Culturing the Body: Past Perspectives on Identity and Sociality [1 ed.] 1805394606, 9781805394600

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Culturing the Body

Culturing the Body Past Perspectives on Identity and Sociality

H Edited by

Benjamin Collins and April Nowell

berghahn NEW YORK • OXFORD www.berghahnbooks.com

First published in 2024 by Berghahn Books www.berghahnbooks.com

© 2024 Benjamin Collins and April Nowell

All rights reserved. Except for the quotation of short passages for the purposes of criticism and review, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without written permission of the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A C.I.P. cataloging record is available from the Library of Congress Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Control Number: 2024004268

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 978-1-80539-460-0 hardback ISBN 978-1-80539-461-7 epub ISBN 978-1-80539-462-4 web pdf https://doi.org/10.3167/9781805394600

Contents

H List of Illustrations

vii

Foreword. Culturing Emergent Bodies Rosemary A. Joyce

xii

Acknowledgmentsxxi Introduction.  Toward a Culturing of the Paleolithic Body April Nowell and Benjamin Collins Chapter 1.  Enveloping Oneself in Others: Semiotic, Spatial, and Temporal Dimensions of Ostrich Eggshell Bead Use in Southern Africa Peter J. Mitchell and Brian A. Stewart

1

9

Chapter 2.  Manufacturing Social Landscapes: Bead Production, Exchange, and Social Connections at Grassridge Rockshelter, South Africa Benjamin Collins, Amy Hatton, April Nowell, and Christopher J. H. Ames

41

Chapter 3.  Perspectives on Stone Age Sociality: A New Role for Ostrich Eggshell Beads Jennifer M. Miller

68

Chapter 4.  A Shell Bead from a Faraway Ocean: Significance Assessment of a Single Indigenous Ornament from Southern Australia Keryn Walshe Chapter 5.  Building Identities and Social Organization throughout the Early Holocene: Interpreting the Personal Adornments of the Last Hunter-Gatherers in Portugal Lino André

87

110

vi • Contents

Chapter 6.  Beads on the Edge of the World: Atlantic Identity and Sociality during the Upper Paleolithic of Western Iberia Nuno Bicho and Lino André Chapter 7.  Constructing Identity: Body Decoration and Modification in the Swabian Aurignacian Ewa Dutkiewicz, Sibylle Wolf, Elizabeth C. Velliky, and Nicholas J. Conard

132

160

Chapter 8.  What’s in a Color? Ochre Use in the Middle Stone Age of Southern Africa Tammy Hodgskiss

208

Chapter 9.  The Best Dressed Hominin: Clothing, Tanning, and Textile Production in the Paleolithic April Nowell and Aurora Skala

236

Conclusion.  Culturing Bodies in the Past: Similarities across Diversity Benjamin Collins and April Nowell

275

Index289

Illustrations

H Figures Figure 1.1.  Map of southeastern southern Africa showing the locations of sites and areas mentioned in the text.

11

Figure 1.2.  Two views of ostrich eggshell bead production at Ncaang, Kgalagadi District, Botswana, October 2022.

12

Figure 1.3.  Map showing the distribution of ostriches in southern Africa based on contemporary sightings.

13

Figure 1.4.  Ostrich eggshell bead 87Sr/86Sr versus Karoo Supergroup 87Sr/86Sr.15 Figure 1.5.  Diachronic trend of mean strontium isotope ratios (87Sr/86Sr) for ostrich eggshell beads from Sehonghong and Melikane, highland Lesotho.

23

Figure 1.6.  Map of the distribution of southern African sites with pressure-flaked bifacially tanged arrow points against the radius of the minimal distance (326 km) from which our most strontium-enriched ostrich eggshell beads were imported into highland Lesotho.

28

Figure 1.7.  Tracing of a panel of ostriches from a rock art site at Ha Monamoleli, western Lesotho.

31

Figure 2.1.  Map displaying the sites discussed in the text, as well as the major bioregions for this area following Mucina and Rutherford (2006).

44

Figure 2.2.  The north section from Opperman’s original excavation displaying both Opperman’s (1987) original stratigraphic divisions, as well as the chrono-stratigraphy developed by GAPP (Ames et al. 2020).

45

viii • Illustrations

Figure 2.3.  OES beads and Nassarius shell beads from the mid-Holocene occupation at Grassridge.

48

Figure 3.1.  Various attachment styles for OES beads.

74

Figure 3.2.  Parts of an ostrich eggshell, and an example of a pinched bead.

75

Figure 3.3.  Location of OES bead assemblages assessed for the pinched trait.

77

Figure 3.4.  Examples of pinched bead variations.

78

Figure 4.1.  Allen’s Cave, Nullarbor Plain, South Australia.

90

Figure 4.2a.  Abalone bead, outer surface, Allen’s Cave.

92

Figure 4.2b.  Abalone bead, inner (nacre) surface, Allen’s Cave.

92

Figure 4.3a.  Abalone bead from whole shell.

93

Figure 4.3b.  Piece of abalone shell used to make the bead.

93

Figure 5.1.  General map with the location of the Mesolithic clusters mentioned in the text. 

111

Figure 5.2.  Location of the Muge shell middens. 

113

Figure 5.3.  Location of the Sado shell middens. 

115

Figure 5.4.  Examples of ornamental items found at the Muge shell middens.

120

Figure 5.5.  Examples of ornamental items found at the Sado shell middens.

123

Figure 6.1.  Map of Portugal with the sites mentioned in the text.

135

Figure 6.2.  Examples of beads from Portuguese Upper Paleolithic sites.141 Figure 6.3.  Potential social networks and territories of the Upper Paleolithic of Portugal based on ornamental elements.

151

Figure 7.1.  Map of the Swabian Jura (Southwest Germany, Ach, Brenz, and Lone Valleys) with sites that yielded prehistoric remains.167 Figure 7.2.  Examples of double-perforated beads of the Swabian Aurignacian in different production stages.

168

Illustrations • ix

Figure 7.3.  Different bead types, Swabian Aurignacian.

169

Figure 7.4.  Visual examples of ochres from the cave sites of Vogelherd, Geißenklösterle, and Hohle Fels.

173

Figure 7.5.  Limestone fragment from the Geißenklösterle Aurignacian, bearing three different colors of possible pigment.

174

Figure 7.6.  Modified ochre from the Hohle Fels Aurignacian layer IIIa.

175

Figure 7.7.  Female figurines from the Swabian Aurignacian.

179

Figure 7.8.  Male and/or therianthropic depictions from the Swabian Aurignacian.

183

Figure 7.9.  Positions of markings on the body sides of human and animal representations in the Swabian Aurignacian.

185

Figure 7.10.  a) Vogelherd, felid figurine, size 6.8 cm; b) Vogelherd, felid figurine, size 8.7 cm; c) lioness (Panthera leo) in the Hagenbeck zoo with clearly visible coat pattern; d) hunting snow leopard (Panthera uncia) in a rocky landscape.

187

Figure 7.11.  Pattern types (summarized) used in the Swabian Aurignacian according to the topics.

188

Figure 7.12.  Possible decoration of Aurignacian clothes or other substrates with personal ornaments of the Swabian Aurignacia.190 Figure 8.1.  The range of geological varieties called “ochre” or coloring materials in archaeological assemblages.

209

Figure 8.2.  Markings and use-traces on experimentally worked ochre pieces.

215

Figure 8.3.  Engraved ochre.

216

Figure 8.4.  Experimentally produced ochre powders of various colors.220 Figure 9.1.  Examples of lissoirs.

240

Figure 9.2.  A bone rondelle or “Paleolithic thaumatrope” from Laugerie-Basse.245 Figure 9.3.  Needles found in Siberia.

247

x • Illustrations

Figure 9.4.  A portion of the shell beads found in the La Madeleine child burial and an artist’s reconstruction of the child from La Madeleine dressed in clothing embroidered with beads found in burial.

249

Figure 9.5.  Ventral and dorsal views of ivory figurine from Willendorf (Austria) dating to ca. 25,000 BP wearing a woven head covering.

251

Figure 9.6.  Ventral and dorsal views of ivory figurine from Lespugue (France) dating to ca. 25,000 BP, and figurine from Gagarino (Russia) dating to ca. 25,000 BP wearing a string skirt that is shorter than that of the Lespugue figurine and hangs in the front.

253

Tables Table 1.1.  Distribution of evidence for onsite ostrich eggshell bead manufacture in southeastern southern Africa (+ present; – absent; n/a not available because no sites fall within the period specified).14 Table 1.2.  Distribution of ostrich eggshell beads in southeastern southern Africa.

20

Table 2.1.  Summary of OES beads recovered from GAPP’s and Opperman’s excavations at Grassridge Rockshelter.

47

Table 2.2.  Summary of the gastropod shell recovered from GAPP’s and Opperman’s excavations at Grassridge Rockshelter.

49

Table 2.3.  OES assemblages for sites in the Drakensberg region. Dates have been included where available and calibrated using the SHCal20 curve (Hogg et al. 2020).

50

Table 3.1.  Documented uses for OES beads.

73

Table 3.2.  OES bead assemblages assessed for the pinched trait.

76

Table 4.1.  Survey of Pleistocene archaeological beads (adapted from Balme and O’Connor 2019).

94

Table 4.2.  Significance assessment of Allen’s Cave shell bead.

99

Illustrations • xi

Table 4.3.  Significance reassessment of Allen’s Cave shell bead (with natural values).

102

Table 5.1.  Quantity of ornamental items present at Muge shell middens.118 Table 5.2.  Quantity of ornaments present at Sado shell middens.

122

Table 6.1.  NISP of Gravettian beads and ornamental shells.

139

Table 6.2.  NISP of Proto-Solutrean beads and ornamental shells.

140

Table 6.3.  NISP of Solutrean beads and ornamental shells.

142

Table 6.4.  NISP of Magdalenian beads and ornamental shells.

143

Table 6.5.  NISP of Upper Paleolithic (undifferentiated phase) beads and ornamental shells.

143

Table 6.6.  NISP for beads and ornamental shells for the Portuguese Upper Paleolithic.

144

Table 6.7.  NISP for adornments for Portuguese Upper Paleolithic sites.

146

Table 6.8.  NISP for adornments through time for selected Portuguese Upper Paleolithic multicomponent sites.

153

Table 7.1.  Personal ornaments made from mammoth ivory, which are assigned to the Swabian Aurignacian.

170

Table 7.2.  Location and distribution (including mean values and standard deviations) of markings observed on 25 human and animal depictions from four cave sites, Hohle Fels, Geißenklösterle, Hohlenstein-Stadel, and Voglherd. 

186

FOREWORD

Culturing Emergent Bodies Rosemary A. Joyce

H I begin with a challenge to all of us working on embodiment, who base our analyses on the relatively durable media that we recover archaeologically—ornaments, pigments, and tools for the production and application of patterns to flesh—that are our archaeological stock-intrade. It is easy as an archaeologist to imagine that there is a natural boundary where the body—in this simplified view, a biological structure composed of flesh, blood, and bone—ends, and cultural additions begin. Anthropology as a broad discipline has repeatedly reminded us that this appearance is misleading. Some specific techniques, such as tattooing, reform the skin and thus displace the cultural into the surface of the flesh. Others, such as cranial modification, penetrate even deeper, reshaping bone to meet aesthetic expectations. As the chapters in this volume demonstrate, traces of such practices abound in archaeological sites, even after tens of thousands of years. In addition to artifacts used to produce these effects, they include modeled, painted, and engraved images of the human, the anthropomorphic, and the hybrid body, whether fixed in place or shaped as mobile objects. These things, static at our first glance, were active in processes through which human bodies emerged as already cultured, not simply additions to a stable physical essence of humanity. The implication is that we need to constantly question where we in fact should draw the boundaries around bodies and things, persons and mere extensions of personhood. As the contributions to this volume demonstrate, the kinds of operations that produce “cultured bodies” have deep antiquity, are pervasive in our species, and may in some sense be said to define what it means to be human. Our ability to think through what these kinds of practices imply will be multiplied if we can

