in a wider context (Mandt 1991). This caused a shift from studying rock art as an expression of religious beliefs and myths to a focus on quantitative analysis, chronology, spatial and geographical analyses, as well as studying rock art in relation to other archaeological material (e.g. Mandt 1972, 1983; Kjellén and Hyenstrand 1977; Bakka 1979; Nordbladh 1980; Malmer 1981; Sognnes 1983, 1987). Although it was in many ways implicitly understood that rock art could be related to religion and ritual, this was not reflected in the studies. Motifs and combinations were compiled and studied in order to make typologies, including hypothetical types (e.g. Johnsen 1974; Burenhult 1980;). Rock art was also studied in relation to resources and the environment (Mikkelsen 1977; Mandt 1978). In the early 1980s, archaeology started to take new directions, and Ian Hodder ’s book Symbols in action (Hodder 1982) played an important part. Post-processual archaeology cannot be said to be one particular direction, rather, it is a collection of diverse approaches. A common aspect is the criticism of ecological functionalism and positivism, as well as an interest in symbolism. Within Scandinavian archaeology, a holistic perspective was focused on. Rock art should be related to contemporary society and consequently studied as one of several archaeological contexts. New theoretical approaches were mirrored in rock art research, for instance, Jarl Nordbladh carried out the first structuralist analysis of rock art in the

Bronze Age Rock Art and Religion in a Maritime Perspective Bohuslän area in Sweden. He argued that there are two separate symbolic languages, one consisting of decorations on bronze objects, and one consisting of rock art (Nordbladh 1980). Rock art became a more interesting topic for study, and several studies were carried out where new theoretical approaches were used (Sognnes 1983, 1987; Larsson 1986; Bertilsson 1987; Mandt 1991). One important result was that religion and ritual were interesting again (Kristiansen 1998; Widholm 1998). A number of recent studies have addressed rock art, religion and ritual in terms of shamanism (Berg 2003; Viste 2003), ritual (Wrigglesworth 2000; Syvertsen 2002, 2003; Wold 2002; Linge 2004), and cosmological beliefs (Melheim 2001; Fari 2003). In the late 1980s and the 1990s, neurological explanations, in particular entoptic phenomena, were applied to rock art in order to explain certain motifs. David Lewis-Williams was the main proponent of this view, linking entoptic phenomena to shamanism (Lewis-Williams & Dowson 1988). This theory was also applied on Scandinavian rock art (Grønnesby 1998a, 1998b, Berg 2003; Viste 2003; cf. Price 2001). This new-found interest in religion was epitomised in a book by Flemming Kaul, ‘Ships on Bronzes’ (1998), where decorated bronze objects, especially razors, were compared to rock art. He developed a theory that the decoration reflected Bronze Age cosmology, where the ship is closely connected to the sun. The ship aids the sun on its journey across the sky during the day and through the Netherworld at night. In addition to the ship, there are other helpers: the horse, the snake, the bird/waterfowl and the fish. These assist the sun at different stages on the journey across the sky and at night. Bronze Age cosmology and religion centred on the sun and sun worship. The decoration reflects the cosmology, while rock art reflects the rituals that were carried out, according to Kaul (1998). He draws on Egyptian and Eastern Mediterranean analogies in order to discuss Bronze Age religion, particularly in his most recent work on Bronze Age religion (Kaul 2004). Kaul’s model has proven popular because it is a coherent and all-encompassing system that includes both decoration on objects and rock art to produce a complete view of Bronze Age iconography. Goldhahn’s (1999) study of the Sagaholm burial mound also included a discussion of cosmology. This burial contained slabs with carved images: ships, horses, human figures, cup marks. He considers the burial ritual in terms of a cyclical world view and sun worship. The rock art is interpreted as a representation of the community’s creation myths. A similar study was carried out by Kate Jellestad Syvertsen (2003, 2005). She studied decorated slabs found in burial mounds in Rogaland County Southwest Norway. These slabs

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are decorated with cup marks, geometrical designs and ships. She interprets these in terms of cosmology, and relates them to Mary Douglas’ (1966) ideas about purity, chaos and cosmos. Death, especially the death of a prominent member of society, causes chaos and imbalance. By including rock carvings in the burial, balance and cosmos could be restored. Other studies have focused on the cosmology and mythology that the carvings are considered to depict, especially with regard to similarities with the Eastern Mediterranean (Winter 2002; Fredell 2003). An important strand within Bronze Age research in general is the attempt to link Scandinavian Bronze Age culture to the Eastern Mediterranean. Kristansen and Larsson (Kristiansen & Larsson 2005) argue that the similarities indicate close contacts between the two areas, in particular through journeys undertaken by Nordic chiefs. The similarities are seen in rock art motifs, in objects and in the transmission of knowledge and mythology. The mythology of the twins is prominent, which Kristiansen and Larsson claim were depicted as pairs of ships and pairs of anthropomorphs (Kristiansen & Larsson 2005). The return to the study of religion and ritual in the 1990s and onwards has led to a plurality in rock art research. There has been a shift from the fertility aspect to a general interest in cosmology and the identification of components of Bronze Age cosmology (e.g. Larsson 1999; Fredell 2003; Kristiansen & Larsson 2005). With Kaul’s model we have come full circle from Almgren. Like Almgren, Kaul concludes that the sun was a central component of Bronze Age religion. Almgren argued that religious beliefs were focused on the sun and fertility, specifically a fertility god, whereas Kaul links the sun to a cosmological and mythological complex of beliefs related to the sun’s movement across the sky. Both use examples from Egyptian religion in their argumentation, but whereas Almgren tried to identify specific gods, Kaul is more concerned with mapping out a set of cosmological and mythological beliefs rather than the identification of gods, although he does argue that the sun is a fundamental part of cosmology. Much of Kaul’s Scandinavian material is from the Late Bronze Age, mostly razors that come from relatively rich male burials in Denmark. The mythological or cosmological ideas depicted on these objects may only apply to a certain segment of the population, namely a wealthy Danish elite, and may therefore not necessarily reflect ideas that were common in all of Scandinavia. These ideas might have been commonplace within a male elite warrior ideal (cf. Kristiansen and Larsson 2005) practised in parts of South Scandinavia at least, but might not have been shared by people in other parts of Scandinavia.

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Figure 13.1. Map of the county of Hordaland with the Hardangerfjord.

Figure 13.2. Figured rock art sites in Hardanger.

Kaul suggests that rock art images could depict ritual actions, while the images on bronzes are depictions of religious beliefs. This could certainly be the case in South Sweden, where there is often much activity on and around ship images: oversized human figures usually interpreted as ‘warriors’ or ‘gods’ with axes fight each other, and ‘acrobats’ or ‘dancers’ appear to be performing. In West Norway this does not happen. Anthropomorphic images are rare, and scenes are even rarer. The only examples are two processions at two panels at Bakke, Hordaland county, where the humans are depicted as pairs in a line with some concentrated around a large ship on which there is also an oversized human. This indicates that depicting the rituals was not important in this region, and suggests rather that the images depict ideas or beliefs. Kaul looks for elements within rock art that are similar to the elements identified on the bronzes, but divergences are not examined deeply and hence nuances are overlooked. He does not appear, for instance, to take much interest in ship images in stone that are not found on bronze as well. As a result, regional differences are not discussed in much detail, and the impression we are left with is that the model is designed to cover the entire Nordic area and local variation is not taken sufficiently into consideration. In addition, it only covers the Southern Scandinavian Bronze Age culture. The assumption is that all rock art sites from the Bronze Age depict elements that are identical throughout Scandinavia and represent a religion that is identical, the Scandinavian Bronze Age religion.

However, recent rock art research has shown the diversity within rock art, and rather than think of rock art as indicating a uniform religion, we should include the regional and local variation. Such diversity is evident in publications of rock art from Scandinavia, and yet that variation is considered as an expression of a uniform religion.

Bronze Age rock art in West Norway Rather than adopting Kaul’s model on West Norwegian rock art unconditionally, we should look for elements that could potentially give us a greater understanding of both ritual practices and religious beliefs. The figured rock art sites are generally located near the sea and the ship is the dominating motif. For this reason I will argue that the ship motif reflects a maritime ideology or praxis that is also expressed through ritual. My premises are first that Bronze Age religion was practised in a communal and public setting based on the accessible and open location of rock art. Second, that religion is considered to order and explain the world, and finally that ritual reflects mythological and cosmological ideas. The location of rock art must be emphasised. Rock art was not made randomly; the images were carved in places that were significant (Wrigglesworth 2006). In this small case study I will focus on the Hardanger area in West Norway (Figures 13.1, 13.4), which has a large number of rock art sites (Figure 13.2). This is the area surrounding the Hardanger fjord system, which connects the inner mountain area to the North

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Figure 13.3. A1 type ships at Vangdal 1. Reworked after Mandt Larsen 1972, PL 37.

Figure 13.4. Map with sites mentioned in the text.

Sea through a system of bigger and lesser fjords. The rock art sites are either located near the fjord, generally around ten metres above the present shoreline, or in the mountain areas, where the majority of cup mark sites are found (Mandt 1972). At least 156 ship images have been documented here; apart from ships there are rings, cup marks and some depictions of animals and anthropomorphic figures. I will concentrate on the figured sites in the lowland, in particular sites that have ship images of the A1 and B1 types, according to Gro Mandt’s classification (Mandt 1991: 47). The A1 ship has a square hull, flat keel and the stern is either straight or at a slight angle (Figures 13.3, 13.8). The B1 ship has no gunwale and is otherwise identical to the A1 ship. Ships of this type are dated to the Late Neolithic and Early Bronze Age (Linge 2005, 2007), and are found on sites along the coast from Central Norway to South Norway, with some variation in their design (e.g. Fett & Fett 1941; Marstrander 1963; Mandt 1972, 1991; Sognnes 1987, 2001).

Was the rock art in West Norway maritime, or produced in a maritime setting? Ships must have been extremely important in Bronze Age West Norway. The sea would have played a major role in people’s lives in West Norway, where the physical landscape is dominated by fjords, islands and skerries. Boats were the main means of transport and movement, and although mountain passes were used as well, boats were essential for transport and for fishing. This was a maritime culture. Hence it would be natural that the sea was significant on a spiritual or religious level. Assuming that ships were a part of everyday life for a coastal population that was used to travelling by sea, then it is plausible that ships were also part of mythology and even cosmological beliefs. And although water was a natural part of the landscape and of life, it could still have had mystical attributes. The sites that have A1/B1 type ships, Vangdal 1 (Figures 13.3, 13.5), Linga (Figure 13.6) and Berge (Figure 13.7), are representative in this respect. The panels at Vangdal and Linga are located at around 10 metres above the present shore line. Based on recent shore line data, the displacement would have been about 10 metres in the Early Bronze Age, reduced to around 6–8 metres in the Late Bronze Age (Romundset 2005). At Berge the images are found on a rock outcrop that was located near the mouth of a wide and shallow bay in the Bronze Age. Appearing to rise out of the sea, the panel could only have been reached by boat at most times, as indicated by archaeological excavations in front of the panel, where charcoal and marine deposits of sand were found (Lødøen 2005). The B1 ships on this panel are located near the top, while the majority of images are from the Late Bronze Age and are found in the lower half of the panel (Wrigglesworth 2006). All three sites are shore-bound and are easily accessible by boat; they are visible from the fjord and can be considered as open, public and collective places. In some cases ship images are found far from the sea, as is the case at Ullshelleren, a rock shelter on the Hardangervidda plateau around 800 m.a.s.l., where a

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Figure 13.5. Vangdal 1 and its relationship to the sea. Photo: M. Wrigglesworth.

Figure 13.6. Linga and its relationship to the sea. Photo: M. Wrigglesworth.

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Figure 13.7. Tracing of part of Berge. © Bergen Museum/E. Hoff.

Figure 13.8. Ships at Vangdal appear to follow the quartz veins. Photo: M. Wrigglesworth.

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period 2 ship, two smaller ships, a horse and rider, and a series of foot prints are found. Excavation at the rock shelter revealed activity in the Bronze Age (Odner 1969; Mandt Larsen 1972). The fact that ships are found in such locations would indicate that they were part of an overall structure, that the ship as symbol represented something that was not restricted to the sea. However, the cases where ship images are found far from water are few and far between, and these cases indicate that the ship was a strong, pervasive symbol that could have had more than one meaning. In addition to rock art ships, a location close to water or at the water’s edge is usual for Bronze Age cairns in West Norway (Østerdal 1999; Wrigglesworth 2000) often on promontories or what would have been small islands in the Bronze Age. Cairns that are not in direct contact with the sea are still located so that there is a good view of the sea and the shipping lane, for instance on islands or promontories. An interesting feature seems to be that in some cases the cairns were placed so close to the water’s edge that they must have been permeated by water at high tide (see also Nordenborg Myhre 2004). Several excavated cairns have either been placed on the original pebble shore (Bøe 1930), or had a cist where the bottom was made from small rounded pebbles from the shore (Shetelig 1911), indicating a close spatial and material relationship with the shore. In addition, some Early Bronze Age burials from the Jæren area in Rogaland county in southwest Norway contained shells of species that are only found in the intertidal zone (Larsen 1996). Shells have been recorded in only one burial north of Rogaland, at Hysstad, where Patella vulgata (Eng. common limpet), was found in a Late Bronze Age cist (Bakka 1972). Shells were also found in two Bronze Age burials at Todnes in Central Norway (Rygh 1906). I have not found any other references to shells in Bronze Age burials in West Norway. So, in addition to location, there are certain marine elements present in at least some Bronze Age burials in West Norway. This might have been commonplace. Unfortunately, it is impossible to generalise as few burials have been professionally excavated. However, it is clear that the shore zone was a significant area, at least in some circumstances: making rock art and building burial cairns; both activities can be related to ritual practices and the field of religion. Both rock art and burials have a close topographical connection to the sea, and a reasonable interpretation is that the monuments were given this location because the sea was significant, i.e. that water and the sea were central elements in what happened at the sites. The sites are located in the shore zone, between the water and the built world. The motifs in the Early Bronze

Age are restricted; there is a very clear focus on the ship. In the course of the Bronze Age, the choice of motifs is less restricted and there is more variation in the design of the ships as well as a higher occurrence of geometrical motifs such as rings with or without interior decoration. There are no apparent scenes on the panels with the A1/B1 type ships; sometimes they appear to be ordered, as at Vangdal (Figure 13.3), other times they are jumbled and do not exhibit any discernible pattern, as at Linga. The rock art panels at Vangdal and Linga can be considered as narratives in the sense that they are visual representations of stories, histories and would probably have been accompanied by words, that is, a person would not necessarily be able to understand the full story just by looking at the pictures. Words and pictures complement each other and combine to tell stories. The pictures were made as part of social practice, specific actions were carried out at the sites, and this was the setting for the making and use of pictures in the rock. The pictures might have contained information on the location and how the place was created, on how the area was populated and where the ancestors came from as well as what happened on their journey, mythological or historical events and cosmology. At Vangdal in particular, the ships appear to follow narrow veins of quartz in the rock, which could perhaps represent waves (Figure 13.8). Each panel might have told a different story, or been used to tell different stories. No two panels are the same, and the images are added over time, as indicated by ship typology and chronology, developing a narrative. Each image could represent an event that is retold, whether it is historical, mythological, or cosmological. A panel could therefore contain a collection of narratives, sparked by particular images. Some sites could have ‘faded’ before being taken into use again, in terms of making new images and new narratives. This is a possibility suggested by the fact that several figurative panels in the Hardanger area were created in the Early Bronze Age and then continued in the Late Bronze Age (Wrigglesworth in prep), as exemplified by the panel at Berge, which has several early types of ship, but is dominated by ship images that are dated to the Late Bronze Age (Lødøen 2005; Wrigglesworth 2006). As the sites were open in terms of location, we may assume that the activities that were carried out at these places were public, too. They could not have been hidden from passing ships, although it is possible that there were restrictions on entering the places. If the activities were public, then their significance must also be of interest to the public. A possible interpretation is that this significance was rooted in social knowledge that was commonly known within the community that

Bronze Age Rock Art and Religion in a Maritime Perspective used the sites. This could have included cosmology and mythology, religious beliefs and history, and would have contributed to a common identity. In conclusion, the Early Bronze Age ritual practices in Hardanger, West Norway, were based in a maritime ontology that reflected a maritime world. Beliefs, mythologies, cosmologies and rituals create a framework for existence, but also create personal and cultural identity. In this particular area of West Norway, the visual world centred on the ship. Its meaning could well have changed in the course of the Bronze Age, and this could have been reflected in the rock art as well: the choice of motifs becomes less restricted, and there is more variation in the design of the ships as well as a higher occurrence of geometrical motifs such as rings with or without interior decoration. However, the maritime aspect of both rock art and burials did not change – these monuments were still placed near the shore, and the ship still dominated the production of rock art images. This can be considered as one local or regional variation of a general Scandinavian Bronze Age religion.

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Linge, Trond. 2005. Kammeranlegget i Mjeltehaugen – eit rekonstruksjonsforslag. I: Goldhahn, J. (ed) 2005: Mellan sten och järn. Rapport från det 9: e nordiska bronsålderssymposiet, Göteborg 2003–10–09/12. Göteborg: Gotarc Serie C, Arkeologiske skrifter No. 59, 537–559. Linge, Trond. 2007. Mjeltehaugen: fragment frå gravritual. Universitetet i Bergen Arkeologiske Skrifter, 3. Bergen: University of Bergen. Malmer, Mats, P. 1981. A chorological study of North European rock art. Stockholm: Kungl. Vitterhets Historie och Antikvitets Akademiens Handlingar, Antikvariska serien 32. Mandt, Gro. 1978. Is the location of rock pictures an interpretative element? In: Marstrander, S. 1978 (ed.). Acts of the international Symposium on rock art. Oslo: Institutt for sammenlignende kulturforsking, Serie A, XXIX, 170–184. Mandt, Gro. 1983. Tradition and Diffusion in West-Norwegian Rock Art. Mjeltehaugen revisited. Norwegian Archaeological Review, vol. 16, no. 1, 1983: 14–32. Mandt, Gro. 1991. Vestnorske ristninger i tid og rom. Bd. I–II. Bergen: Unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Bergen. Marstrander, Sverre. 1963. Østfolds jordbruksristninger.Skjeberg. Oslo: Institutt for sammenlignende kulturforskning.Serie B, Skrifter 53. Melheim, A. Lene. 2001. Gjennom ild og vann: graver og depoter som kilde til kosmologi i bronsealderen i Øst-Norge. Oslo: Unpublished thesis in archaeology. University of Oslo. Mikkelsen, Egil. 1977. Østnorske veideristninger: kronologi og økokulturelt miljø. Viking, 40, 147–201. Nordbladh, Jarl. 1980. Glyfer och rum kring hällristningar i Kville. Göteborg: Institutionen för arkeologi, Gothenburg University. Odner, Knut. 1969. Ullshelleren i Valldalen, Røldal. Bergen: Årbok for Universitetet i Bergen 1968–69, humanistisk serie. Olsen, Bjørnar. 1997. Fra ting til tekst. Oslo: Universitetsforlaget. Østerdal, Arnulf. 1999. Tid, rom og sted: bronsealderrøysene i Hordaland. Bergen: Unpublished thesis in archaeology. University of Bergen. Price, Neil. S. (ed.) 2001. The archaeology of shamanism. London: Routledge Romundset, A. 2005. Strandforskyvning og isavsmelting i midtre Hardanger. Bergen: Unpublished MA thesis, University of Bergen. Rygh, Karl. 1906. En gravplads fra broncealderen. Det Kgl Norske VIdenskabers Selskabs Skrifter, 1906, no. 1. Trondheim. Shetelig, H. 1910. To bronsealders gravrøyser i Hardanger. Bergen Museums Aarbog 1910, nr. 5, pp 3–11. Sognnes, Kalle. 1983. Helleristninger i Stjørdal, 2, Stjørdal og Lånke sogn. Trondheim: Det Kongelige norske videnskabers selskab, Arkeologisk serie, 1983: 6. Sognnes, Kalle. 1987. Bergkunsten i Stjørdal 2. Trondheim: Gunneria 56.