Foreword • xiii

maintain our focus on how the human emerges through such projects of fashioning the self and others, including the nonhuman others that have the extra durability that allows them to persist until we can witness them today. The cultural productivity of bodies in the process of shaping, marking, and extending is undeniable. Also undeniable, as this volume demonstrates, is that human bodies inflected by such processes are sites of meaningfulness. They advance the recognition of persons in relation to others, as the same and different, as superior and inferior, as the ally or the enemy, the beloved or the object of contempt. In line with understanding embodiment as a process of emergence, we need to actively resist the temptation to see this capacity of bodies as purely inscriptional, as a process of writing on the body, of installing predetermined meanings on an inert substrate. That is committing the error of what Karen Barad (2003: 803) describes as representationalism: “the belief in the ontological distinction between representations and that which they purport to represent; in particular, that which is represented is held to be independent of all practices of representing.” Barad (2003: 810) counters this temptation with her demand that we explore the emergence of phenomena, which include the human body, giving “a robust account of the materialization of all bodies—‘human’ and ‘nonhuman’— and the material-discursive practices by which their differential constitutions are marked” (emphasis in original). The kind of productivity of “cultured bodies” documented in this volume is an ongoing process of emergence of the material and the discursive, a simultaneity through which embodied persons are enabled to act, to speak, to communicate with others, and to propose complex relationships, any of which can be, and many of which were, novel moments of innovation and change. With these arguments in mind, I am tempted to take this set of chapters and twist them slightly, to suggest vistas they open up, beyond the rich local histories they document, on processes of emergence of embodied persons. We might begin with shell beads, the focus of chapters 1 to 3. In these, the materiality of shell—both ostrich eggshell, and marine bivalve shell (chapter 2)—and its transformation into repeated, unitary shapes that lend themselves to assemblage stand out as processes through which the boundaries of the fleshed person are extended and entangled with other beings, marine and terrestrial, watery and avian. As Manuel DeLanda (2006: 33) describes it, emergent subjectivity is an assemblage “that may become complexified as persons become parts of larger assemblages.” Assemblages here are “wholes characterized by relations of exteriority” (DeLanda 2006: 10; emphasis in original). Fol-

xiv • Foreword

lowing Deleuze and Guattari (1987: 88), assemblages territorialize, homogenizing the assembled parts, and delimiting boundaries with that which is outside the assemblage (DeLanda 2006: 12). The human body wearing ostrich eggshell and marine shell beads is part of an assemblage that territorializes the humans and nonhumans who enable these practices as “a set of human bodies properly oriented (physically or psychologically) towards each other” (DeLanda 2006: 12). To what extent were other, now lost, products of nonhuman bodies recruited to extend the human form, and connect it to other living beings, in assemblages whose relations of exteriority we overlook when we see only the durable? Multiple contributions here remind us of the relative poverty of archaeological collections when compared to ethnographically witnessed settings. When we consider the contrast between the eight hundred ethnographic ornaments of teeth, bone, shell, cartilage, sinew, hair, fur, and feathers Walshe (chapter 4) enumerates in the South Australia Museum, and the ten ornaments of archaeological origin in the same institution, we may have a scalar insight into what we are not seeing. This underlines the necessity to work to see traces of the absent matter. The soft furnishings that complemented the hardness of beads are implied by Miller’s detailed analysis of the piercing that would have allowed beads to be grouped together or attached to clothing (chapter 3). Clothing, or more broadly, textiles, are specters haunting much archaeological work on embodiment, where the durable fragments that remain for us today take on disproportionate importance. Nowell and Skala (chapter 9) provide a welcome intervention that directly addresses not just traces of clothing, but traces of webs of social relations. These include the web of social relations for the production of clothing, and the separate web of social relations formed by the wearing of garments. Their demonstration of the actual abundance of traces of the production of textile and hide garments, which have generally not survived, is a model for re-examining archaeological materials as evidence of practices. They describe the intergenerational reproduction of knowledge that allowed the continuing production of such things, entangled in the continual shaping of human beings in relations with others (human and nonhuman) through communities of practice. We can see these as particular kinds of territorialized assemblages through which knowledge, practice, and subjectivity emerge in action. Covering the flesh of the human body, unusually bare in comparison to other species, with pieces of the animals with which humans shared a spatial context is, from the human analyst’s perspective, a way

Foreword • xv

to demarcate a cultural self. But it is simultaneously a way to connect the human and nonhuman animals that occupied these spaces. Archaeological analysis prompts us to foreground the disconnection, the work done by beads (and the clothing to which they were attached) in distinguishing people. We need to also be attuned to the way these ancestors connected to other beings. This is the case with the continuing connections that San people express with ostriches, with their power of healing and creation, discussed by Mitchell and Stewart (chapter 1), as these authors argue the wearing of ostrich eggshell beads connected the human body to other beings, creating relations with them. For the San, they note, ostriches were primordial beings that contributed to the development of human culture in a variety of ways (e.g., creating the first people, endowing people with fire). Ostrich eggshell beads, like other animal parts, can convey the capacities of the nonhuman animal to the human body by attachment. Threads of ostrich shell beads embody the connection between the sky and earth revealed in altered states of consciousness, perhaps explicitly, to the sun that shares in sensuous qualities of brightness and shininess. This discussion is a reminder to us that the ontological understanding of disconnection from other species that underpins industrial societies is recent. Even though we must resist collapsing the contemporary San into a primordial changeless past, we certainly can profit from that reminder, and bring it to bear when we return to our archaeological assemblages of animal substances adapted to extend the human body. As multiple contributors to this volume illustrate, the extension of the embodied human person can exceed the apparent geographic range of the group to which a person belonged. The movement of substances across space, which archaeologists anthropocentrically see as extension of the human body, may equally be seen as the extension of nonhumans from a realm of others to attach a human body at the periphery of an assemblage to a broader geography. This would be taking the perspective of a posthumanist anthropology, to imagine how spaces far removed from the local human context engulfed people who had no direct knowledge of these geographic peripheries. The attraction of materials of exotic origin for practices of embodiment begs to be understood as the emergence of a consciousness of, and value for, the distant. The sensuous qualities that are still attractive to us, in the case of the ostrich egg shell beads discussed by Collins and colleagues (chapter 2), Mitchell and Stewart (chapter 1), and Miller (chapter 3) tens of thousands of years after they were made, emerge as symbolic of immaterial values, such as the potency the San see in them (chapter 1),

xvi • Foreword

through what linguistic anthropologist Webb Keane (2003) described as bundling. The kind of signs rooted in the “sensuous qualities of objects,” Keane (2003: 414) notes, come “embodied in something particular . . . bound up with other qualities”; this kind of signs “cannot be manifest without some embodiment that inescapably binds it to some other qualities as well, which can become contingent but real factors in its social life.” The distinctive attributes of color, texture, and surface stand for more than what motivates their initial selection through this kind of extension. As beads circulate, maintained in use by the reproduction of technologies of manufacture and practices of use, distinctive substances like this create regimes of value that have historical dimensions, demarcating geographies of peoples who recognize value in the same sensory signals. It is these regimes of value that motivate the flow of substances, too often taken for granted when we archaeologists model exchange cycles. Assemblages of ostrich eggshell beads create a shared regime of value and a continuing connection of the human with specific nonhuman animals in an expansive geography. Contrasting with such assemblages are examples of uniqueness, exemplified by Walshe’s (chapter 4) detailed description of a single abalone shell pendant from an Australian context dated around 15,000 years ago. Walshe invokes the same kind of connectivity that I suggest is implicit in the assemblages of ostrich eggshell beads, an extension of connections across space that the rare abalone shell bead makes material. In this Australian context, she argues that the unique bead was deployed as a singular pendant, providing us a new dimension of signification for consideration: the way that entangled relations can demarcate something as unique and thus simultaneously, someone as distinctive. The interplay of practices that rely on assemblage and massing, and others that single out the more distinctive, begs for an archaeological interpretation in terms of group identity and distinction, as suggested in relation to western Iberia in the Upper Paleolithic and Mesolithic (chapters 5 and 6). Bicho and André (chapter 6) argue that the use of body ornaments, especially beads, allows emphasis on individuality and, simultaneously, on group belonging. They argue that in the Upper Paleolithic in what today is Portugal, differences in such practices reflect persistence of local preferences and demarcation of regional boundaries. Marine shells moved from coastal sites inland, establishing relationships of distinction but also shared geographies of value. Over time, complexity of Upper Paleolithic bead assemblages increased. Mesolithic patterns, comprehensively described by André (chapter 5), saw addi-

Foreword • xvii

tional changes in the kinds of marine shells used. While differences exist between sites, André notes a shared preference for a specific riverine species. At the same time, other shell species, and in some cases, other materials, were used for more unusual pendants, interpreted as singling out specific people for distinctive statuses. There is clearly merit in this kind of well-established approach, one that treats body ornaments as indications of identity, including as badges of office or status. Complementing it with an exploration of the ontological significance of practices that unite multiple bodies, and those that divide them, does something different. From the perspectives of assemblage theory briefly sketched out above, the massed beads homogenize and thus territorialize an assemblage of human bodies oriented to each other and certain nonhumans. The singular abalone pendant also assembles and orients the human body, but now in a territorialization in which the human is decentered, and perhaps even moves to the edge of the assemblage, making way for the centrality of marine creatures whose shells provide the preferred materials for Pleistocene beads in Australia, according to Walshe (chapter 4). The assemblage we are led to reconsider in this case is that created by the green lipped abalone, which humans engaged with in shallow marine settings reached by wading or diving; the humans entered a territory proper to the marine creatures, being reterritorialized as part of this assemblage. Dutkiewicz and colleagues extend consideration of the ontological implications of the assemblage of cultured bodies in their chapter on the Swabian Aurignacian (chapter 7). Significantly, they begin with a definition of identity as a concept of the self, for which the physical body is “a membrane between the individual and community.” This is a concept of a self as emergent subjectivity (DeLanda 2006: 33). Their conceptualization of the human body as delimiting the subject, the self, is explicitly not to be taken as an argument for the givenness of the embodied self. They exhaustively catalogue the practices of the body through which the person is delimited in relation to others, the “strangers in the middle distance” who are part of the broad assemblage created by these practices. Exploring practices through which human bodies emerge as intelligible in this place and time, the authors recognize the extension of key practices across boundaries that might be assumed between categories of entities. The use of red ochre to cover human bodies links these with artifacts that are also ornamented with ochre. Dutkiewicz and colleagues describe dot patterns painted in red ochre on limestone fragments, as well as potentially more ambiguous ochre painting on

xviii • Foreword

reindeer incisors, shells, and shell beads. In the same region, figural artifacts featuring human and nonhuman animal hybrids (therianthropes) display the culturing that comes with surface demarcating practices like tattooing. Beads and pendants commingle forms used to demarcate localized humanness with others that, like mirrors, represent cultured human and hybrid bodies. It is not really inherently obvious that the assemblage should be divided into human bodies and nonhuman things. Instead, we are presented with bodies of humans and nonhumans treated to marking that identifies them as linked. Close readings of body elaboration like these point to the many ways that the human person is locally rooted and simultaneously spatially extended through the incorporation of substances that flow across space to enter into the aesthetics and interpretive communities that shape values from their use. The unique discussion of clothing by Nowell and Skala (chapter 9) that ends the volume underlines that the practices explored here are at the same time productive of temporalities of lengths that archaeologists seldom emphasize. The temporality of clothing begins with the seasonality of production. It encompasses the capacity to change clothing by changing ornaments or pigmentation, suggesting we think of clothing, like the perspective offered here on the human body, as emergent, in process. The techniques described in this volume for making textiles, sewing garments, producing beads, attaching them to cloth or hide garments, manipulating hair, skin, and bone, are among the most enduring technologies known to humanity. Spinning thread in the way proposed for the Upper Paleolithic (chapter 9) continues today. This is not a matter of technology being conservative. It is instead a reflection of the fundamental nature of technologies of the body to human being and becoming. It may thus be entirely appropriate that it is in a chapter dedicated not to the most obvious forms of culturing bodies—wearing clothing, producing and displaying beads, and the like—but rather to understanding the deep history of human engagement with a mineral substance, ochre, that this volume reaches its closest contact with the aspects of assemblage theory and agential realism that have been touched on in this foreword. Ochre, as Hodgskiss describes it (chapter 8), is a substance through which humanity emerged as long as 300,000 years ago. Ochre pieces flow into assemblages from long distances, joining other matter assembled in relation to human activity. The rocks that traveled by human accommodation to sites were subject to engagements that

Foreword • xix

included heat treatment, grinding, and were likely transferred to soft, now no longer visible, materials like hide through rubbing pieces on this material. Some pieces of ochre display crosshatched patterns or simpler engravings, the kind of patterning that might be executed on human skin as painting or inked patterns of tattooing. More broadly, the application of ochre powder in deep time is recognized today mainly through its presence on nonhuman bodies, grinding stones, bone and stone tools, and perforated shells. Red ochre was sometimes, but not always, added to adhesives used to haft tools, a practice Hodgskiss suggests might have been adopted for the visual and symbolic properties of the material. A variety of engagements with the substance must have preceded the formulation of an intention to use ochre as a marking on human bodies. A variety of engagements with ostriches, are the predicate for the more elaborate practices of making and using ostrich eggshell beads. Engagements with marine and riverine shells in Upper Paleolithic and Mesolithic Iberia, and in early and ongoing life in Australia, ground the practices of adornment that seem at first to be entirely about the human body. What these materials instead suggest, and the contributions to this volume make manifest, is that the human emerges through connections with an array of substances, which creates a perceptible sense of unity, of identity, that is not there until the assemblage comes together. From the long-term temporality that archaeology allows, we can see assemblages of this kind forming and reforming, in continual fashion. Far from any simple idea of the expression of a given identity, we see instead the constant work of stabilizing identification that is the human legacy.

Rosemary A. Joyce is Distinguished Professor of Anthropology at the University of California, Berkeley. Her field, museum, and archival research has been supported by grants from the National Science Foundation, the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research, the National Endowment for the Humanities, and the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation. She is the author or coauthor of ten books; the most recent is The Future of Nuclear Waste: What Art and Archaeology Can Tell Us about Securing the World’s Most Hazardous Material. In 2022, she was awarded the A. V. Kidder Award for Eminence in American Archaeology and an honorary doctorate from Leiden University.

xx • Foreword

References Barad, K. 2003. “Posthumanist Performativity: Toward an Understanding of How Matter Comes to Matter.” Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 28(3): 801–31. DeLanda, M. 2006. A New Philosophy of Society: Assemblage Theory and Social Complexity. London: Continuum. Deleuze, G., and F. Guattari. 1987. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Translated by Brian Massumi. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Keane, W. 2003. “Semiotics and the Social Analysis of Material Things.” Language & Communication 23 (3–4): 409–25.