Sognnes, Kalle. 2001. Prehistoric Imagery and Landscapes: Rock Art in Stjørdal, Trøndelag, Norway. Oxford: BAR International Series 998. Syvertsen, Kate. I. J. 2002. Ristninger i graver – graver med ristninger. In: Goldhahn, J. (ed.) 2002. Bilder av bronsålder. Lund: Acta Archaeologica Lundensia, Series in 8º, No. 37, 151–183 Syvertsen, Kate. J. 2003. Ristninger i graver – graver med ristninger. Om ristningers mening i gravminner og gravritualer. En analyse av materiale fra Rogaland. Bergen: Unpublished thesis in archaeology, University of Bergen. Syvertsen, Kate. J. 2005. Rogalands ristninger i graver som transformerende og stabiliserende faktorer i tilværelsen. In: Goldhahn, J. (ed) 2005: Mellan sten och järn. Rapport från det 9: e nordiska bronsålderssymposiet, Göteborg 2003-10-09/12. Göteborg: Gotarc Serie C, Arkeologiske skrifter No 59, 503–520. Trigger, Bruce, G. 1989. A history of archaeological thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Viste, Sikke. 2003. Bildene forteller: sjamanistiske element i veideristningene fra Vingen og Ausevik? Bergen: Unpublished thesis in archaeology. University of Bergen. Wahlgren, Katty, H. 2002. Bilder av betydelse. Stockholm: Stockholm Studies in Archaeology 23. Winter, Li. 2002. Relationene mellan Medelhavsområdets och Sydskandinaviens bildvärlder. In Goldhahn, J. (ed) 2002. Bilder av bronsålder. Lund: Acta Archaeologica Lundensia, Series in 8º, No. 37, 201–221. Wold, Marit. 2002. Bergkunst som levninger etter ritualer: motivbaserte tolkningsforsøk av lokaliteter i Hordaland. Bergen: Unpublished thesis in archaeology. University of Bergen. Wold, Marit. 2005. Å skrive om bronsealderreligionen. In: Goldhahn, J. (ed.) 2005. Mellan sten och järn. Rapport från det 9: e nordiska bronsålderssymposiet. Göteborg 2003–10–9/12. Göteborg: Gotarc serie C: Arkeologiska skrifter nr. 59, 521–535. Wrigglesworth, Melanie. 2000. Ristninger og graver som sted. En visuell landskapsanalyse. Bergen: Unpublished thesis in archaeology, University of Bergen. Wrigglesworth, Melanie. 2002. Ristninger og graver i landskapet. In: Goldhahn, J. (ed) 2002. Bilder av bronsålder. Lund: Acta Archaeologica Lundensia, Series in 8º, No. 37, 185–199. Wrigglesworth, Melanie. 2006. Explorations in social memory – rock art, landscape and the reuse of place. In: Randi Barndon, Sonja M. Innselset, Kari K. Kristoffersen and Trond K. Lødøen (ed.): Samfunn, symboler og identitet - Festskrift til Gro Mandt på 70–årsdagen. Bergen: Universitetet i Bergen Arkeologiske Skrifter Nordisk 3, 147–162. Wrigglesworth, Melanie. (in prep). The life world in Bronze Age Hardanger, Phd-thesis, University of Bergen.

14 Epilogue: Drawing on Stone Richard Bradley

The English language has the characteristic that a single word can have several different meanings. This feature is often exploited for humorous effect, but it can have a serious aspect as well. Like visual images, it allows people to bring together ideas that might otherwise remain distinct. That is what I intend by the title ‘Drawing on stone’. In one sense both styles of ancient art studied in this book involved the creation of images on rock. There is something distinctive about this combination of figure and ground which requires careful study. At the same time, people in the past drew on stone as a resource that was significant in other ways: as a raw material imbued with certain physical and metaphysical properties, and as a distinctive component of the prehistoric landscape. Any account of rock art (for want of a better term) must take account of both the ways in which people could draw on stone, and it must consider them together. That is what happens in this book. Another point is important, too. It is easy to think of rock art as a single medium, and sometimes ‘rock art research’ is represented as a unified field of study with its own traditions, specialists and publications. To do so overlooks two important problems. Visual images could be created in quite different styles and used in entirely different ways, even within the same part of Europe. It is good that these papers consider the evidence from both Northern and Southern Scandinavia, for the traditions associated with these regions are too rarely compared with one another. In the same way, the contributors rightly emphasise the variations found within each of these separate styles. They also stress the importance of studying the ways in which they changed over time. Both these features are significant, for it would be easy to investigate visual traditions in isolation or, worse still, to build elaborate interpretations on the basis of superficial similarities

with the images in distant areas. Here the contributors have the right sense of scale. A third element plays a less prominent part in these papers, but may be equally important. Some of the images studied in Scandinavian rock art are not confined to that distinctive medium. There are well known connections between the depictions of animals in the Northern tradition and portable artefacts of the same date. Similarly, the chronology of the Southern tradition depends on the dating of decorated metalwork with the same designs. Such links present a problem. Why do the same motifs occur in different contexts, and is it possible that more detailed studies of portable artefacts will elucidate the roles of the paintings and carvings? This question has been addressed in accounts of Danish metalwork, but it has wider implications. Certain images could also be reproduced on a monumental scale. How were the ship settings on the Swedish mainland related to the carvings of boats in the same region? And how do the stone ships of Gotland compare with the petroglyphs of South Scandinavia? In this case it is perhaps a question of drawing with stones rather than drawing on stone. What follows is a series of reflections which arise from reading the papers. I do not wish to cast myself in the role of discussant, passing judgement on the ideas presented here and praising some of the contributions at the expense of others. Nor do I wish to review the chapters one at a time. It is enough to say that every one raises points of wider interest. In any case, I am not a specialist on this material. Instead, my perspective is that of an archaeologist who was drawn to rock art as part of a wider interest in prehistoric Europe. I have visited a number of the places discussed here, but I have worked more intensively at sites in Britain and the Iberian Peninsula (Bradley 1997 and 2009). That experience suggests some questions that may be

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relevant to this volume. To avoid excessive citation, the bibliography is limited to sites outside Northern Europe which are not considered elsewhere in the book. **** The first point is perhaps the most fundamental of all and is echoed by several of the contributions. The analysis of ancient ‘rock art’ cannot be reduced to a study of visual images. It is possible to identify the effects of human activity on the surface of the stone, but they may be the by-products of a quite different process. For instance, cup marks could result from percussion on particularly resonant rocks; they could have been intended to hold liquid; and one of the most important elements might have been the dust that resulted from making them: an element which has completely disappeared. Similarly, quartz veins were sometimes incorporated in the drawings, but at other times pieces of this material were taken away. Indeed, the marks that we observe today may have been unimportant. For example, the handprints and smears of pigment found on rock outcrops in Finland were not the intended result of activities at these sites; they seem to have been made by people whose real concern was to touch the surface of the stone. The same observations would apply to other regions of Europe. Cup marks are very widely distributed, but they are mostly on horizontal surfaces where they could have acted as receptacles. Similarly, smears of pigment are common in Spain and Portugal (Martínez García and Hernández Pérez eds 2006). So are handprints, although they were also represented by carvings. Quartz was equally important. There are rock paintings in the Iberian Peninsula which were created around exposures of quartz (Alves 2002), and in Britain there is evidence that both worked and broken quartz was associated with some of the decorated outcrops (Jones 2007; Bradley and Watson 2007). It could have been obtained on or near these sites. It is perhaps easier to question the importance of images than it is to address a second issue. Why make marks on rock, and what accounts for the important distinction between painting and carving? An easy answer would be to stress the durability of this material, as well as its visibility. Stone does not degrade like decorated wood, nor was it usual for the marked surfaces to be buried or concealed, as so often happened with decorated metalwork. Of course there are exceptions – some of the carved stones were associated with funerary monuments; decorated outcrops at Himmelstalund were covered over during the Early Iron Age – but for the most part this distinctive medium might have been employed because of its

lasting qualities. Even that statement poses problems, for it would be easier to anticipate the survival of rock carvings than that of paintings whose preservation often depends on the local micro-topography. Why, then, were certain images cut into the rock and others formed from pigment? The Southern Tradition does not seem to have involved any paintings, yet in the Northern Tradition there is evidence for both practices. The fact that some paintings have survived does not mean that they were expected to do so. On the other hand, the people who pecked images in the surface of an outcrop should have known that their work would be visible for a long time afterwards, especially when there were older images on the same sites. Similar questions can be asked in other parts of Europe, but in some cases the field evidence is more diverse. Several points are worth making here. There are regions in which it seems likely that carving was the preferred, and probably the only, medium. They include Britain and Ireland, north-west Spain, northern Portugal, and the southern Alps (Bradley 1997; Beckensall 2006; Waddington 2007; Peña Santos and Rey García 1999; De Saulieu 2004). In other parts of the Iberian Peninsula painting was also employed, either as the sole technique or in combination with pecked motifs. In this region the same designs can be rendered in both media, but usually on different sites. Paintings remain intact in the drier Mediterranean climate, yet it is clear that they were also created in places where they would be less likely to survive (Gómez Barrera 2006; Hernández Pérez 2006). That is not the only complication. Iberian rock carvings seem to have been created over a long period of time, yet outside the Spanish Levant there are few examples of superimposition. In that respect they are similar to those in Britain, Ireland and South Scandinavia. In the southern Alps, however, drawings were completely erased as new ones were created over them. Here the siting and subject matter seem to have influenced the history of the images. In some cases carved panels were respected and extended; in others, they were destroyed (Frachetti and Chippindale 2002; De Saulieu 2004). Those comparisons prompt further questions. Were the images in Northern Europe considered to be fixed for all time, or were they conceived simply as stages in a process that would be repeated? The latter seems more likely as the Southern Tradition provides evidence for the addition of new motifs to older designs – for example, the outsize humans added to drawings of boats in Bohuslän – and there may also be evidence that particular images were recut or even altered during later phases. It will be harder to establish whether images in the Northern tradition

Epilogue: Drawing on Stone were repainted, but the outcrops carved in this style obviously had a long history. Again a comparison with other regions can be illuminating, for here the same questions arise in a more extreme form. Two practices are widely documented. One is the removal of panels of decorated rock and their reuse in other contexts. In Britain, the clearest example is the removal of slabs of alreadydecorated rock and their incorporation in Bronze Age cists (Bradley 1997, chapter, 9). Even though some of the carvings were already old, certain designs were favoured at the expense of others. The same may apply to the secondary use of larger pieces as standing stones. Similar practices are widely documented in Western and Southern Europe, where freestanding sculptures could be incorporated into the fabric of chambered Neolithic tombs and other burials (Chenorkian 1988; Cassen 1999; Bradley 2009, chapter 4). In many cases they were broken into fragments when that happened. A related practice can be compared with iconoclasm (Lyon Crawford 2007), for there are instances in which anthropomorphic statues were defaced, or where carved designs were obliterated by pecking the stone (Mezzena 1998; Keates 2000; Harrison and Heyd 2007). The most obvious examples are at the Irish chambered tombs of Newgrange and Knowth (Eogan and Aboud 1990; Cochrane 2006). So far less seems to be known about the later treatment of rock art in South Scandinavia. Carved images in the Southern style were occasionally superimposed on drawings in the Northern Tradition, and there may be cases in which individual designs or decorated panels were deliberately damaged by fire during the prehistoric period. It remains to be seen whether any of the cist slabs had been quarried from decorated outcrops or whether the designs were made specifically for a funeral. **** To what extent were the people who created Scandinavian rock art ‘drawing on stone’? Were they also drawing something from the stone itself? The relationship between figure and ground is especially important here. It is essential to work out why certain surfaces were selected for special treatment, whether or not the marks on them can be described as images. The sites considered in this collection include a number of ‘natural’ elements, such as fissures, mineral veins, glacial striations, pools and water channels. Their presence poses a problem for field archaeology, since the discipline is defined by its ability to distinguish the creations of people in the past from features with a

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geological origin. For that reason much attention was paid to recording the remains of ancient paintings and carvings and to disentangling them from the other characteristics of the rocks. Some of their most obvious features were eliminated from the record. Now it is time to put them back. In both traditions of Scandinavian rock art painted and carved designs interact with the surface of the stone. For example, drawings of boats can be integrated with natural striations, mineral veins or even with flowing water, whilst animals may be shown walking along bands of quartz of purely geological origin. The number of instances is likely to increase as a result of current work. Such relationships can pose problems of interpretation. At some of the sites belonging to the Northern Tradition it is clear that the microtopography of the decorated surface was regarded as a miniature landscape in itself, with areas of raised ground, streams, paths and lakes, and that the drawings of humans, animals and sea creatures were directly connected to these features. In the Southern Tradition, however, the relationship between figure and ground is more difficult to understand. In this case there was less concern with naturalism. Was the relationship between drawings of ships and water simply an attempt to make those images seem more realistic? Were boats aligned with natural striations to evoke the movement of the sea? Was this why so many of them were located near the water’s edge? Perhaps the relationship between these elements was actually more complex. One possibility is that some of these features were not just parts of a drawing; they were the very elements that brought the drawing to life. In that case the movement of water across the rock animated the pictures of ships in its path, just as the passage of the sun across the decorated surface highlighted other elements at particular times of day. In that sense it is not just the natural features that were incorporated into the designs, but the very processes affecting the surface of the stone. Others may have been equally important, but in this case they resulted from human agency. The flaking or smashing of quartz would have produced a striking visual effect, whilst the lighting of fires on or beneath the decorated outcrops would have changed the entire appearance of the carvings, so that the images appeared to be alive. In many cases the visual impact of the decorated surface would be enhanced by the noise of stones shattering in the heat and by rising smoke. There is another possibility, too. One of the most important questions raised by the contributors is why certain rocks were selected for special treatment. It

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may have been because their appearance was affected by processes of this kind, so that the stone itself had a particular significance before any images were made there. That is especially likely where the form of the rock resembled a human figure or where it had unusual acoustic properties, but the very marks on its surface may have attracted attention as well. It is relatively easy for fieldworkers to identify them as natural features, but that would not have been possible before the emergence of geology as an academic discipline in the eighteenth century. Until then, it would be tempting to construe these striking elements as the work of past human beings, in which case the paintings and carvings studied by archaeologists may have been intended to renew the patterns already present on the rock. Again such possibilities are not restricted to Scandinavia, although they have been explored less systematically in other parts of Europe. The association between rock paintings and exposures of quartz has already attracted attention in Portugal (Alves 2002), and in southern Spain the same applies to the selection of distinctively coloured rock (Diaz-Andreu 2002; Bueno Ramirez, de Balbín Behrmann and Barroso Bermajo 2004). There are cases in which features of the stone itself were employed as elements in naturalistic drawings (Alves 2002). In Britain the relationship between figure and ground is still more complex. The clearest evidence comes from Kilmartin in the west of Scotland where the distribution of carved surfaces favours rocks subdivided by cracks and veins. These were chosen instead of smoother surfaces nearby. At the same time the exact configuration of these geological elements influenced the character of the composition to such an extent that rocks where they formed a regular lattice were embellished in one style, and those with a more chaotic pattern of natural features were decorated according to a different set of conventions (Jones 2005). At Ben Lawers in the same country, the rock art was organised in a still more striking manner. Here the nature of the designs varied according to the overall shape of the stone. One was a prominent domed outcrop, surmounted by a series of concentric rings; a second was a conspicuous rock with a wide basin in its centre which had been decorated in a different style; whilst the third was an inconspicuous slab of rock with a few very simple motifs. On excavation, the first two rocks proved to be associated with contrasting collections of artefacts (mainly worked and broken quartz), whilst the third produced no finds (Bradley and Watson 2007). ****

The forms of the principal outcrops investigated on Ben Lawers were strikingly similar to those of Neolithic and Early Bronze Age monuments in Scotland. The domed rock bears a strong resemblance to a round cairn, and a low stone platform was built against its flank. The hollow rock resembles the type of earthwork called a henge and even has an entrance commanding an extensive view. Can similar relationships be recognised in Scandinavia? Was the shape of a rock outcrop an important consideration in deciding where prehistoric images should be made? It is clear that some of the rock paintings in Finland are associated with cliffs whose features resemble the human form. Outcrops in South Scandinavia might have had a similar significance. The decorated cliff at Revheim resembles an upturned boat, and so from a distance does the largest decorated outcrop at Himmelstalund. Rock art is more often associated with actual monuments. Several points are particularly significant: the physical connection between rock carvings and cairns; the spatial relationship between these different features; their dates (where they are known); and their distinctive siting in relation to the surrounding area. All are important and could be better understood. There are few rock carvings which were actually covered by cairns, although more may be revealed by excavation. There are also barrows and cairns whose positions appear to be acknowledged by the images themselves. Thus in western Norway ships appear to travel between these monuments and the sea, and elsewhere in South Scandinavia lines of footprints mark a path leading from such structures towards a bog or pool. It seems as if these images played a role in mortuary ritual. In other cases, cairns are very close to petroglyphs, but it is not possible to say which came first, or even whether both elements date from the Bronze Age. It is a problem which will have to be resolved by excavation. What matters is that rock art cannot be studied separately from the monuments in its vicinity. The same point can be made in another way, as it seems increasingly clear that one series of images in South Scandinavia was closely associated with the shoreline or with the banks of rivers and lakes. The same is true of a large number of cairns, which either overlook the sea or were built on offshore islands. The boundary between land and water must have had a special significance. It is important to consider the relationship between coastal monuments and rock carvings, but the contrast between them may have been overemphasised because few large cairns have been excavated. There is no reason why there should not be more decorated cists like that at Kivik. Similar topics are rarely discussed in other parts of