Acknowledgments

H We thank all of the contributors for their excellent and diverse approaches to “culturing the body.” Each of the chapters offers a unique and novel perspective that contribute to the ongoing discussions about the entanglement of the material, the body, and the mind—both in the past and in the present. We would also like to thank Berghahn Books for facilitating this volume and our discussion of the diverse ways past peoples cultured their bodies. Finally, we thank the University of Victoria, the University of Manitoba, the University of Cape Town, and the Social Sciences and Research Council of Canada for their support.

INTRODUCTION

Toward a Culturing of the Paleolithic Body April Nowell and Benjamin Collins

H Contributors to this volume present a wide range of case studies of what it means to culture the body in the Paleolithic period (ca. 3.3 million– 12,000 BP1). In this brief introduction to the volume, we consider what is meant by the term “body.” We then look more deeply at what is involved in “culturing” a body. Finally, we explore the challenges of culturing the “Paleolithic” body specifically.

What Is a Body? At its most basic, the body is a biological entity, a physical structure that includes skin, bones, muscles, and organs, and yet to all of us who possess one it is so much more—our body is what allows us to move through and experience the world around us. But where does our body end and the world begin? Malafouris (2008: 115–16) argues that the body is not “a passive external container of the human mind that has little to do with cognition per se but a constitutive and integral component of the way we think. In other words, the mind does not inhabit the body, it is rather the body that inhabits the mind. The task is not to understand how the body contains the mind, but how the body shapes the mind” (emphasis in the original). The human brain is characterized by plasticity, with many studies documenting the influence of social, cultural, material, and environmental factors as well as individual experiences on the shaping of human cognitive processes and behavioral outcomes (Nowell 2021). Because of this recursive relationship between

2 • April Nowell and Benjamin Collins

the internal and the external, Malafouris (2013) emphasizes that archaeologists need to consider an extended cognition—one that extends beyond the skull into the material world of artifacts (Nowell 2021). Using a classic example, Malafouris (2013) asks where a blind man’s mind/body ends and his world begins—is it at the tip of his cane where the tactile is transformed into the visual? A move away from a Cartesian understanding of the mind-body divide toward an extended and embodied cognition has profound implications for the archaeologist. Loren (2022: 218) argues that while archaeologists routinely study human and material engagements in the past, we often omit sensorial experience—“taste, touch, smell, sight and hearing—that is also synesthetic, with multiple senses working in unison . . . . These sensual engagements are as much culturally constituted as physically given and social and historically specific.” When a flint knapper begins making a stone tool, the affordances (or properties) of the core—for example, its size, shape, color, texture, and chemical composition—allow for certain possibilities, for certain tools to be made with greater or lesser difficulty. As the knapper works, they rely on all of their senses.2 When an unexpected inclusion or impurity in the rock is struck, there will be auditory, tactile, and visual cues that will change what the knapper knows about this core and will impact their subsequent actions (Nowell 2021). In a very real sense, there is no divide between what the knapper knows/senses and the material objects that are also actively engaged in the act of tool making. The knapper acts upon the stone and the stone acts upon the knapper. Acknowledging the role of things in the constitution of cognition and bodily experience offers archaeologists a more robust way of interpreting the past than traditional methods that rely on technological and typological analyses alone.

Exploring the Cultured Body Extended cognition and embodied cognition are also a useful framework within which to approach a study of the cultured body. As Nowell and Cooke (2021: 400) observe, “the human body lies at the interface between the individual self and the group . . . . As a product of both nature and culture, it can be modified to fulfill, challenge, or rebel against ideals of beauty . . . and expectations related to age, gender, social status, kinship, ethnicity, group membership, sexuality, religion, and occupation.” Humans modify their bodies in multiple ways including through the use

Introduction • 3

of cosmetics and personal ornaments (e.g., rings, necklaces, bracelets, etc.), corsets and other clothing, managed hair, tattooing, scarification, cutting, branding, and other procedures and alterations for culturally specific reasons (Nowell and Cooke 2021; see also Myers 1992).

Body Worlds and Body Schema Robb (2008; see also Borić et al. 2013; Harris and Robb 2013) argues that clothing and personal ornaments act as a second skin giving the body color and texture and connecting it to materials, places, and people— blurring the boundary between the body and the world. In this sense Borić et al. (2013: 41) speak of a “body world” that is “a set of assumptions about the kind of thing the body is, combined with discourses and practices which make the body a generator of social meanings and relations.” As Joyce, in the foreword to this volume, has cogently pointed out, the entanglements between bodies and materials literally and figuratively run much more deeply than Robb (2008) envisions—tattoo ink penetrates the surface of the skin, scars even more so. A constricting corset may remodel the waist and even tight socks leave a temporary impression on the skin. But what about the ornaments that archaeologists study—the shell beads and abalone pendants (see Mitchell and Stewart, chapter 1; Collins et al., chapter 2; Miller, chapter 3; Walshe, chapter 4; André, chapter 5; Bicho and André, chapter 6)? Do these constitute a “second skin” that we can shed at will? Malafouris (2008) argues, “if the body shapes the mind then it is inevitable that the material culture that surrounds that body will shape the mind also.” He (2008 and references therein) gives the clinical example of a woman whose left arm is paralyzed as a result of a stroke. When viewing the arm, she insists that it is not hers, that it belongs to someone else, as do the rings worn on “its” hand. When these same rings are worn on her right hand or presented in front of her she recognizes them immediately. She is also able to describe the rings independently of looking at them. Malafouris (2008) argues that those rings, habitually worn on her left hand, are so much a part of the woman’s arm that when she ceases to recognize that part of her body, she ceases to recognize them as well. In the same way, when we take off a ring or a necklace we are used to wearing we feel its loss and often touch the place where the ornament should be. These sensory experiences are related to what Malafouris (2008: 115) and references therein) refers to as “body schema,” which is “the complicated neuronal action map associated with the dynamic config-

4 • April Nowell and Benjamin Collins

urations and position of our body in space . . . [it] is not a simple percept of the body, but it is closely associated with cortical regions that are important to self recognition and recognition of external objects and entities . . . [it is] a powerful means for linking neural and cultural plasticity.” In a very real sense, the woman’s rings were not simply adorning her body, they were her body, and when she no longer associated herself with her left arm, her rings disappeared as well.

Bodies, Performativity, and the Archaeology of Identity The archaeology of identity is another way in which archaeologists study culturing the body. This research explores the material correlates of the intersection of gender, age, ethnicity, religion, social status, and able-bodiedness in the creation of self. Identity is personal and expressive, embodied and performed, ephemeral and relational. Identities can be fluid and multifaceted, changing over time and in response to audience or situation. The fact that identities are performative (e.g., manner of speaking, behavior in social situations, choice of clothing,3 posture) has important implications for archaeologists studying the body because these performances often take place through the body, with people’s bodies being the central element of their performance (Johnson 2020: 177). In this sense, the body itself can be considered as material culture that is modified and manipulated. As Johnson (2020: 177) notes, much of the archaeological record is “about the constructions of the body, e.g., grave goods, personal items like jewelry, grooming items like combs, tweezers, dress and other items.” The archaeology of identity moves us away from the conception of bodies as simple, inert, essential, fixed, and biologically determined (see Johnson 2020).

Culturing the Paleolithic Body In studying cultured bodies in the Paleolithic archaeologists encounter challenges particular to this period. It is clear that not all practices leave direct, obvious, and enduring archaeological signatures. Some body modifications such as clothing, personal ornaments, hairstyles, and the bleaching, waxing, and shaving of hair are temporary and can be easily altered; while others such as piercing, scarification, branding, female genital cutting, male circumcision, and foot-binding are more permanent and endure throughout an individual’s life (Nowell and Cooke 2021). Intuitively, we expect that more permanent modifications and

Introduction • 5

ones that impact hard tissue (bones, teeth) rather than soft tissue (flesh) would leave more visible traces for the archaeologist to uncover but this is not necessarily the case. Foot-binding, for example, would have greatly impacted an individual in life, but the actual practice does not deform the individual’s foot bones (Stone 2012)—once the binding rots away there are no direct traces of this behavior (nor links to the experience of moving through the world in this way) left in the archaeological record (Nowell and Cooke 2021). By contrast, body painting, tattooing, and clothing that has long since disintegrated can be inferred from needles, figurines, prints of shod feet in mud, and wear on tools, ochre, and beads (see Dutikiewicz et al., chapter 7; Hodgskiss, chapter 8; Nowell and Skala, chapter 9). Differential preservation impacts all archaeologists, but the deep time involved in studying Paleolithic body modifications means that taphonomic processes play an even greater role than they do in more recent periods. A second challenge is that while the Paleolithic spans millions of years (beginning with the oldest evidence for the use of stone tools at 3.3 million years ago, see McPherron et al. 2010), the vast majority of the evidence we study (and indeed presented in this volume) derives from the Middle and Upper Paleolithic and to a lesser extent the Middle and Late Stone Age in Africa (roughly 300,000–12,000 BP). This is partially an accident of history (i.e., these geographic regions are historically where there has been the greatest research intensity) but may also be due to population densities and other cultural and environmental factors. As Paleolithic archaeologists, we detect behaviors only once they increase in frequency and/or transfer to a more visible medium. A related issue is that virtually all the artifacts we associate with culturing the body (personal adornment, ochre, tattooing needles, tools for making clothing) are associated with Homo sapiens and again this bias is reflected in the chapters in this volume. There is limited evidence of the manufacture and use of personal ornaments with Denisovans and Neandertals, and ochre usage with Neandertals and even earlier hominins species and clothing manufacture by Neandertals (Chang and Nowell 2020; Nowell and Cooke 2021; Hodgskiss, chapter 8, this volume; Nowell and Skala, chapter 9, this volume). But as White (1992) observed, it is no exaggeration to say that there are more items of personal adornment in a cubic meter of sediment in an Aurignacian site (ca. 40,000–30,000 BP) than in all of the sites dating to the first >3 million years of the Paleolithic period combined. Not only does this fact lead to a concentration of data in the final stages of the Paleolithic, but it also constrains the kinds of assumptions archaeologists can make

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when not studying H. sapiens—what would performativity through the H. erectus4 body look like? A final challenge to be considered here is the fact that for the entirety of the Paleolithic hominins exclusively followed a foraging lifestyle that included degrees of sedentism. As Hurcombe (2014) reminds us, the majority of forager material culture is organic in nature and not all practices will leave visible signatures. Nonetheless, she cautions (2014: 2) that these facts “[do] not and should not preclude them from being an essential aspect of archaeological thinking.” An example of this thinking is represented in ostrich eggshell beads (see Mitchell and Stewart, chapter 1; Collins et al., chapter 2; Miller, chapter 3), where these beads are often recovered in isolation or small numbers, and therefore potentially reflect jewelry and ornaments comprised of thousands of beads, made by many hands, over many generations (Wilmsen 2015). These tiny beads offer the potential for insight into past behaviors and into the novel perspective of individuals, within groups and between groups, as they connect individuals to ancestors, the supernatural, and one another.

Conclusion Embodied and extended cognition approaches to stone tools permit archaeologists to explore questions related to learning, skill acquisition, and communities of practice and apprenticeship in the Paleolithic. As Nowell (2021: 100) writes, “there is a dynamic, fluid relationship between cognition, perception and action . . . between object, affordances and the human agent; between the lithic toolkit, the possibilities of stone and antler and the knapper. It is this full embodiment of the toolmaking process that transforms a novice into an expert, and in the Paleolithic, perhaps an adolescent into an adult.” Similarly, when the authors in this volume study the means through which people cultured their bodies in the Paleolithic they are not only recording information on trade, techniques of manufacture, and the (re)creation of individual and communal identities, they are also bearing witness to the entangled social, cultural, material, and biological relationships of which these now static artifacts were once a part.

April Nowell is a Paleolithic archaeologist and Professor of Anthropology at the University of Victoria in Canada. She directs an international team

Introduction • 7

of researchers in the study of Paleolithic sites in Jordan and collaborates with colleagues on the study of cave art in Australia. She is known for her publications on cognitive archaeology, Paleolithic art, the archaeology of children, and the relationship between science, pop culture, and the media. She is the author of Growing Up in the Ice Age (2021). Benjamin Collins is affiliated with the Department of Anthropology, University of Manitoba, and the Department of Archaeology, University of Cape Town. His research explores social networks and connections among past forager societies.

Notes   1. Years before present.   2. Even taste may be called upon if the knapper cuts their finger (a common occurrence) and instinctively sucks on the wound.   3. See Nowell and Skala (chapter 9, this volume) for a discussion of ontological and perspectivist approaches to studying transformations of the body when people don animal skins and other body parts.  4. The taxon Homo erectus is being used in the broadest sense to include populations from Africa, Eurasia, and Europe from roughly 2,000,000– 50,000 years ago.

References Borić, D., O. J. T. Harris, P. Miracle, and J. Robb. 2013. “The Limits of the Body.” In The Body in History: Europe from the Palaeolithic to the Future, edited by J. Robb and O. J. T. Harris, 32–64. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Chang, M. L., and A. Nowell. 2020. “Conceiving of the ‘Them’ When Before There Was Only ‘Us.’” In Archaeologies of the Heart, edited by K. Supernant, J. E. Baxter, N. Lyons, and S. Atalay, 205–23. New York: Springer Nature. Harris, O. J. T., and J. Robb. 2013. “Body Worlds and Their History: Some Working Concepts.” In The Body in History: Europe from the Palaeolithic to the Future, edited by J. Robb and O. J. T. Harris, 7–31. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hurcombe, L. M. 2014. Perishable Material Culture in Prehistory: Investigating the Missing Majority. New York: Routledge. Johnson, M. 2020. Archaeological Theory, 3rd ed. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Loren, D. D. 2022. “Smoke and Spirit: Exploring Bodily and Sensual Concerns at Early Harvard College.” Historical Archaeology 56(2): 217–26. Malafouris, L. 2008. “Is It ‘Me’ or Is It ‘Mine’? The Mycenaean Sword as a BodyPart.” In Body-Centered Research in Archaeology, edited by D. Borić and J. Robb, 115–23. Oxford, UK: Oxbow Books.

8 • April Nowell and Benjamin Collins ———. 2013. How Things Shape the Mind: A Theory of Material Engagement. Cambridge: MIT Press. McPherron, S., Z. Alemseged, C. W. Marean, J. G. Wynn, D. Reed, D. Geraads, R. Bobe, and H. A. Béarat. 2010. “Evidence for Stone-Tool-Assisted Consumption of Animal Tissues Before 3.39 Million Years Ago at Dikika, Ethiopia.” Nature 466: 857–60. https://doi.org/10.1038/nature09248. Myers, J. 1992. “Nonmainstream Body Modification: Genital Piercing, Branding, Burning, and Cutting.” Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 21(3): 267–306. Nowell, A. 2021. Growing Up in the Ice Age: Fossil and Archaeological Evidence of the Lived Lives of Plio-Pleistocene Children. Oxford, UK: Oxbow Books. Nowell, A., and A. Cooke. 2021. “Culturing the Paleolithic Body: Archaeological Signatures of Adornment and Body Modification.” In Oxford Handbook of Human Symbolic Evolution, edited by A. Lock, C. Sinha, and N. Gontier, 1–32. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Robb, J. 2008. “Introduction. The Archaeology of Bodies and the Eastern Mediterranean.” In An Archaeology of Prehistoric Bodies and Embodied Identities in the Eastern Mediterranean, edited by M. Mina, S. Triantaphyllou, and Y. Papadatos, 1–7. Oxford, UK: Oxbow Books. Stone, P. 2012. “Binding Women: Ethnology, Skeletal Deformations, and Violence Against Women.” International Journal of Paleopathology 2(2–3): 53–60. White, R. 1992. “Beyond Art: Toward an Understanding of the Origins of Material Representation in Europe.” Annual Review of Anthropology 21: 537–64. Wilmsen, E. 2015. “Ostrich Eggshells and Their Beads.” South African Archaeological Bulletin 70(201): 89–105.

CHAPTER 1

Enveloping Oneself in Others Semiotic, Spatial, and Temporal Dimensions of Ostrich Eggshell Bead Use in Southern Africa Peter J. Mitchell and Brian A. Stewart

H Introduction Ostrich eggshell beads are one of the oldest forms of personal decoration, first appearing in southern Africa ca. 40,000 years ago (d’Errico et al. 2012) and are still made, used, and traded by numerous San peoples today (Wingfield 2009; Hitchcock 2012). Anthropological interest in them stems largely from their prominence in the delayed, reciprocal gift-exchange system practiced by the Ju/’hoãnsi (!Kung) San of the Kalahari, which provides participants with alternative residential and subsistence options when resources become scarce in their own home ranges (Wiessner 1977, 1982, 1986, 1994, 2002). Via enduring connections with consanguineal and (indirectly) affinal kin that extend over distances of up to 150–200 km (Wiessner 1982), Ju/’hoãnsi minimize the risks of resource failure by strategically selecting exchange partners who offer access to both complementary ecologies and potential marriage partners (Mazel 1989), while simultaneously reinforcing egalitarian social values through a never-ceasing circulation of material items (Lee 1979). Archaeologists have used this research to explore past exchange networks in many parts of southern Africa (e.g., Hall and Binneman 1987; Wadley 1987; Mazel 1989). Frequently, though not always (see Mitchell 1996), such studies employ the term hxaro in ways that suggest direct

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analogies with the precise form of mutual gift-giving recorded among the Ju/’hoãnsi, despite this being but one of several such traditions observed among the San (Barnard 1992; Hitchcock 2012), some of whom seem not to have engaged in similar practices (Heinz 1966). Hxaro’s appeal is nevertheless great because it ties together multiple themes that go to the heart of how hunter-gatherers make a living: risk minimization, access to subsistence resources and information, biological reproduction, sharing, securing desired items unobtainable at home, and seasonal shifts in settlement and group organization between aggregation and dispersal phases of social life. As one of the most common, highly valued, and traditionally important gift items that Ju/’hoãnsi exchange, and as items frequently found in excavation, ostrich eggshell beads play a significant part in archaeological discussions of hunter-gatherer exchange networks. Being objects of adornment (necklaces, bracelets, on headbands or bands, or attached to clothes and bags; Hitchcock 2012; Viestad 2018; see also chapter 3, this volume), they were presumably employed for interpersonal and/or intergroup signaling, yet we know little of their function beyond the twentieth-century Kalahari. The antiquity, drivers, development, precise functioning, and socioecological contexts of the networks of which they formed part remain obscure. Moreover, because ostriches are ubiquitous across most of southern Africa, often we cannot even be sure that beads made from their eggs had moved anywhere at all, let alone the directions and distances involved (Mitchell 2003). Southeastern southern Africa (Figure 1.1) offers an ideal focus for gaining purchase on these questions since ostriches (Struthio camelus australis) were absent there in historic times, except in the Caledon Valley and further west into South Africa’s interior.1 High altitude, rugged terrain, and cold temperatures excluded them from the MalotiDrakensberg Mountains that comprise the region’s core, while east of the uKhahlamba-Drakensberg Escarpment (hereafter “the Escarpment”) higher rainfall and humidity kept them out of the broad-leaved savannas and coastal forests of the Eastern Cape and KwaZulu-Natal (Sinclair et al. 2011). Consistent with historical observations, archaeological evidence for Struthio’s presence is likewise absent in most of southeastern southern Africa: ostrich bones and ostrich eggshell are almost never found in excavation, preforms left from bead manufacture (Orton 2008) are extraordinarily rare, and such beads as do occur are almost invariably finished (Figures 1.2 and 1.3, Table 1.1), another indication that they were made elsewhere.

Enveloping Oneself in Others • 11

Figure 1.1.  Map of southeastern southern Africa showing the locations of sites and areas mentioned in the text. Site names are abbreviated thus: BM, Bamboo Mountain; CH, Collingham Shelter; GRA, Grassridge; HM, Ha Makotoko; LIB, Libesoaneng; LIK, Likoaeng; MEL, Melikane; MHL, Mhlwazini; MQ, Maqonqo; MS, Moshebi’s Shelter; MZS, Mzinyashana 1 Shelter; SEH, Sehonghong; UMH, Umhlatuzana. © Brian Stewart.

Previous work on the distributions of ostrich eggshell beads, bead preforms, and unworked eggshell fragments has posited South Africa’s central interior as the most likely source area for those found in the Maloti-Drakensberg Mountains and the lower-lying areas to their east (Mazel 1989, 1996; Mitchell 1996). However, it was unable to distinguish between immediately adjacent regions (e.g., the Caledon Valley or other areas of the eastern Free State and the high-altitude grasslands in the northern Eastern Cape) and those further afield (e.g., the Karoo or the highveld grasslands of the northern Free State, Gauteng, and southern Mpumalanga). Strontium (Sr) isotope analysis of ostrich eggshell beads from two long-sequence, late Quaternary hunter-gatherer sites in highland Lesotho—Sehonghong and Melikane—now provides a means of discriminating between these possibilities by matching the Sr isotope ratios (87Sr/86Sr) of individual beads to those of southern Africa’s bedrock geology (Stewart, Zhao, et al. 2020). As expected, results remove highland Lesotho as a possible source, but in many cases also exclude areas where the bedrock comprises sandstones, mudstones, and shales of the Stormberg and Beaufort Groups. Instead, they point to sources from

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Figure 1.2.  Two views of ostrich eggshell bead production at Ncaang, Kgalagadi District, Botswana, October 2022. Ostrich eggshell fragments are first drilled into bead blanks (A) before being strung, ground, and smoothed en masse (B) to create standardized end products. Photographs by Gréine Jordan for British Museum Endangered Material Knowledge Programme funded project “Making Things from Animals” (2020SG12), CC BY-NC-SA 4.0.

Enveloping Oneself in Others • 13

Figure 1.3.  Map (upper) showing the distribution of ostriches in southern Africa based on contemporary sightings, with detail (lower) of southeasternmost Africa, including Lesotho and the Maloti-Drakensberg, showing contemporary ostrich distributions against proportions of finished ostrich eggshell beads versus unmodified fragments plus bead preforms for late MSA and LSA archaeological sites in the region (~33–0.1 ka) (modified after Stewart, Zhao, et al. 2020: Fig. 5). © Brian Stewart.

14 • Peter J. Mitchell and Brian A. Stewart Table 1.1.  Distribution of evidence for onsite ostrich eggshell bead manufacture in southeastern southern Africa (+ present; – absent; n/a not available because no sites fall within the period specified). Sites within the Thukela Basin are grouped into the three spatial regions and central area identified by Mazel (1989), including Collingham Shelter within the Injasuthi region. Maqonqo and Mzinyashana 1 (Mazel 1996, 1997) are grouped together as “northern Thukela Basin.” Other data are drawn from references in Mitchell (1996, plus unpublished data) and from Brooker (1980), Esterhuysen, Behrens, and Harper (1994), Backwell et al. (1996), Opperman (1996), Wadley (1996, 2000a, 2000b), Mazel (1999), Thorp (2000), Wadley and Laue (2000), Hobart (2004), Plug and Mitchell (2008), Kaplan and Mitchell (2012), and Mitchell and Arthur (2014).

Region

Marine Isotope Early MidLater Holocene Stages 3 and 2 Holocene Holocene 33–12 ka 11.5–8.2 ka 8.2–3.5 ka 3.5–1.9 ka 100 km to the nearest likely source of ostriches are implied for the latter site, but, in the case of Umhlatuzana, ostrich eggshell beads could have come from even further away. This is certainly true at Sehonghong at two moments—in the Younger Dryas and the terminal MSA—for both of which Sr isotopes source beads to geologies that find their closest matches at >325 km distant (Stewart, Zhao, et al. 2020). While only one bead was analyzed from each level, this might suggest that at ~33 ka and ~13 ka we are seeing an expansion of long-distance contacts—and thus of possibilities for accessing resources, marriage partners, and information—far beyond anything registered in the Holocene. Given hxaro’s primary function as a means of minimizing subsistence risk (Wiessner 1977), this is to be expected in contexts that were almost certainly extremely challenging environmentally, and perhaps also demographically; δ13C analysis of ungulate teeth records a sharp drop in temperature in highland Lesotho ~33 ka within a period when mean temperatures were likely depressed ≥5°C relative to today (Loftus, Roberts, and Lee-Thorp 2016), while, except at Sehonghong, southeastern southern Africa has no evidence of human occupation during the Younger Dryas stadial (Stewart and Mitchell 2018). A second pattern concerns the long-term persistence of connections with both coast and interior most obvious throughout the late Quaternary sequence at Sehonghong, though also supported by data from sites elsewhere. People occupying highland Lesotho clearly had access over thousands of years to both ostrich eggshell beads from sources in southern Africa’s interior and to marine/estuarine shell ornaments derived from the Indian Ocean shore ~180–200 km away, notwithstanding the necessity of traversing a ~3,000 meter-high escarpment to the east and potentially two mountain barriers of near-comparable elevation to the west. As we noted above, the northern part of the Thukela Basin maintained a similar breadth of interactions from the early Holocene onward,

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evidenced by finds of marine/estuarine shell on the one hand some 150 km inland, and of ostrich eggshell and ostrich eggshell beads and preforms on the other, notwithstanding the likelihood that ostriches themselves never occurred closer than the Free State side of the Escarpment some 150 km to the west (Mazel 1996). Contrasting sharply with both these areas, the Barkly East/Nqanqarhu region seems always to have stood outside the networks that moved marine/estuarine shell inland or ostrich eggshell beads coastwards: Opperman (1987) found no sign of the former and almost as little of the latter, while his sites’ Holocene lithic assemblages recurrently feature hornfels much more frequently than those found in Lesotho, notwithstanding the ready availability of both this raw material and opalines in both areas (Mitchell 1996). This pattern is reinforced by the Karoo/Free State/Lesotho-centered distributions of late Holocene pressure-flaked backed microliths and bifacially tanged arrows, distributions that conspicuously exclude the Barkly East/ Nqanqarhu area (and the former Transkei), but coincide closely with the areas that our Sr isotope results indicate were the likely sources of ostrich eggshell beads entering highland Lesotho and—most likely—the Escarpment and Thukela Basin of KwaZulu-Natal (Figure 1.6).