Epilogue: Drawing on Stone Europe, but there are a few exceptions. Towards the Atlantic coast of Iberia cup-marked rocks cluster in the vicinity of barrow cemeteries, although the decorated cists slabs carry more complex decoration (Alves 2009). Cup-marks are directly associated with Early Bronze Age cairns in Brittany (Briard 1984), Wales and southwest England (Bradley 1997, 146–8), and in north-east England decorated panels were occasionally buried beneath similar structures (Bradley and Mathews 1999). In parts of the same area simple cup-marked stones were used to mark the limits of ’cairnfields’. Some of these sites may have been cemeteries, whilst in other cases the piles of stones could result from clearance and cultivation; the distinction between the two is not always clear on the ground (Deakin 2008). **** An observation made in the first chapter could be relevant to this question. It seems as though rock carvings are mostly associated with cairns. Surely the feature that connects them is the importance of rock itself: a point which echoes several of the other contributions. One of strongest associations is between rock art and the quarrying of stone. This can take several forms, from the extraction of quartz at the decorated outcrops to the use of non-local artefacts to form the pecked designs, but perhaps the most striking connection is between the creation of visual images at the meeting of land and water and the production of stone axes in similar environments. Just as cairns could be built on offshore islands, there was a major stone quarry off the west coast of Norway. Flint axes were made on a beach deposit in Scania, and miniature axe heads were formed out of amber washed up on the shore. Not all these artefacts were contemporary with the rock carvings, but they add weight to the idea that stones associated with the sea could have held a special significance. That could have extended to the outcrops exposed by isostatic uplift, many of which were decorated during the Bronze Age. Just as pieces of stone were taken from these sites, others might have been returned there. Högberg (2006) suggests that serviceable axe roughouts were left as offerings on the coastal production site at Östra Torp. Other deposits of stone may have been directly associated with the rock carvings, although their chronology is by no means clear. Layers of burnt rock formed on and around a number of decorated outcrops. They raise several problems. Was the raw material already present at those sites, or had it been introduced? Were these deposits necessarily associated with preparing food? Whatever the solution, the fracturing of the rock would have had a dramatic

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effect. It is important to remember that other sites are associated with large quantities of burnt stone, including the cult houses of the Scandinavian Bronze Age. Such deposits have been found with animal bones, metalworking residues and even the remains of the dead. Again more investigation is needed. Occasionally metal artefacts were brought to these places, or deposited in water close to the decorated outcrops. That practice recalls the popular notion that artefacts were depicted as a substitute for the objects themselves. This is possible, but there is no reason to suppose that it happened because they were scarce. A particularly striking discovery was made in a bog near the decorated outcrop at Revheim. Here two lurs were excavated. Had these instruments been played on top of the cliff, or even at its base, their sound would have carried over a considerable area. Surely the bronzes and the carvings were used on the same occasions. Some of these ideas may apply to other parts of Europe. Again the evidence is limited, but in one case it is almost certain that the creation of rock art was linked to axe production. This happened at Great Langdale in north-west England, the largest group of Neolithic quarries in the British Isles and the source of some of the most widely distributed artefacts (Sharpe 2008). The quarries themselves are located in a mountainous region and extend across a large area. The most productive were close to the summit of Pike o’ Stickle at a height of 700 metres. Beside the modern road leading to the site there is a conspicuous outcrop embellished in the same style as Irish chambered tombs. A narrow cleft in between two decorated surfaces commands a view of the principal stone source. The same alignment points to the position of the midsummer sunset. The shape of the carvings even mirrors the profile of the horizon, including the distinctive outline of the mountaintop. A similar relationship may extend to the rock art of Galicia which features drawings of a number of daggers and halberds of kinds that might have been made from local metals. These objects appear to emerge out of the stone, although none has been found at an ore source. At the same time, their organisation on the carved surface strongly resembles the composition of local bronze hoards, and in one case it seems as if the drawings represent a deposit of artefacts that has actually been discovered nearby. There are other examples in which finds of Early Bronze Age metalwork are associated with distinctive outcrops, one of them with a series of petroglyphs. In Britain, there are a few carved stones which could also depict metal hoards: cist slabs from the west of Scotland; the decorated kerb of an Early Bronze Age barrow in Wessex; and three of the monoliths at Stonehenge (Bradley 1998).

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Several contributors discuss the kinds of information imparted by Scandinavian rock art. There seems no reason why every narrative should have had the same character. Some might be sacred and others entirely secular, and it is only the changes of fashion in archaeology that have led researchers to opt for one alternative rather than the other. Different kinds of story might have been illustrated in different places: just as there is a maritime art associated with sites along the coastline, there is also a terrestrial art which is found in inland areas. An approach favoured by some of the contributors is to consider which elements are represented and which are obviously excluded. For all its variations, the Northern Tradition is dominated by pictures of living creatures, whilst its southern counterpart is remarkably diverse. Maritime art is dominated by drawings of ships, but these hardly feature in terrestrial rock art which has a more restricted vocabulary. It is worth comparing these images with those in two other media with which they share features in common. The decorated metalwork of the Bronze Age emphasises the sea and sky but does not make any reference to the land. The Southern Tradition of rock art features all three, although the balance changes from one area to another. At the same time, neither style depicts any domestic buildings, although the decorated surfaces do show scenes of hunting and farming. The settlements seem to be represented in other media: the rubble enclosures known as cult houses, and ceramic ‘house urns’. In no sense do any of the images offer a rounded view of daily life. This situation is by no means unusual. Although the rock carvings of the southern Alps feature in most accounts of prehistory, they present an equally unbalanced view. They seem to show field systems in mountainous areas where land is unlikely to have been enclosed, and the ‘houses’ that are commonly depicted in textbooks are probably granaries (Bradley 2005, 92–8). In the same way, the images overemphasise the roles of hunting, fighting and large domestic animals. The same is true in Galicia and northern Portugal where the figurative images place most emphasis on red deer, hunting, riding, and on drawings of weapons. In this case settlements and fields are never shown, nor is there any reference to domesticated livestock apart from horses, or to the sea as a productive source of food. Even the drawings of deer include a disproportionate number of stags. It is a masculine view of the word (Bradley 1997, chapter 13). Again these designs have a restricted distribution. Most are in inland areas, whilst non-figurative motifs are

more common along the coast (Peña Santos and Rey García 1999). Those abstract motifs have counterparts in Britain and Ireland, but even here there are important spatial variations. Simple cup marks are sometimes associated with settlements, whilst more complex designs are found on higher ground around the edges of the settled land. They also occur in greater numbers close to ceremonial monuments where some of the decorated outcrops feature large and complex compositions (Bradley 1997, chapters 6 and 7). There is no evidence that certain images were sacred and others were profane. In fact the rock carvings show a continuous range of variation, from cups and small circular devices to more elaborate panels. Subdividing the carved designs would be an arbitrary procedure. **** How were the narratives organised in the rock art of Northern Europe? There has been a tendency to look for one simple answer, when the reality was obviously more complicated. In the same way, it is all too tempting to look for one ‘master narrative’ when many stories may have been told – and told in different versions. Again there is a question of scale. Should each carved outcrop be considered in isolation, or is it more appropriate to investigate the relationship between the contents of different panels and different sites? Much depends on identifying the visual conventions that were used. A basic concern is with movement. This is particularly obvious with the earlier depictions of elks in the Northern Tradition, but it was important in the Southern Tradition, too. Groups of carved boats can share the same direction of travel. At times it looks as if the vessels are receding into the distance, and, as this happens, their crews can disappear. Another way of depicting movement is by showing trails of footprints, but they should not be taken literally for they are never linked to drawings of the human body. There are further ways in which to convey an impression of developments taking place over time. Separate panels, or smaller groups of images, might have been arranged in sequence like successive frames in a strip cartoon. That could happen where a continuous narrative was represented, but in many cases the basic story would already be known to the audience, so that the pictures could illustrate isolated incidents. The best analogy would be with the stained glass windows in a church, but that comparison should not be taken too far. A basic difference is that each of those windows illustrated a segment of the Biblical narrative but it did so only once, whilst the prehistoric paintings and carvings in Scandinavia may

Epilogue: Drawing on Stone have shown the same events several times, as newer images were created alongside older drawings. It was only when the designs were incorporated in mortuary monuments like those at Kivik or Sagaholm that the original outlines of the story remained unaltered. In other cases the images can be static and self contained. Here there is nothing to indicate a sequence of events. This obviously applies to some of the later drawings of elks in the Northern Tradition, but it also describes the depictions of metalwork in South Scandinavia, which resemble a display of trophies. There is perhaps a contrast between coastal and inland parts of southern Sweden, for it seems as if the rock carvings found away from the sea include fewer moving images than the others. The significance of this contrast – if it is a real one – requires further investigation. To some extent these differences are highlighted by another set of visual conventions. Were the images on the rocks figurative or abstract? Unfortunately, these are not helpful terms. A figurative image, like a drawing of a ship, might be understood metaphorically, and an abstract symbol like a circle could have had a precise significance which eludes archaeologists today. Even so, the question is worth exploring. In this volume it certainly sheds new light on the sequence of drawings in the Northern Tradition and on the changing relationship between humans and animals. On the other hand, some of these images are unusual because the abstract designs have been drawn on animal bodies. In the Southern Tradition, non-figurative motifs can appear in isolation. The same issues arise in other parts of prehistoric Europe. The distinction between figurative and ‘abstract’ motifs is often very important. In Britain and Ireland, the only naturalistic drawings were of metalwork. They are very rare and are later in date than the other images (Bradley 1997, 57). In Galicia and northern Portugal, there is a similar tradition of abstract curvilinear motifs, but here it is often combined with pictures of people and animals (Peña Santos and Rey García 1999). Together they compose self-contained scenes not unlike the micro-landscapes of Northern Scandinavia. In north-west Spain geometric motifs may even represent topographical features, for there are places where they are approached by carvings of footprints and animal tracks (Bradley 1997, 193–6). It is not so clear whether these panels made much use of the topography of the rock itself, and this remains to be investigated. The rock art of the Southern Alps can also feature what seem to be naturalistic scenes, but in this case there are also more static displays of weapons. There are other regions where abstract and naturalistic images are combined with one another