Figure 1.6.  Map of the distribution of southern African sites with pressureflaked bifacially tanged arrow points against the radius of the minimal distance (326 km) from which our most strontium-enriched ostrich eggshell beads were imported into highland Lesotho. © Brian Stewart.

Enveloping Oneself in Others • 29

Ostrich eggshell beads in southeastern southern Africa were thus not only for the most part introduced from afar, but they were also enmeshed in the movements of other items that themselves often travelled hundreds of kilometers from their source. Given these distances, in many, or perhaps most, cases exotic artifacts were likely transmitted through a series of connections, but the evidence of rock art suggests that at least some people sometimes traveled this far, acquiring detailed knowledge of mammals and fish species foreign to the areas in which they later depicted them (Ouzman 1995; Ouzman and Wadley 1997). Rock art points also to the existence of multiple, likely overlapping and nested, areas of interaction, from the sharing of the “thin red line” motif across the Maloti-Drakensberg region as a whole (Lewis-Williams et al. 2000) to the much smaller areas indicated by motifs such as men fishing from boats (Hobart 2003) or the triad of therianthropic figures dancing and holding sticks of the kind immortalized by Orpen (1874) at the highland Lesotho site of Melikane (cf. Solomon 2016: Fig. 10), but directly paralleled only at Libesoaneng a few kilometers to its south (Smits 1973) and Bamboo Mountain below the Escarpment in KwaZulu-Natal (Vinnicombe 1976). The clear spatial patterning of late Holocene pressure-flaked backed microliths and arrows likewise surely reflects a sharing of ideas about stone tool manufacture. Once again, these interaction spheres appear to have operated at different nested scales, the latter encompassing much of the southern African interior, the former only its Lesotho/Caledon Valley/Orange Valley fraction. In both cases, the distinctive morphology of the artifacts and the high level of skill likely needed to make them provokes the suggestion that they were stylistic markers that signaled the identities of particular ethnolinguistic groups, albeit of different extents and, presumably, different orders of social networking (Humphreys 1984; Mitchell 1999). That LSA peoples used material culture in this way is very likely (e.g., Mazel 1989) and is well established for both twentieth-century Kalahari and nineteenth-century Karoo San, for both of whom differences in artifact choice and form frequently correspond(ed) to variation in dialect or language (Wiessner 1983; Deacon 1986). Our ongoing work on ostrich eggshell bead Sr isotopes has provided the first firm confirmation that they did indeed move over considerable distances (Stewart, Zhao, et al. 2020). Yet it also allows us to begin considering more closely the physical pathways along which beads (and other objects) may have moved across the southern African landscape, while illustrating some of the wider cultural significances that exchanged items may have held for those gifting and receiving

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them. With reference to the first point, we have argued previously that Lesotho’s highlands—and the Maloti-Drakensberg region more generally—were an enduring focus for hunter-gatherer populations within southeastern southern Africa. Temporal patterning in radiocarbon dates shows repeated occupation of highland Lesotho during more arid periods and less stable climatic episodes (Stewart, Parker, et al. 2016; Stewart and Mitchell 2018). As well as higher, more reliable precipitation (and thus richer, more dependable plant and animal resources), the MalotiDrakensberg offered abundant natural shelter, high quality stone raw materials, substantial fisheries, and (because of their broken topography) greater overall resource diversity per unit area. Conversely, the Karoo and highveld grasslands west of the Caledon River experience lower and more unreliable rainfall, have few natural shelters, are ecologically more uniform, and have more episodic archaeological records. Three features of the hxaro networks studied by Wiessner (1977, 1982) are relevant here. First, Ju/’hoãnsi focused their hxaro ties on individuals living in areas with resources complementary to their own and over distances of up to 200 km (Wiessner 1982: 76). Second, the chains created by summing the hxaro partnerships of multiple individuals stretched even further than this, providing access to desired trade goods from beyond the bounds of kinship reckoning. The long-term persistence with which ostrich eggshell beads reached highland Lesotho echoes both the longevity and the extent of these Ju/’hoãn networks. Finally, since the Senqu/Orange River is an obvious, easy-to-follow route into highland Lesotho from the southern African interior—and few passes cross the mountains between the Caledon and Senqu Valleys, or the Escarpment separating it from KwaZulu-Natal—Lesotho’s physical relief may itself have helped channel chains of exchange along the “prescribed course . . . reproduced through time” that Wiessner (1998: 515) describes for the Kalahari. Geospatial modelling of the ease of pedestrian travel into and through the Maloti-Drakensberg Mountains is one means by which we may be able to explore this further. The second topic we have explored in this chapter concerns the likelihood that ostrich eggshell beads held value in and of themselves as conveyors and signifiers of supernatural potency, not just exotic trinkets. The strong symbolic load placed on ostriches by contemporary and recent San populations of diverse linguistic backgrounds suggests that these beliefs—like other religious ideas (Barnard 2007: 96)—were probably widely held in the past as well, and paintings of ostriches within our research area strengthen this possibility further (Figure 1.7). Adorning themselves, their clothes, and other items of daily life with ostrich

Figure 1.7.  Tracing of a panel of ostriches from a rock art site at Ha Monamoleli, western Lesotho. © Lara Mallen, used with permission.

Enveloping Oneself in Others • 31

32 • Peter J. Mitchell and Brian A. Stewart

eggshell beads, people could literally envelop themselves in the values and powers that those beads and the birds from which they ultimately derived held. Given the evidence for widespread social connectivity and mobility across the broader region, the lack of direct humanostrich interactions in the Maloti-Drakensberg did not, we suggest, detract from the imported material’s power. As Conneller (2011: 71) notes, “just because there is not a direct [human-animal] relationship, it does not mean there was no relationship, rather that it was mediated through others (other people, other things).” Indeed, such mediations themselves—for example, via the telling and retelling of stories and myths during group aggregations and individual visits when beads were exchanged—likely only enhanced the intrinsic value of nonlocal ostrich eggshell by imbuing it with “particularly potent animal affects” (Conneller 2011: 71). Similarly—and recalling here the significance of work on the cultural biographies of artifacts and the histories that individual gift-exchange items may preserve and transmit (Malinowski 1922; Appadurai 1986)—we must also allow for the likelihood that when wearing ostrich eggshell bead jewelry or other items of beadwork people also knowingly enveloped themselves in networks of interpersonal and intergroup connection that stretched far beyond the areas with which they were most familiar. Multiple analytical avenues likewise stretch before us as we seek to make more sense of those networks. What, for example, flowed west from highland Lesotho into the interior? Perishable items such as skins or cloaks? Medicines or ritual knowledge? Toolstone or pigments? Can we, via microscopy, identify differences in wear patterns that might reflect how individual beads were strung, given how much scope for variation exists here as a means of signaling personal or group identities? Might differences in drilling techniques (cf. Werner and Miller 2018) or mean size (cf. Miller and Sawchuk 2019) patterned spatially in ways consistent with access to different sources for beads or preferences potentially be reflective of group identity? What more might we learn as we seek to extend our preliminary Sr isotope study to a fuller range of periods within highland Lesotho and to sites beyond? We feel confident that the answers we shall obtain will further confirm that, far from being “little entangled in large amounts of human-made stuff” (Hodder 2014: 28), hunter-gatherers in southeastern southern Africa lived lives deeply enveloped in those of others, human and nonhuman alike.

Enveloping Oneself in Others • 33

Acknowledgments We are grateful to Chris Wingfield for supplying images from his fieldwork in Botswana reproduced here as Figure 1.2 and to Lara Mallen for providing us with a copy of her tracing of the painting of ostriches reproduced here as Figure 1.7. We also thank our collaborators, Joel Blum and James Gleason of the Department of Earth and Environmental Science, and Yuchao Zhao of the Museum of Anthropological Archaeology, University of Michigan, for their efforts towards our ongoing strontium isotope project with ostrich eggshell beads. We dedicate this chapter to the memory of our friend and colleague, Rethabile “Captain” Mokhachane.

Peter J. Mitchell is Professor of African Archaeology at the University of Oxford and Fellow and Tutor in Archaeology at St. Hugh’s College, Oxford. He has been exploring the archaeology of hunter-gatherers in southern Africa for forty years, during which he has excavated extensively in Lesotho, most recently acting as consultant for the World Bank and Lesotho Government on archaeological fieldwork undertaken ahead of the construction of the Metolong Dam. He has recently completed a second edition of The Archaeology of Southern Africa, which synthesizes the region’s archaeological record over the past three million years. Brian A. Stewart is Associate Professor of Anthropology and Associate Curator of the Museum of Anthropological Archaeology at the University of Michigan. His research focuses on the archaeology of precolonial hunter-gatherers in southern Africa with a particular emphasis on the evolution of the adaptive flexibility that characterizes Homo sapiens. Supported by the National Science Foundation and other bodies, his fieldwork is part of the Adaptations to Marginal Environments in the Middle Stone Age (AMEMSA) Project and explores this theme in two contrasting challenging landscapes, the coastal desert of Namaqualand and the highlands of Lesotho.

34 • Peter J. Mitchell and Brian A. Stewart

Notes   1. South Africa’s small Forest Biome (Mucina and Rutherford 2006), located along the southern Cape coast and coastal forelands, represents another likely long-term ostrich-free region of the subcontinent (cf. Inskeep 1987: 172–74).   2. Another example, which we do not have space to discuss fully here, concerns the widely attested preference for ostrich leg bones as a raw material from which to make arrowpoints and linkshafts (Barrow 1801: 149; Stow 1905: 68, 73; Schapera 1927: 114; Burchell 1953: 142, 149; Sparrman 1975: 196). While these bones do indeed have relatively small marrow cavities and thick shafts that make them highly suitable for these purposes, we suggest that their physical structure does not exhaust their attractions. Rather, the strength, stamina, and, particularly, speed of the ostrich may all have been thought to continue to reside in the arrows made from its bones, contributing to their effectiveness as hunting weapons at the supernatural level. It is thus of interest that at Likoaeng in highland Lesotho the same layer that produced almost all of the site’s ostrich eggshell beads (Layer III) also yielded an ostrich fibula fragment (Plug, Mitchell, and Bailey 2003); as we will discuss, both forms of the bird are likely to have been introduced from some distance, given that the area in question lies well outside the ostrich’s natural habitat (see Stewart, Zhao, et al. 2020).

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36 • Peter J. Mitchell and Brian A. Stewart Hobart, J. H. 2003. “An Old-Fashioned Approach to a Modern Hobby: Fishing in the Lesotho Highlands.” In Researching Africa’s Past: New Perspectives from British Archaeology, edited by P. J. Mitchell, A. Haour, and J. H. Hobart, 44–53. Oxford, UK: Oxbow Books. ———. 2004. “Pitsaneng: Evidence for a Neolithic Lesotho?” Before Farming 4(4): 261–70. Hodder, I. 1984. “Archaeology in 1984.” Antiquity 58(222): 25–32. ———. 2014. “The Entanglements of Humans and Things: A Long-Term View.” New Literary History 45(1): 19–36. Hollmann, J. 2001. “‘Big Pictures’: Insights into Southern African San Rock Paintings of Ostriches.” South African Archaeological Bulletin 56(173/174): 62–75. Humphreys, A. J. B. 1984. “Sociable Arrows.” The Digging Stick 1(1): 2–3. Inskeep, R. R. 1987. Nelson Bay Cave, Cape Province, South Africa: The Holocene Levels. Oxford, UK: British Archaeological Reports. Kaplan, J. 1990. “The Umhlatuzana Rock Shelter Sequence: 100,000 Years of Stone Age History.” Natal Museum Journal of Humanities 2: 1–94. Kaplan, J., and P. J. Mitchell. 2012. “The Archaeology of the Lesotho Highlands Water Project Phases IA and IB.” Southern African Humanities 24: 1–32. Katz, R. 1982. Boiling Energy: Community Healing among the Kalahari Kung. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Keeney, B. 2003. Ropes to God: Experiencing the Bushman Spiritual Universe. Philadelphia: Ringing Rocks Press. ———, ed. 2015. Way of the Bushman: Spiritual Healings and Practices of the Kalahari Ju/’hoansi. Rochester: Bear and Company. Lee, R. B. 1979. The !Kung San: Men, Women and Work in a Foraging Society. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lévi-Strauss, C. 1962. Le Totemisme Aujourd’hui [Totemism Today]. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Lewis-Williams, J. D. 2015. Myth and Meaning: San-Bushman Folklore in Global Context. Walnut Creek: Left Coast Press. Lewis-Williams, J. D., G. Blundell, S. Challis, and J. Hampson. 2000. “Threads of Light: Re-examining a Motif in Southern African San Rock Art.” South African Archaeological Bulletin 55(172): 123–36. Lewis-Williams, J. D., and S. Challis. 2011. Deciphering Ancient Minds: The Mystery of San Bushman Rock Art. London: Thames and Hudson. Lewis-Williams, J. D., and D. G. Pearce. 2004. San Spirituality: Roots, Expression, and Social Consequences. Walnut Creek: AltaMira Press. Loftus, E., P. Roberts, and J. A. Lee-Thorp. 2016. “An Isotopic Generation: Four Decades of Stable Isotope Analysis in African Archaeology.” Azania: Archaeological Research in Africa 51(1): 88–114. Low, C. 2009. “Birds in the Life of KhoeSan: With Particular Reference to Healing and Ostriches.” Alternation 16(2): 64–90. ———. 2011. “Birds and Khoesān: Linking Spirits and Healing with Day-to-Day Life.” Africa 81(2): 295–313.