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but where there seems to have been no intention of illustrating a narrative. In Iberian Schematic Art various motifs are juxtaposed, but it is almost as if each of them was to be considered separately from the others (Martínez García and Hernández Pérez eds 2006). Images are only occasionally combined in what appear to be coherent compositions, and non-figurative designs tend to dominate in this style of rock art. Where the Galician rock carvings show activities that could have taken place in the vicinity, Schematic Art can be found in remote locations where it would have been addressed to a restricted audience (Bradley 2009, 105–12). In the same way, the rock carvings in north-west Spain were closely related to the locations of paths and well watered basins which played a significant part in the pattern of settlement. Although the panels with Schematic Art were often associated with routes across the landscape, the caves and rock shelters where they commonly occur were not necessarily occupation sites, and in some cases they are associated with human burials (Soler Díaz 2002). The images created in both styles vary from site to site, even over a limited area, so it may have been necessary to compare their contents in order to understand their significance. **** Lastly, there is the crucial element of time. Both traditions of Scandinavian rock art had very long histories, and there are even sites where images in each style are found together. Some of the designs in the Southern Tradition can be dated by comparison with decorated metalwork; diagnostic artefacts are also represented. Such evidence is enough to show that certain places were used and reused for a thousand years: a point which is completely obscured by the modern practice of emphasising the carvings with paint, so that all the designs appear to be contemporary with one another. It is a moot point whether these images were recognised after a lapse of time, nor is it obvious whether some were respected whilst others were ignored. It may be quite wrong to suppose that elaborate panels were composed incrementally. At any one moment only certain motifs may have had much significance. There is yet another difficulty. Studies of oral literature have shown how its contents change over time, even when the performers believe that they are adhering to tradition. Rock art may have posed the same problem. Its meanings could have changed even if its basic structure remained the same. How far do the designs represent a single body of ideas, and how much evidence is there that people tried to keep older beliefs alive in the face of newer ones? That can only

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be answered by detailed examination of the pictures themselves. Were individual elements recut or were they obscured? Were new motifs overlain on earlier ones, as if to qualify their meaning? Did the visual appearance of the oldest drawings influence those created long afterwards? All these questions raise the same problem. It is not clear whether people tried to protect the traditional understanding of these images or whether they changed their interpretation. Even when rocks were no longer carved or painted, they could have retained a special significance. This is the lesson of recent excavations around the decorated surfaces. Indeed, the images may have been so powerful that in the end it was necessary to cover them or even destroy them. It would be good to investigate these problems on an international scale, but at present this is impossible because the necessary research has seldom been undertaken. Chronolologies remain imprecise or obscure, and there is little to show whether the designs were changed or damaged during prehistory. There has been some valuable work in the southern Alps (Frachetti and Chippindale 2002), but in most regions the one widespread pattern is the addition of Christian symbols during the medieval period. That might seem a depressing note on which to end, but it would not be true. Such questions can be asked because the papers in this volume suggest new ways of looking at rock art. The lessons that have been learned should not be confined to Northern Europe. The authors have put forward many new ideas, but what they share is an ability to look closely – closely and repeatedly – at a body of material which has often been taken for granted. Rock art is as surprising now as it was when first discovered.

Acknowledgments I must thank the editors for inviting me to write this piece and the authors for giving me so much to think about.

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Index

‘absolute’ interpretations (of rock art) 9, 12, 13 abstract designs/images 3, 7, 17, 39, 96, 101, 114, 135, 202, 203 concentric circles 132 hat 133, 136 mushroom-shaped symbols 133, 134 rings 158, 187, 188, 191, 194, 195 spirals 129, 129 wheel crosses 133, 134, 143 zigzags 11, 83, 114, 134 see also geometric designs/motifs acoustics 49, 50, 51, 52, 54, 60, 61, 66, 69, 70, 92 see also resonance, sound agency 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 118, 122, 199 agrarian, see farming agriculture 6, 74, 85, 150, 163, 188 see also farming Alfsøn, Peder 1 Algonkian rock art, Canada 50 Almgren, Oscar 12, 18, 107–108, 156, 186, 188, 189 Alta, Norway 6, 18, 32, 80, 174, 175, 178, 182 Åmoy, Norway 6 ancestor cult 15, 17, 23, 27, 28–29, 30, 42, 71, 115, 154, 163, 165, 166, 194 animacy 14, 15 animal-headed staffs 39, 44 animic/animism 2, 14, 15, 16, 18, 23, 24–26, 27, 28, 30, 31, 32, 50, 106 anthropomorphic figures/images 37, 39, 81, 92, 95, 100, 114, 115, 118, 140, 144, 147, 175, 190, 191, 199 see also figurative images

antiquarians 11, 139 archaeoacoustics 52, 60 ard images 136 arrowheads 140 asbestos 16, 115, 119, 122 Askum, Sweden 164 Astuvansalmi cliff, Finland 52, 55 Atlantic halibut 3 Ausevik, Norway 32, 174 axe images 6, 95, 99, 100, 133, 136, 158, 190 Backa 1 Badjelánnda, Sweden 115 Bakke 190 Baltzer, Lauritz 12, 107 Bardal, Norway 6 barrows 7, 85, 109, 163, 200, 201 bear 26, 175 Bergbukten, Norway 179 Berge 194 big game 3, 12, 23, 24, 106, 108, 174 bird images 83, 128, 140, 189 Bjällerhallen, Sweden 65, 67 Björnlunda stone, Sweden 65–66, 68 Bjurselet 150 boats, see ships Bøgebakken, Zealand 6 Bohuslän, Sweden 1, 3, 6, 7, 11, 12, 73, 74–78, 80, 84, 85, 90, 106, 107, 108, 136, 162, 163, 189, 198 ‘Bøla-reindeer’ 6 Borg 164 Borgs Säteri 163 Bornholm 162, 163 bow images 136 Brådöhällan 143 Brådön island 143, 147, 179

Brastad 1 Bredarör, Scania 11 British rock art 198, 199, 200, 201 Bronze Age 3, 9, 17, 60, 65, 67, 68, 70, 74, 76, 77, 78, 80, 90, 92, 95, 98, 107, 115, 118, 119, 127, 128, 129, 133, 139, 143, 144, 150, 154, 157, 163, 164, 165, 166, 186, 190, 195 Early 50, 85, 94, 99, 135, 140, 157, 158, 191, 194, 195 Late 95, 99, 128, 129, 130, 156, 159, 162, 164, 167, 191, 194 Middle 6, 143 bronze artefacts 6, 7, 11, 68, 78, 82, 83, 85, 90, 122, 127, 128, 129, 132, 136, 187, 189, 190, 197, 201, 202, 203 capes 115 daggers 114 lurs 6, 16, 68, 201 razors 127, 128, 129, 134–135, 136, 189 shields 115 spears 115 swords 99, 115 tweezers 129 bull images 83 burial(s) 7, 17, 71, 74, 76, 84, 95, 118, 129, 159, 167, 186–187, 189, 194, 195, 199, 203 rituals 111, 114, 129, 189 see also barrows, cairns, cists, graves, kerbs, slabs burial grounds/sites 6, 7, 78, 91, 115, 129, 162, 165, 175, 189, 194 see also grave field, grave mound cairns 7, 74, 84, 85, 109, 129, 132, 175, 194, 200, 201