Enveloping Oneself in Others • 37 Malinowski, B. 1922. Argonauts of the Western Pacific. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul Ltd. Marshall, L. 1999. Nyae Nyae !Kung Beliefs and Rites. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Mazel, A. D. 1989. “People Making History: The Last 10,000 Years of HunterGatherer Communities in the Thukela Basin.” Natal Museum Journal of Humanities 1: 1–168. ———. 1990. “Mhlwazini Cave: The Excavation of Late Holocene Deposits in the Northern Natal Drakensberg, South Africa.” Natal Museum Journal of Humanities 2: 95–133. ———. 1996. “Maqonqo Shelter: The Excavation of Holocene Deposits in the Eastern Biggarsberg, Thukela Basin, South Africa.” Natal Museum Journal of Humanities 8: 1–39. ———. 1997. “Mzinyashana Shelters 1 and 2: Excavation of Mid and Late Holocene Deposits in the Eastern Biggarsberg, Thukela Basin South Africa.” Natal Museum Journal of Humanities 9: 1–35. ———. 1999. “iNkolimahashi Shelter: The Excavation of Later Stone Age Rock Shelter Deposits in the Central Thukela Basin, KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa.” Natal Museum Journal of Humanities 11: 1–21. Miller, J. M., and E. A. Sawchuk. 2019. “Ostrich Eggshell Bead Diameter in the Holocene: Regional Variation with the Spread of Herding in Eastern and Southern Africa.” PLOS ONE 14(11): e0225143. Mitchell, P. J. 1993a. “Archaeological Investigations at Two Lesotho Rock-Shelters: The Terminal Pleistocene/Early Holocene Assemblages from Ha Makotoko and Ntloana Tsoana.” Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 59: 39–60. ———. 1993b. “The Archaeology of Tloutle Rock-Shelter, Maseru District, Lesotho.” Research Reports of the National Museum, Bloemfontein 9(4): 77–132. ———. 1996. “Prehistoric Exchange and Interaction in South-eastern Southern Africa: Marine Shells and Ostrich Eggshell.” African Archaeological Review 13: 35–76. ———. 1999. “Pressure-Flaked Points in Lesotho: Dating, Distribution and Diversity.” South African Archaeological Bulletin 54(170): 90–96. ———. 2002. The Archaeology of Southern Africa. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2003. “Anyone for Hxaro? Thoughts on the Theory and Practice of Exchange in Southern African Later Stone Age Archaeology.” In Researching Africa’s Past: New Perspectives from British Archaeology, edited by P. J. Mitchell, A. Haour, and J. H. Hobart, 35–43. Oxford, UK: Oxbow Books. ———. 2009. “Hunter-Gatherers and Farmers: Some Implications of 2000 Years of Interaction in the Maloti-Drakensberg Region of Southern Africa.” Senri Ethnological Studies 73: 15–46. Mitchell, P. J., and C. Arthur. 2014. “Ha Makotoko: Later Stone Age Occupation across the Pleistocene/Holocene Transition in Western Lesotho.” Journal of African Archaeology 12(2): 205–32.

38 • Peter J. Mitchell and Brian A. Stewart Mucina, L., and M. C. Rutherford, eds. 2006. The Vegetation of South Africa, Lesotho and Swaziland. Pretoria: South African National Biodiversity Institute. Opperman, H. 1987. The Later Stone Age of the Drakensberg Range and Its Foothills. Oxford, UK: British Archaeological Reports. ———. 1996. “Excavation of a Later Stone Age Deposit in Strathalan Cave A, Maclear District, Northeastern Cape, South Africa.” In Aspects of African Archaeology, edited by G. Pwiti and R. Soper, 335–42. Harare: University of Zimbabwe Press. ———. 1999. “A 300-Year-Old Living Floor in Strathalan Cave A, Maclear District, Eastern Cape.” Southern African Field Archaeology 8(2): 76–80. Orpen, J. M. 1874. “A Glimpse into the Mythology of the Maluti Bushmen.” Cape Monthly Magazine 9(1): 1–13. Orton, J. D. 2008. “Later Stone Age Ostrich Eggshell Bead Manufacture in the Northern Cape, South Africa.” Journal of Archaeological Science 35(7): 1765–75. Ouzman, S. 1995. “The Fish, the Shaman and the Peregrination: San Rock Paintings of Mormyrid Fish as Religious and Social Metaphors.” Southern African Field Archaeology 4(1): 3–17. Ouzman, S., and L. Wadley. 1997. “A History in Paint and Stone from Rose Cottage Cave, South Africa.” Antiquity 71(272): 386–404. Plug, I. 1993. “The Macrofaunal Remains from Mhlwazini Cave, a Holocene Site in the Natal Drakensberg.” Natal Museum Journal of Humanities 2: 135–42. ———. 1997. “Late Pleistocene and Holocene Hunter-Gatherers in the Eastern Highlands of South Africa and Lesotho: A Faunal Interpretation.” Journal of Archaeological Science 24(8): 715–27. Plug, I., and P. J. Mitchell. 2008. “Sehonghong: Hunter-Gatherer Utilization of Animal Resources in the Highlands of Lesotho.” Annals of the Transvaal Museum 45(1): 31–53. Plug, I., P. J. Mitchell, and G. N. Bailey. 2003. “Animal Remains from Likoaeng, an Open-Air River Site, and Its Place in the Post-Classic Wilton of Lesotho and the Eastern Free State, South Africa.” South African Journal of Science 99(3): 143–51. Pluskowski, A. 2004. “Narwhals or Unicorns? Exotic Animals as Material Culture in Medieval Europe.” European Journal of Archaeology 7(3): 291–313. Schapera, I. 1927. “Bows and Arrows of the Bushmen.” Man 27(71–72): 113–17. Schmidt, S. 1995. Als die Tiere noch Menschen waren Urzeit- und Trickstergeschichten der Damara und Nama [When Animals Were Still Human. Prehistoric and Trickster Stories of the Damara and Nama]. Cologne: Rüdiger Köppe Verlag. Sinclair, I., P. Hockey, W. Tarboton, and P. Ryan. 2011. SASOL Birds of Southern Africa. Cape Town: Struik Nature. Smits, L. G. A. 1973. “Rock Painting Sites in the Upper Senqu Valley, Lesotho.” South African Archaeological Bulletin 28(109/110): 32–38. Solomon, A. C. 2016. “Reviewing the Sehonghong Rainmakers: Visual Interpre-

Enveloping Oneself in Others • 39 tations and Copies of a South African Rock Art Motif.” South African Archaeological Bulletin 71(203): 27–35. Sparrman, A. 1975. A Voyage to the Cape of Good Hope Towards the Antarctic Polar Circle Round the World and to the Country of the Hottentots and the Caffres from the Year 1772–1776. Cape Town: Van Riebeeck Society. Stewart, B. A., and P. J. Mitchell. 2018. “Late Quaternary Palaeoclimates and Human-Environment Dynamics of the Maloti-Drakensberg Region, Southern Africa: A Review.” Quaternary Science Reviews 196: 1–20. Stewart, B. A., A. G. Parker, G. Dewar, M. Morley, and L. Allott. 2016. “Follow the Senqu: Maloti-Drakensberg Paleoenvironments and Implications for Early Human Dispersals.” In Africa from MIS 6–2: Population Dynamics and Paleoenvironments, edited by S. A. Jones and B. A. Stewart, 247–72. Dordrecht: Springer. Stewart, B. A., Y. Zhao, P. J. Mitchell, G. Dewar, J. D. Gleason, and J. D. Blum. 2020. “Ostrich Eggshell Bead Strontium Isotopes Reveal Persistent Macroscale Social Networking across Late Quaternary Southern Africa.” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences (USA) 117(12): 6453–62. Stow, G. W. 1905. The Native Races of South Africa. London: Swan Sonnenschein. Tanaka, J. 1980. The San: Hunter-Gatherers of the Kalahari. A Study in Ecological Anthropology. Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press. Thorp, C. R. 2000. Hunter-Gatherers and Farmers: An Enduring Frontier in the Caledon Valley, South Africa. Oxford, UK: British Archaeological Reports. Valiente Noailles, C. 1988. El circulo y el fuego: sociedad y derecho de los Kúa [The Circle and the Fire: Society and Law of the Kúa]. Buenos Aires: EDIAR. Viestad, V. M. 2018. Dress as Social Relations: An Interpretation of Bushman Dress. Johannesburg: Wits University Press. Vinnicombe, P. V. 1976. People of the Eland: Rock Paintings of the Drakensberg Bushmen as a Reflection of their Life and Thought. Pietermaritzburg: University of Natal Press. Wadley, L. 1987. Later Stone Age Hunters and Gatherers of the Southern Transvaal: Social and Ecological Interpretations. Oxford, UK: British Archaeological Reports. ———. 1996. “The Robberg Levels of Rose Cottage Cave: Technology, Environments and Spatial Analysis.” South African Archaeological Bulletin 51(164): 64–76. ———. 2000a. “The Wilton and Pre-Ceramic Post-Classic Wilton Industries at Rose Cottage Cave and Their Context in the South African Sequence.” South African Archaeological Bulletin 55(172): 90–106. ———. 2000b. “The Early Holocene Layers of Rose Cottage Cave, Eastern Free State: Technology, Spatial Patterns and Environment.” South African Archaeological Bulletin 55(171): 18–31. Wadley, L., and G. Laue. 2000. “Adullam Cave, Eastern Free State, South Africa: Test Excavations at a Multiple-Occupation Oakhurst Industry Site.” Natal Museum Journal of Humanities 12: 1–13.

40 • Peter J. Mitchell and Brian A. Stewart Werner, J. J., and J. M. Miller. 2018. “Distinguishing Stone Age Drilling Techniques on Ostrich Eggshell Beads: An Experimental Approach.” Journal of Archaeological Science: Reports 22(12): 108–14. Whallon, R. 2006. “Social Networks and Information: Non-‘Utilitarian’ Mobility among Hunter-Gatherers.” Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 25(2): 259–70. Whitelaw, G. 2009. “‘Their Village Is Where They Kill Game’: Nguni Interactions with the San.” In The Eland’s People: New Perspectives in the Rock Art of the Maloti-Drakensberg Bushmen: Essays in Memory of Patricia Vinnicombe, edited by P. J. Mitchell and B. W. Smith, 139–63. Johannesburg: Wits University Press. Wiessner, P. 1977. “Hxaro: A Regional System of Reciprocity for Reducing Risk among the !Kung San.” PhD diss., University of Michigan. ————. 1982. “Risk, Reciprocity and Social Influences on !Kung San Economics.” In Politics and History in Band Societies, edited by E. Leacock and R. B. Lee, 61–84. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 1983. “Style and Social Information in Kalahari San Projectile Points.” American Antiquity 48(2): 253–76. ———. 1986. “!Kung San Networks in a Generational Perspective.” In The Past and Future of !Kung Ethnography: Critical Reflections and Symbolic Perspectives, edited by M. Biesele, R. Gordon, and R. B. Lee, 103–29. Hamburg: Helmut Buske Verlag. ———. 1994. “Pathways of the Past: !Kung San Hxaro Exchange and History.” In Überlebensstrategien in Afrika, edited by M. Bollig and F. Klees, 101–24. Cologne: Heinrich-Barth Institut. ———. 1998. “On Network Analysis: The Potential for Understanding (and Misunderstanding) !Kung Hxaro.” Current Anthropology 39(4): 514–19. ———. 2002. “Hunting, Healing, and Hxaro Exchange: A Long-Term Perspective on !Kung (Ju/’hoansi) Large Game Hunting.” Evolution of Human Behavior 23(6): 407–36. Wingfield, C. 2009. Patterns of Connection: Ostrich Eggshell Beads, the Environment and Sociality in the Kalahari. Saarbrucken: VDM Verlag.

CHAPTER 2

Manufacturing Social Landscapes Bead Production, Exchange, and Social Connections at Grassridge Rockshelter, South Africa Benjamin Collins, Amy Hatton, April Nowell, and Christopher J. H. Ames

H Introduction Beads and ornaments are important artifacts for understanding the nature of symbolism within Paleolithic contexts, as they reflect past styles and identities at multiple social and geographic scales (Abadía and Nowell 2015; Kuhn and Stiner 2007; Vanhaeren 2005). Such artifacts are often used for personal adornment and decoration and have the potential to illuminate changes in the establishment, maintenance, and fragmentation of past social networks (Mazel 1989; Mitchell 1996; Stewart et al. 2020). Here, we focus on the importance of beads in the southern African context and how culturing one’s body with ostrich eggshell (OES) and gastropod shell beads can inform past social networks. Specifically, we focus on how OES and gastropod beads are used as proxy evidence for social interactions at the regional level, as well as their importance for facilitating these interactions and maintaining social networks across space and through time. Our focus further emphasizes the importance and social significance of bead manufacture, a facet of bead research that is underrepresented in southern Africa.

42 • Benjamin Collins, Amy Hatton, April Nowell, and Christopher J. H. Ames

This chapter discusses OES and gastropod bead assemblages from Grassridge Rockshelter, which is located in the high-altitude interior grasslands of the Eastern Cape of South Africa. Grassridge presents a unique vantage from which to explore assemblages and social networks, as it is located at the intersection of several major biogeoclimatic zones and the site has yielded a large assemblage of OES beads and a small assemblage of gastropod beads that date to two periods, the terminal Pleistocene (TP 13,500 years ago [13.5 ka]–11.5 ka) and the midHolocene (7.3–6.7 ka). Moreover, the site sits in the under-researched interior region of southern Africa and therefore offers an opportunity to explore narratives of social networks during these periods from a perspective other than that of the well-studied coastal, near-coastal, and montane regions (Mitchell 1996). We argue that Grassridge Rockshelter was an important location on the social landscape for the production of OES beads, and by proxy the manufacture of OES jewelry This argument stems from the ratio of incomplete beads, or preform, to complete beads, as well as the absence of preforms from other well-described sites in the region. We also comment on the nature and extent of possible social networks within the broader region, and we argue for an interconnected social landscape during the past 15 ka that encompassed geographically diverse bioregions.

OES and Gastropod Beads as Proxies for Social Connectivity OES beads are generally created as components of jewelry, such as headbands and necklaces, and to add decoration to clothing and bags, and they form an important and vibrant component of Indigenous culture in southern Africa (Collins 2021; Hitchcock 2012; Wingfield 2003). Ethnographic research indicates that the manufacture of OES bead jewelry connotes style and identity within and between communities, and that OES bead jewelry is an important exchange item between groups. Specifically, OES bead jewelry is a valued exchange item for hxaro, which is a practice of exchange among Indigenous San groups. Hxaro consists of the exchange of gifts, especially OES bead jewelry, between individuals from different communities, and hxaro partners are selected not only on individual qualities but also on how they relate to one another across the landscape. In this respect, hxaro is argued to represent a social safety net for groups who experience hardships and periods of scarcity, as they can visit their hxaro partners across different parts of the landscape when needed (Lee 1979; Silberbauer 1981; Wiessner 1982,

Manufacturing Social Landscapes • 43

2002, 1977). The recovery of OES beads from archaeological contexts in southern Africa is therefore argued to provide proxies for OES bead jewelry that form an important hxaro-like system of exchange. OES beads therefore act as heuristics for guiding research and increasing our understanding of past social networks and connections, as well as how they may have changed through time (Collins 2021). It is important to note that the ethnographic studies that inform hxaro were undertaken in and near the Kalahari Desert. However, hxaro is reflective of an Indigenous tradition that was widespread throughout southern Africa prior to the arrival of European colonists, and it was during colonization that Indigenous San populations living in regions outside of the Kalahari were forced from their traditional lands or consumed within colonial societies (Adhikari 2011). Gastropod shells provide another major raw material source for the manufacture of beads in southern Africa. Nassarius kraussianus are of particular interest, as early examples of beads made from this material demonstrate their antiquity as decorations and components of jewelry for culturing the body throughout Africa during the Pleistocene (Bouzouggar et al. 2007; Henshilwood et al. 2004; Mazel 1989; Mitchell 1996). Moreover, Nassarius are marine gastropods, therefore they must come from coastal contexts. If they are recovered in non-coastal contexts, then they must have been transported through human action, and likely reflect exchange between different groups (Mitchell 1996).

Grassridge Rockshelter and the Bead Assemblages Grassridge Rockshelter is located in the highland interior grasslands of the Eastern Cape, South Africa. The site sits at the base of the Stormberg Mountains at approximately 1,500 m above sea level and 200 km inland in a straight line from the Indian Ocean (Figure 2.1). Grassridge was initially excavated by Dr. Hermanus Opperman in 1979, who focused on 6 m2 in the southern part of the shelter. Opperman identified a rich archaeological sequence consisting of a late Pleistocene (LP) occupation and a mid-Holocene (MH) occupation. Both occupations contained lithic and faunal assemblages, and the MH occupation also contained worked bone tools and a large OES bead assemblage (Opperman 1987). The Grassridge Archaeological and Palaeoenvironmental Project (GAPP) initiated a new phase of research at Grassridge starting in 2014. GAPP focused on expanding the excavation at Grassridge, as well as refining the chrono-stratigraphy of the occupation horizons (Ames et al.

44 • Benjamin Collins, Amy Hatton, April Nowell, and Christopher J. H. Ames

Figure 2.1.  Map displaying the sites discussed in the text, as well as the major bioregions for this area following Mucina and Rutherford (2006). © Benjamin Collins, Amy Hatton, April Nowell, and Christopher J. H. Ames.

2020; Collins et al. 2017). In addition to increasing the artifact samples for all occupations, this research has refined the chronologies for the late Pleistocene (~43–28 ka) and MH occupations (~7.3–6.8 ka), and it has identified a previously unknown terminal Pleistocene (TP) occupation (~13.5–11.6 ka). Moreover, this research has reconciled Opperman’s (1987) initial stratigraphic divisions with recent radiocarbon and luminescence dates to determine that one of Opperman’s layers (LBS) that

Manufacturing Social Landscapes • 45

was originally classified as MH actually spans the chrono-stratigraphic boundaries between the LP, TP, and MH occupations (Figure 2.2). In this regard, Opperman’s (1987) LP boundary accurately reconciles with the new chrono-stratigraphy, and layers VB, BR, HSK, and AS accurately reconcile with the MH. The latter facilitates inclusion of the OES bead and gastropod ornament assemblage from Opperman’s MH layers, excluding LBS, within the broader MH assemblage discussed here. The artifact assemblages considered here consist of the OES and gastropod bead assemblages previously described from Opperman’s (1987) MH layers (i.e., VB, BR, HSK, and AS) and the OES and gastropod assemblages recovered by GAPP from 2014 to 2016 (Collins et al. 2017, 2020), as well as new data from the OES and gastropod bead assemblages recovered from the 2019 field season conducted by GAPP. These assemblages provide insight into bead manufacture and use at Grassridge and facilitate comparison with other well-described sites in the region, allowing us to expand the understanding of social networks during these periods.

Figure 2.2.  The north section from Opperman’s original excavation displaying both Opperman’s (1987) original stratigraphic divisions, as well as the chronostratigraphy developed by GAPP (Ames et al. 2020). © Benjamin Collins, Amy Hatton, April Nowell, and Christopher J. H. Ames.

46 • Benjamin Collins, Amy Hatton, April Nowell, and Christopher J. H. Ames

Methods The OES and gastropod bead assemblages recovered by GAPP were analyzed following standard protocols that record color, manufacturing stage, maximum diameter, maximum aperture, thickness, and the presence of use-wear and residues (Collins et al. 2020; Collins and Steele 2017; Hatton et al. 2022; Kandel and Conard 2005; Miller and Wang 2021; Miller 2019; Orton 2008). OES fragments and beads in Orton’s stage II-V were considered preforms (i.e., beads that were not completed). Finished beads consisted of OES beads in Orton’s stages VI and VII, as these stages represent beads that have been ground and are ready for use as jewelry and/or decoration. Gastropod beads, specifically Nassarius beads, were analyzed for maximum length, maximum width, location of perforation, and presence and location of use-wear (Collins et al. 2020; Dayet et al. 2017; d’Errico et al. 2005). An important distinction between OES and Nassarius beads are the methods of manufacture: OES beads are considered disk beads, as they are trimmed from a fragment of OES, while Nassarius beads are made by perforating a hole in an entire gastropod shell and are therefore more spherical (d’Errico et al. 2020). Maximum length and width were measured for all preforms and broken beads that retained less than 50 percent of the original base. Maximum diameter and aperture diameter were recorded for complete finished beads and for those that retained more than 50 percent of the original bead. While preforms in stages II-V do not have apertures (drilling has begun but has not yet perforated the shell), maximum diameter of the drill hole was measured and recorded as the maximum aperture. Use-wear traces were identified using a 20x hand lens and described as either facets or striations (Collins et al. 2020; Dayet et al. 2017: 639). A selection of OES and Nassarius beads that displayed clear signs of use-wear were further analyzed using a Zeiss SteREO Discovery.V20 microscope. To build a regional comparative database we searched for welldescribed archaeological sites within the southeastern region of southern Africa with OES and gastropod bead assemblages. We report the level from which the bead assemblages at each site were recovered, as well as the date, where reported, and how the beads were classified (either finished beads or preforms). The latter classification relies on the authors’ identification, as most of the data were published prior to Orton’s (2008) and Kandel and Conard’s (2005) classification schemes.

Manufacturing Social Landscapes • 47

Results OES Beads from Grassridge The OES bead assemblage from Grassridge was expanded during the 2019 field season (Table 2.1; Figure 2.3). These finds increase the total number of OES beads and preforms from 413 (Collins et al. 2020) to 488, with the addition of seventeen finished beads and fifty-eight preforms. These beads were all manufactured following Pathway 1, where the bead is perforated first and then trimmed into a rounded disk (Orton 2008). The beads and preforms recovered from the 2019 excavation were excavated from 0.2 m3 of sediment from 1 m2 square (unit C5), indicating a relatively high density of OES beads and preforms in this area (seventy-five beads and preforms within 0.2 m3 of excavation, which equates to thirty-seven beads and preforms per 1 m3). The TP occupation was not excavated during the 2019 field season. OES beads were recovered in all stages of manufacture during the 2019 season, Table 2.1.  Summary of OES beads recovered from GAPP’s and Opperman’s excavations at Grassridge Rockshelter.

Feature

GAPP Total

GAPP— 2019 Only

Opperman

GRS Total

TP (Total) MH (Total)

MH

MH

TP (Total) MH (Total)

Complete beads

8

109

14

140

8

Broken complete beads

1

53

3

—

1

Complete beads total

9

162

17

—

9

Preforms

28

326

58

553

28

879

Total (beads + preforms)

37

488

75

693

37

1181

Avg. max exterior diameter

3.5

4.4

3.1–3.9

3–6

1.7

2.1

Aperture diameter range

1.3–2.2

1.1–3.2

Avg. thickness

1.5

1.5

1–1.7

0.7–2

Ext. diameter range Avg. max aperture diameter

Thickness range

249

48 • Benjamin Collins, Amy Hatton, April Nowell, and Christopher J. H. Ames

Figure 2.3.  OES beads (A–C) and Nassarius shell beads (D and E) from the mid-Holocene occupation at Grassridge. © Benjamin Collins, Amy Hatton, April Nowell, and Christopher J. H. Ames.

strengthening the hypothesis that OES beads were being manufactured at Grassridge (Collins et al. 2017, 2020). The ratio of finished beads to preforms is approximately 1:3 during the TP and approximately 1:2 during the MH, further indicating the importance of bead manufacture at Grassridge. As noted in Collins et al. (2020: 197), there are technological differences between the TP and MH OES bead assemblages. These differences hold with the inclusion of the 2019 materials and reflect significant differences in finished bead diameters (unequal variances twotailed t-test, t = -3.41, df = 9, p < 0.01), as well as finished bead aperture (unequal variances two-tailed t-test, t = -3.34, df = 10, p < 0.01). There was no difference in thickness between the two occupations (unequal variances two-tailed t-test, t = -0.32, df = 9, p = > 0.5).

Gastropod Beads and Ornaments from Grassridge The worked gastropod assemblage was only marginally increased during the 2019 excavation, with one additional Nassarius shell bead being recovered from the MH, as well as two Achatina shell beads (Table 2.2). As Nassarius are a marine species, this find further strengthens the MH coastal connections evidenced at Grassridge through the recovery of

Manufacturing Social Landscapes • 49 Table 2.2.  Summary of the gastropod shell recovered from GAPP’s and Opperman’s excavations at Grassridge Rockshelter. GAPP TP

MH

Opperman Provenance

Nassarius bead

3

10*

0

marine

Natica sp. bead

0

1

0

marine

cf. Scutellastra sp.

0

1

0

marine

Haliotis sp.

0

1

0

marine

Unio caffra

0

1

1**

freshwater

Achatina sp.

0

2

0

terrestrial

* One Nassarius bead was recovered from the 2019 excavation. ** Opperman (1987: 158) reports the recovery of two freshwater mussel pendants, one from layer AS and one from layer LBS. LBS is a mixed context (Ames et al. 2020), and therefore this artifact was disregarded from the current study.

marine gastropod shells and beads (Figure 2.3). Achatina beads have not been previously recovered from Grassridge, and their presence further extends the range of worked raw materials recovered from the MH occupation at the site, which spans gastropods from marine, freshwater, and terrestrial contexts. Moreover, one of the Achatina shells falls within the diameter, aperture, and thickness measurements seen for OES beads, and may have contributed to (predominantly) OES bead jewelry and decorations. The other is a larger oval-shaped perforated disk.