Index ‘canvas’ 17, 35, 88 carving (process of) 7, 29, 30, 35, 37, 88, 144, 146, 147, 149, 150, 171, 198 cattle 145 cattle images 6 caves 50, 53, 55, 92, 174, 175 Celts 11 Chaco Canyon, New Mexico 49 chariot images 187 Chippindale, Christopher 9 churingas 23, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30 see also abstract designs/images, geometric designs/motifs cists 7, 11, 129, 133, 194, 199, 200, 201 clans 26, 28, 29, 30 Comb Ware culture/period 6, 50 communication 3, 23, 38, 42, 44, 67, 68, 70, 71, 73, 76, 77, 78, 90, 91, 100, 101, 102, 108, 111, 119, 174, 175, 178, 181, 182 context-based interpretations 9, 12, 13, 14 cosmography 99, 100 cosmology 2, 7, 14, 15, 16, 17, 35, 37, 38, 42, 44, 88, 89, 90, 92, 98, 99, 102, 109, 115, 119, 127, 135, 136, 140, 171, 174, 176, 182, 187, 189, 190, 191, 194, 195 cracks (in rock) 18, 35, 37, 174, 200 cult 12, 52, 71, 108, 115 houses 99, 176, 201, 202 see also ancestor cult, fertility cult cup marks 1, 6, 7, 49, 61, 64, 65, 66, 67, 69, 70, 71, 76, 80, 96, 98, 100, 101, 129, 130, 132, 140, 158, 188, 189, 191, 198, 201, 202 Dalsland, Sweden 3, 7 dancing 15 dancing sticks 16 deer 52 deer images 3, 6, 83 Derrida 15, 77, 78, 85 dog images 6 Drottninghall 162 drums 16 Durkheim, Émile 23, 24, 26, 27, 28, 29 echo myths 50, 51, 52 echoes/echoing 2, 15, 48, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54 egalitarian societies 28 Egna Hem 164 Ekenberg, Östergötland 11

elk 2, 3, 26, 27, 28, 115, 139, 144, 150, 151 elk images 17, 30, 31, 48, 50, 54, 56, 113, 114, 140, 143, 144, 145, 146, 147, 148–149, 174, 179, 202, 203 angled legs 17, 139, 143–145, 147, 148, 149, 151 straight legs 17, 139, 143–145, 147, 148, 149, 151 emplacement 17, 106, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 119, 122 see also place/places engravings 7 Ertebølle Culture 6 ethnography 9, 16, 23, 26, 35, 37, 38, 42, 46, 48, 50, 52, 56, 110, 115, 171, 174, 175–176, 178, 188 farming 12, 174, 186, 202 see also agriculture farmers 3, 11, 107, 108 Fennoscandia 6, 170, 172, 178, 182 fertility cults 18, 108, 186, 188, 189 figurative images/art 1, 6, 7, 15, 55, 57, 74, 76, 85, 95, 96, 155, 163, 164, 165, 166, 194, 202, 203 see also anthropomorphic figures/ images Finnforsberget, Sweden 112, 114 fire-cracked stones 157, 159, 162, 164, 166–167 fish bones 114 fish images 113, 128, 140, 189 fishers 3, 9 Fiskeby 156, 159, 163 Flatruet, Sweden 122 Fole stone, Sweden 66, 67–68 folklore 1, 11, 13, 70 footprints 140, 143, 194, 200, 202, 203 foot-soles 129, 136, 147 formal methods 9, 15 Frazer, James George 24, 25, 26, 27, 28 functionalism 108, 109, 115, 188 Gärde, Sweden 7, 147–148 Gell, Alfred 14 geometric designs/motifs 27, 28, 29, 32, 39, 50, 158–159, 164, 189, 194, 195, 203 see also abstract designs/images, churingas, cup marks, stylized images/styles gift 106, 110, 111, 112, 114, 119, 122 exchange 110, 111–112, 118 gift-giving 15, 16, 110, 115, 119

207 goat images 130 Gothenburg 3 Gotland, Sweden 3, 60, 65 grave field 67, 71, 156, 159, 163, 164, 165, 166 grave mound 157, 164 see also barrows graves 56, 65, 73, 76, 78, 82, 83, 88, 127, 128–129, 130, 135, 143, 156, 159, 163 see also burial(s) Great Langdale, England 201 Håga stone, Sweden 62, 64–65, 66, 71 Hällby 162 Hallström, Gustaf 107, 108, 146, 147, 170, 172, 174, 179 handprints 15–16, 48, 55, 198 negative 55 positive 55, 57 see also red ochre Hardanger, Norway 195 hau 15, 16, 110, 112, 114, 115, 118, 119, 122 Haukkavuori, Finland 55 hearing 15, 16, 48, 49, 58, 60, 61, 71, 92 hearing distance 69, 70, 71 hearths 154, 157, 158, 159, 162, 164, 166, 167 Hedland, Norway 118 Helgeland, Norway 6 herds of animals 44, 150 heroes/hero myths 11, 17, 54, 127, 135, 136 Herrebro 159 Hildebrand, Bror Emil 11, 95 Himmelstalund, Sweden 17, 83, 88, 99–100, 101, 102, 154, 156–158, 164, 166, 198, 200 Hjortekrog, 127, 129, 130, 135, 136 Högberget III, Sweden 32, 114 Högsbyn 162 Honhammerneset, Norway 113 Hordaland, Norway 108, 118 horse images 2, 6, 83, 127, 128, 129, 130, 132, 133, 134, 135, 165, 187, 189, 194, 202 houses 74, 76, 84, 85, 156, 158, 165, 175 human (images), see anthrpomorphic figures, figurative images hunter-gatherers 3, 6, 9, 11, 17, 23, 24, 25, 28, 45, 46, 50, 56, 92, 108, 114, 115, 135, 136, 150, 170, 175, 176, 178, 182

208 hunting 12, 108, 140, 143, 144, 174, 175, 202 magic 28, 109, 119, 140, 145, 149 see also sympathetic magic Iberian rock art 198, 200, 201, 202, 203 ideology 3, 14, 15, 23, 27, 28, 31, 37, 90, 92, 128 informed methods 9, 11, 12, 14, 15, 16, 108, 115, 118 Ingold, Tim 30, 31 intersubjecivity 88, 90, 92, 93–94, 95, 98, 99 Irish rock art 198, 199 Iron Age 11, 12, 17, 70, 154, 156, 157, 163, 164 Early 6, 85, 95, 98, 99, 154, 156, 157, 158, 162, 164, 165, 166, 167, 198 Late 135, 159 Jæren, Norway 194 Jeibmaluokta, Norway 32 Juusjärvi, Finland 52, 55 !Kung, Kalahari 25, 110 Kaapehpeshapischinikanuuch, Quebec 51 Kåfjord, Norway 32 Kalleby 162 Kanozero 174, 175 Kapasaari, Finland 113 Karlsberget, Sweden 88, 96, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102 Kårstad, Norway 164 kerbs/kerb stones 7, 129, 130, 132, 135 Khanty, Siberia 25 kinship 27, 28 see also clan Kivik 83, 129, 132, 133–134, 135, 136, 200, 203 Klinga 156 Klinta 127, 132, 134, 136, 137 Klunghall, Sweden 65, 66, 68 knives 114 Kollhellaren cave, Norway 92 Lake Kemijärvi, Finland 53 Lake Onega, Russia 6 Lake Saimaa, Finland 50 Lake Vättern 98 lakeshores 15, 48, 50, 174 cliffs 52, 53, 54 landscape 1, 2, 11, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 27, 30, 32, 35, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52,

Index 61, 62, 67–68, 70, 71, 73, 74, 75, 76, 78, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 88, 89, 90, 91, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102, 106– 109, 110, 119, 128, 136, 144, 150, 170, 171–172, 174, 175–176, 177, 178, 179, 181, 182, 191, 198, 199, 203 micro- and macro- 18, 170, 171, 172–175, 179, 181, 203 Landverk, Sweden 18, 174, 178 Långelöt, Sweden 16 Lapps 3, 11, 174 see also Saami Leiknes, Norway 15, 18, 170, 178 Leonardsberg 159, 164 Lévi-Strauss, Claude 26–27 lifeline 31–32 lifeworld 17, 88, 90, 115, 145 Lihult complex, Sweden 6 Lille Strandbygård 162 lineage-based societies 28, 32 Linga 191, 194 lithics 140 Lofoten, Norway 7, 16, 88 Löppösenluola, Finland 57 Madsebakke 162 Malmer, Mats P. 9, 13, 14, 143 Mandt, Gro 13, 14, 108, 109 maps 176 maritime 18, 73, 74, 76, 78, 80, 84–85, 86, 90, 98, 100, 102, 187, 190, 191, 195, 202 maritime lifeways 18 maritime-terrestrial spheres 73, 84– 85 Mauss, Marcel 27, 110–111, 118 mechanic solidarity 26 memory 17, 171, 178, 182 memoryscape 18, 170, 175–178, 182 Mesolithic 24, 28, 32, 45, 94, 113 Early 3, 6, 32 Late 6, 17, 23, 24, 27, 29, 32, 39, 42 Middle 29, 32, 41 mindscapes 2, 17, 109, 110 Mistassini Cree, North America 25 mnemonics 165, 170, 177 mobile-stable theory 143, 144, 148, 149 mobility 17, 148, 150, 151, 163 Montelius, Oscar 12, 187 Møre, Norway 113 Motala Ström 96, 98, 99, 101, 102, 156, 158, 159 music/musical instruments 70, 71, 82

mythology 37, 171, 174, 176, 177, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 194, 195 see also echo myths, heroes/hero myths Nämforsen, Sweden 6, 14, 18, 26, 28, 32, 49, 109, 114–115, 139–140, 143, 145–146, 147, 171, 174, 178, 179 narrative (interpretations) 14, 17–18, 39, 44, 127, 128, 129, 132, 134, 135, 136, 144, 149, 170, 171, 194, 203 naturalistic images/styles 7, 15, 23, 31, 32, 200, 203 Neolithic 17, 114, 119, 128, 139, 144 Early 150 Late 94, 146, 150, 151, 157, 158, 191 Middle B 6, 150 Netherworld 188, 189 New Archaeology 9, 14, 108, 109, 186, 188 New Zalavruga 174, 181 Nilsson, Sven 11–12 Nordbladh, Jarl 13, 14, 108, 109 Nordén, Arthur 157, 159, 163 Nordland 6, 7, 32 Norrböle 150 Norrfors 146 Norrköping, Sweden 16, 88, 94, 95, 96 Norrland, Sweden 115, 144, 150 Norse religion 13 Norse sagas 11, 188 Northern rock art tradition 3, 6–7, 11, 12, 13, 15, 16, 18, 107, 108, 109, 112, 115, 119, 197, 198–199, 202, 203 Nøstvet complex, Sweden 6 Notön island 140, 143, 147, 148 Ofoten 175 Öland, Sweden 60, 65, 69, 132 Old Norse mythology/religion 135, 136 Oleni ostrov cemetery, Russia 6, 143 Onega, Russia 18, 174, 175, 179, 181, 182 ontology 14, 15, 26, 92, 99 open-air sites 7, 11, 82, 92, 99, 128 Ör, 127, 129–130, 135, 136 oral accounts/narratives 16, 73, 74, 77, 127, 203–204 Östra Torp 201 pecking (process of) 7, 35, 37, 38, 49, 74, 77, 84, 85, 88, 146, 147, 148, 150, 198, 199

Index Marks 39, 44 tools 42, 45, see also tools performance/performativity (of rock art production) 14, 16, 17, 18, 76, 84, 127 Peri Nos 181 phenomenology 16, 17, 49, 88, 89–90, 98, 101, 163 Phoenicians 11 place/places 3, 6, 16, 17, 26, 30, 32, 49, 51, 61, 62, 65, 77, 80, 83, 88–102, 106, 109, 110–112, 114, 115, 118, 119, 122, 140, 158, 163, 165, 166, 167, 170, 171, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 182, 188, 191, 194, 195, 201, 203 see also sounding places ploughing scenes 11, 80, 188 polishing 7, 174 positivism 188 post-palaeolithic rock art 3 post processual archaeology 9, 14, 109, 188 post structuralism 18, 28 Pre-Roman Iron Age 3, 94, 99, 159, 162, 163, 164, 165, 166 processions 16 processual archaeology, see New Archaeology production of rock art 16, 32, 38, 54, 84, 85, 94, 98, 99, 100, 102 see also performance Pryssgården 156 quarries 16, 39, 44, 45, 98, 113, 114, 115, 118, 122, 201 quarrying 15, 35, 38, 41, 42, 44, 46, 96, 102, 114, 119, 122, 201 quartz/quartzite 16, 18, 96, 98, 99, 100, 102, 113, 114, 115, 118, 119, 122, 157, 162, 170, 174, 194, 198, 199, 200, 201 rapids 49, 98, 112, 114, 174, 179, 181 Rasbo stone, Sweden 66, 68 red deer 35, 39, 44, 202 red ochre 16, 50, 51, 114, 119, 122, 140 handprints 48, 50, 54, 55–56, 57 shapeless areas of 50, 55, 56, 57, 198 reindeer 3, 25, 80–81, 84, 110, 150, 174, 182 ‘relative’ interpretations 9 religion 2, 14, 18, 23, 24, 27–28, 37, 42, 82, 91, 119, 145, 149, 165, 186,

187, 188, 189, 190, 194, 195 religious practices 26, 140, 144 resonance 16, 49, 52, 53, 54 see also sound resonant stones 60, 61, 70 re-use 154, 156, 163, 165, 166, 167 Revheim, Rogaland 16, 200, 201 revisits 156, 166, 167, 170 Ringeby 156 ringing stones 16, 60–71 ritual/ritualisation 14, 15, 16, 18, 26, 29, 30, 41, 42, 48, 49, 52, 54, 56, 57, 58, 62, 71, 73, 74, 82, 85, 86, 88, 89, 92, 94, 102, 112, 159, 162, 165, 174, 186, 187, 188, 189 ritual house 64, 65 ritual paraphernalia 6, 115 ritual performance/practices 2, 7, 56, 68, 99, 100, 106, 109, 110, 118, 136, 190, 194, 195 burial/death 111, 114, 115, 129, 132, 133, 136, 188, 200 see also burial(s) rock art research/historiography 2, 3, 7, 9–14, 18, 35–36, 106, 107, 108–109, 154, 171–172, 186, 188 Rogaland, Norway 6, 83, 118, 194 Roman Iron Age 12, 159, 162 Romsdal, Norway 113 Rørby ship cast 6 runic inscriptions 12, 156, 164 Saami 3, 7, 11, 12, 16, 25, 48, 52, 53, 54, 107, 110, 115, 119, 175 sacred 6, 37, 39, 42, 49, 50, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 58, 71, 92, 98, 100, 102, 109, 115, 122, 187, 202 see also religion, ritual Sagaholm 83, 127, 129, 130, 132, 134, 135, 136, 137, 189, 203 San, South Africa 49, 56, 174 Sangelstain, Sweden 66–67 Saraakallio, Finland 55 seabird images 30 seascape 75, 80, 81 sedentism 32, 150 shamans 26, 54, 55, 57 shamanism 25, 26, 27, 31, 48, 49, 54, 140, 145, 149, 189 shell middens 6 ship images 2, 3, 6, 9, 17, 18, 31, 50, 73, 74, 75, 76, 78, 80, 81, 83, 84, 85, 95, 96, 98, 100, 106, 114, 115, 127, 130, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 139, 140, 143, 158, 163, 165, 176, 179, 181, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 194, 195, 197, 198, 199, 200, 202, 203

209 ships 127–128, 129 shore displacement 50, 67, 94, 106, 140, 146 sieidi 52, 53, 175 Simris, Scania 76 singing 15, 16, 53, 54 Skälv 164 Skateholm, Scania 6 Skavberget, Norway 32 Skellefteå, Sweden 112 Skogerveien, Norway 32 slabs 7, 11 Slettnes, Norway 18, 174 smells/smelling 92, 118 smiths 38, 91, 111, 115, 118, 119, 122 snakes 52, 128, 129, 136, 189 soapstone 16, 115, 119, 122 social actions 45, 73, 74, 76, 77, 82, 84, 85, 100 social constellations 73, 74, 83, 84, 85 social depictions 73, 81 social information 16, 73, 77, 78, 81 social landscapes 16, 78, 81, 83, 88 social person 25, 26, 31 social positions 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 119, 127 social practice 73, 76, 84, 100, 111, 119, 194 social relations 3, 80, 84, 85, 89, 91, 99, 100, 111, 119, 127, 136, 186 social status 78, 136 social systems 15, 23, 45 sonorous stones 60, 61, 62, 69, 71 soul 31, 54, 71, 107 sound 2, 16, 49, 58, 61, 62, 118 sounding places 15 soundscapes 16, 48, 49, 52, 53, 60, 64, 69, 70 Southern rock art tradition 3, 6, 7, 11, 12, 13, 15, 16, 17, 18, 107, 108, 109, 112, 115, 118, 119, 122, 157, 197, 198, 199, 202, 203 spear images 6, 133, 159 spirits 50, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 92, 111, 165, 174, 174, 178 see also supernatural stag images 130, 202 Stakaldeneset promontory/quarry, Norway 39, 41, 42, 44 striations 35 structuralism 14, 18, 28, 108, 109, 188–189 stylized images/styles 12, 15, 23, 29, 30, 83 see also abstract designs/images,

210 churingas, geometric designs/ motifs sun 128, 129, 130, 135, 136, 189, 199 sun symbols/symbolism 2, 6, 127, 128, 130, 132, 134, 187, 189 sun worship 18, 186, 189 superimposition 6, 56, 143, 198, 199 supernatural 38, 42, 49, 53, 54, 56, 58, 92, 101, 135 see also spirits Svarteborg, Sweden 162 swan images 15, 170, 174 sympathetic magic 2, 12, 15, 23, 24, 25, 26, 28, 106, 107, 108, 140 see also hunting Taatsinkirkko cliff, Lapland 53 Taçon, Paul S. 9 Tanum 76, 78, 83, 162, 163, 164 Telemark, Norway 7 Tennes, Norway 32 text-based interpretations 9, 11, 12, 13, 14 Tilley, Christopher 14, 26, 28, 89, 90, 109, 163 Tisselskog, Norway 76, 118 Todnes, Norway 194 tool images 140

Index tool production 15, 35, 46 tools 29, 30, 37, 38, 41, 44, 45 adzes 41, 42 axes 41, 42, 45, 99, 100, 201 hammer stones 39, 42, 44, 64, 113, 129 hatchets 29 Tossene 162 totemic/totemism 2, 15, 23, 24, 26–27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 149 touch/touching 2, 15, 48, 49, 55, 56, 57, 58, 60, 92 trade 84, 90, 115, 140 Trøndelag, Norway 6, 7, 32, 118, 163 Tumlehed 3 Tylor, Edward Burnett 23–24, 25, 27, 28 Ullshelleren 191, 194 underworld 35, 37, 38, 42, 44, 52, 92 Uppland, Sweden 6 Utby, Sweden 164 Val Camonica, Italy 80, 81, 84, 85 Valkeisaari, Finland 57–58 Vangdal 191, 194

Varanger complex, Norway 6, 175 Värmland, Sweden 3, 7 veins (in rock) 35, 37, 96, 199, 200 Venäinniemi, Finland 55, 57 Vickleby stone, Sweden 67 Vikings/Viking Age 11, 106 Vingen, Norway 15, 30, 32, 39, 41, 42, 44, 174, 178 vision 49, 58 von Linné, Carl 11 votive offerings 42, 45, 71, 118, 186, 187, 201 Vyg, Russia 18, 81, 171, 174, 175, 176, 178, 181, 182 wagon images 136 warrior imagery 162, 189, 190 waterfall 174, 179 weapon images 6, 202, 203 axes 41, 42, 45, 68, 133 spears 115, 133 whale 176 whale hunting 174, 176, 181 whale images 3, 30, 81, 181, 182 Whitley, David S. 9 Zalavruga, Russia 18 Zvejnieki, Latvia 6