Comparative Database We identified fourteen sites in the broader region that provide information regarding OES beads and preforms (Figure 2.1, Table 2.3) (Hatton et al. 2022). Several publications lumped broken beads and preforms together into one category when reporting the data, which is challenging for the data set. As we have no way of distinguishing between the broken beads and preforms, we are including these assemblages as preforms in order to maintain these sites within the database, with the caveat that this comparative research be considered a heuristic. Of note is the lack of preforms recovered from the majority of sites, including sites such as Highlands Rockshelter, which contains a large number of OES beads and a very large OES fragment assemblage (n=21,845) (Deacon 1976). Preforms are only present in substantial numbers (>100 specimens) at Melkhoutboom (Deacon 1976), Maqonqo Shelter (Mazel 1996), and Grassridge Rockshelter (Opperman 1987), and are associated with layers that generally date to the MH.

Layer

1

1

1

1

1

1

1

1c

1

1

2

2

2

Site

Ravenscraig

Ravenscraig

Ravenscraig

Ravenscraig

Ravenscraig

Ravenscraig

Ravenscraig

Bonawe

Te Vrede

Te Vrede

Te Vrede

Te Vrede

Te Vrede

Period

2250

460

460

Date (bp)

80

45

45

Error

2209

474

474

Date (calBP)

2356 to 2004

535 to 327

535 to 327

Range (calBP, 95%) 20–25

Pta-1711

70–75

65–70

60–65

45–50

40–45

55–60

60–65

45–50

40–45

35–40

Pta-3192 30–35

Pta-3192 25–30

Lab ID

2

2

1

2

1

1

1

1

3

3

3

4 1*

3.5

4

4

4

5

4

4

8

5

5

6

5

1

Depth below Mean surface Beads Beads diameter OES (cm) (Finished) (Preforms) (mm) frags

2

2

1

2

1

1

1

1

3

3

3

1

4

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

Date from charcoal +-30cm below surface

ContempoBead rary ostrich (total) sightings Comments

Opperman 1987

Opperman 1987

Opperman 1987

References

Table 2.3.  OES assemblages for sites in the Drakensberg region. Dates have been included where available and calibrated using the SHCal20 curve (Hogg et al. 2020). Several publications have lumped broken beads and preforms together, these are indicated as preforms with an asterisk. Contemporary ostrich sightings are included for each site, following Sinclair et al. (2011).

50 • Benjamin Collins, Amy Hatton, April Nowell, and Christopher J. H. Ames

Layer

1

2

3

4

5

VB

BR

HSK

AS

LBS

A2

Pt

Ja

Ph

CM

Site

Colwinton

Colwinton

Colwinton

Colwinton

Colwinton

Grassridge

Grassridge

Grassridge

Grassridge

Grassridge

Rose Cottage Cave

Rose Cottage Cave

Rose Cottage Cave

Rose Cottage Cave

Rose Cottage Cave

6850

6300

6280

6090

6270

1890

920

70

Oakhurst

Oakhurst

Oakhurst

Wilton

8160

7630

post-classic 2240 Wilton

Period

Date (bp)

70

80

60

100

60

70

80

40

45

50

40

Error

9073

8395

2212

7663

7180

7140

6911

7123

1782

786

68

Date (calBP)

9396 to 8773

8546 to 8193

2342 to 2021

7918 to 7486

7317 to 6994

7312 to 6954

7159 to 6682

7259 to 6999

1888 to 1622

917 to 684

252 to 4

Range (calBP, 95%)

Pta-7122

Pta-6783

Pta-7117

Pta-2949

Pta-2952

Pta-2713

Pta-2970

Pta-2550 85

Pta-2549 50

Pta-2608 35

Pta-2547 8

Lab ID

1

12

17

11

33

71

28

8

2

1

4

6

3

1

3

3

3

17*

53*

338*

138*

24*

1*

5

5

5

4

5

5

5

4

4

5

436

1219

629

37

341

613

1441

1486

815

352

Depth below Mean surface Beads Beads diameter OES (cm) (Finished) (Preforms) (mm) frags

2

3

15

20

28

86

409

166

32

3

3

4

6

3

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ContempoBead rary ostrich (total) sightings Comments

(continued)

Wadley 2000b

Wadley 2000b

Wadley 2000b

Wadley 2000a

Wadley 2000a

Opperman 1987

Opperman 1987

References

Manufacturing Social Landscapes • 51

Layer

H

LB

S

2S

I

II

III

IV

DC

GAP

GWA

ALP

SA

Site

Rose Cottage Cave

Rose Cottage Cave

Highlands

Highlands

Highlands

Highlands

Highlands

Highlands

Sehonghong

Sehonghong

Sehonghong

Sehonghong

Sehonghong

4500

3570

9560

8614

Date (bp)

Oakhurst

Later Oakhurst

Wilton

9280

7290

5950

post-classic 1710 Wilton

post-classic Wilton

Robberg

Oakhurst

Period

Table 2.3.  Continued

45

80

70

20

60

50

70

38

Error

10409

8079

6740

1566

5115

3815

10858

9539

Date (calBP)

10562 to 10253

8305 to 7875

6940 to 6557

1688 to 1528

5303 to 4879

3974 to 3648

11139 to 10584

9660 to 9479

Range (calBP, 95%)

Pta-6368

Pta-6278

Pta-6154

Pta-6063

Pta-536

Pta-563

Pta-7275

Pta-5560

Lab ID

40

171

104

31

141

9

2

5

27

7

1

3

6

3

4

2384

3312

2835

6912

4614

1788

7

236

Depth below Mean surface Beads Beads diameter OES (cm) (Finished) (Preforms) (mm) frags

40

171

104

31

141

9

2

5

27

7

5

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ContempoBead rary ostrich (total) sightings Comments

Pargeter et al. 2017

Pargeter et al. 2017

Pargeter et al. 2017

Pargeter et al. 2017

Pargeter, Loftus, and Mitchell 2017

Deacon 1976

Deacon 1976

Deacon 1976

Deacon 1976

Deacon 1976

Deacon 1976

Wadley 1996b

Wadley 2000b

References

52 • Benjamin Collins, Amy Hatton, April Nowell, and Christopher J. H. Ames

9215

50

2229

2341 to 2103

Pta-6542

Pta-6543

3

2260

1405 to 1312

Mzinyashana 1 Layer 6

1353

12

20

8

11

2

79

2

2

5

1

1520

Pta-6538

Pta-6541

Pta-6715

OxA-27313

OxA-32921

OxA-32924

OxA-32924

Pta-6065

Mzinyashana 1 Layer 5

925 to 7thirty-seven

764 to 566

663 to 539

10494 to 102thirty-seven

25076 to 24357

15553 to 15144

14853 to 14177

13420 to 12518

Lab ID

58

841

684

603

10341

24773

15329

14476

12982

Date (calBP)

4

11

46

4

Depth below Mean surface Beads Beads diameter OES (cm) (Finished) (Preforms) (mm) frags

Mzinyashana 1 Layer 4

50

50

50

45

20600 100

970

Phase 6–4

Ha Makotoko

Early Robberg

12870 55

Mzinyashana 1 Layer 3

BAS

Sehonghong

Robberg

12420 50

790

RBL/ CLBRF

Sehonghong

Robberg

Error

11090 230

Mzinyashana 1 Layer 2

RF

Sehonghong

Robberg

Period

660

BARF

Sehonghong

Mzinyashana 1 Layer 1

Layer

Site

Date (bp)

Range (calBP, 95%)

3

12

58

8

11

2

79

2

2

5

1

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

Mitchell and Arthur 2014

Pargeter et al. 2017

Pargeter et al. 2017

Pargeter et al. 2017

Pargeter et al. 2017

References

Mazel 1997

Mazel 1997

(continued)

1 piece of ground OES Mazel 1997 - described as ground rims of water container

1 piece of ground OES Mazel 1997 - described as ground rims of water container

1 piece of ground OES - described as ground rims of water container; radiocarbon date of 1750 BP rejected by Mitchell

use-wear facets on one bead

Mazel 1997

It is not specified Mazel 1997 whether the beads are complete or not for the entire assemblage

ContempoBead rary ostrich (total) sightings Comments

Manufacturing Social Landscapes • 53

Layer 1

Layer 2

Layer 3

Layer 4

Layer 5

Layer 6

Layer 7

Layer 8

Maqonqo Shelter

Maqonqo Shelter

Maqonqo Shelter

Maqonqo Shelter

Maqonqo Shelter

Maqonqo Shelter

Maqonqo Shelter

Maqonqo Shelter

5680

4790

4140

4790

4300

4080

3560

70

60

60

60

20

25

60

130

6430

5488

4632

5488

4841

4510

3798

4649

6623 to 6296

5591 to 5323

4827 to 4426

5591 to 5323

4873 to 4654

4786 to 4419

3978 to 3639

5021 to 4247

Pta-6253

Pta-5898

Pta-6256

Pta-5898

Pta-5900

Pta-6245

Pta-6244

Pta-6535

Pta-6540

7

7

18

8

12

18

8

10

3

4170

4787 to 4161

Mzinyashana 1 Layer 11

4435

13

13

8

60

Pta-6539

Pta-6700

4010

3157 to 2890

2850 to 2466

Mzinyashana 1 Layer 10

3027

2702

Lab ID

23*

17*

17*

40*

64*

57*

20*

18*

973

588

582

542

511

411

193

328

2

4

1

Depth below Mean surface Beads Beads diameter OES (cm) (Finished) (Preforms) (mm) frags

40

20

60

Error

Date (calBP)

Range (calBP, 95%)

Mzinyashana 1 Layer 9

2930

Mzinyashana 1 Layer 8

Period

2630

Layer

Date (bp)

Mzinyashana 1 Layer 7

Site

Table 2.3.  Continued

30

24

35

48

76

75

28

28

3

8

40

13

13

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

References

Mazel 1997

Mazel 1997

Mazel 1997

2 ground OES frags

1 ochre-stained OES frag

2 ochre-stained OES frags

Mazel 1996

Mazel 1996

Mazel 1996

Mazel 1996

Mazel 1996

Mazel 1996

Mazel 1996

1 decorated OES frag, 1 Mazel 1996 ground OES frag

1 ochre-stained bead

1 ochre-stained bead

1 piece of ground OES Mazel 1997 - described as ground rims of water container

1 piece of ground OES Mazel 1997 - described as ground rims of water container

ContempoBead rary ostrich (total) sightings Comments

54 • Benjamin Collins, Amy Hatton, April Nowell, and Christopher J. H. Ames

Layer

Layer 9

Layer 10

Layer 11

Layer 12

Layer 13

Layer 14

Interior

SS

BGL

WC

CCL

CSL-UP

CSL-LR

Site

Maqonqo Shelter

Maqonqo Shelter

Maqonqo Shelter

Maqonqo Shelter

Maqonqo Shelter

Maqonqo Shelter

Tloutle

Tloutle

Tloutle

Tloutle

Tloutle

Tloutle

Tloutle

Period

7230

6910

6140

5080

715

7460

8670

6300

Date (bp)

80

80

100

80

65

140

140

80

Error

8009

7717

6979

5786

625

8228

9674

7172

Date (calBP)

8181 to 7845

7921 to 7578

7253 to 6736

5930 to 5600

723 to 546

8516 to 7961

10158 to 9328

7416 to 6949

Range (calBP, 95%)

Pta-5171

Pta-5162

Pta-5158

OxA-4068

OxA-4069

Pta-6260

Pta-6259

Pta-6258

Lab ID

4

31

51

4

8

8

9

10

17

13

2

6*

9*

20*

28*

19*

30*

3.8

4

4.4

4.6

316

91

67

19

12

1

566

824

923

1295

1016

759

Depth below Mean surface Beads Beads diameter OES (cm) (Finished) (Preforms) (mm) frags

4

33

51

4

14

17

29

38

36

43

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

Mazel 1996

Mazel 1996

Mazel 1996

Mazel 1996

Mazel 1996

References

(continued)

Mitchell 1993

Mitchell 1993

Mitchell 1993

Mitchell 1993

Mitchell 1993

Mitchell 1993

Mitchell 1993

1 ochre-stained OES Mazel 1996 frag; Mazel suggest age of 8000 for layers 13 and 15

Mazel suggest age of 8000 for layers 13 and 14

1 ochre-stained OES frag

ContempoBead rary ostrich (total) sightings Comments

Manufacturing Social Landscapes • 55

18667

18874 to 18287

UW-233

GAK-1538

5

4

2

15400 120

12757 to 116thirty-seven

PTA-666

Melkhoutboom B Shelter

12291

8592 to 8210

10500 190

8425

Melkhoutboom RF Shelter

80

UW-234

7660

8314 to 7882

Melkhoutboom MBS Shelter

8087

8

80

141

7300

PTA-668

24

Melkhoutboom WBM Shelter

7933 to 7664

PTA-680

57

7776

6930 to 6444

Melkhoutboom M Shelter

65

6678

6*

19*

57*

229*

303*

76*

6980

90

Melkhoutboom W Shelter

11

10

5900

PTA-706

42

Melkhoutboom MB Shelter

3206 to 2758

Pta-5172

16*

2961

9890 to 9490

2870

90

9628

Lab ID

Melkhoutboom CAF Shelter

Middle Post-Wilton layers (ST, DG, DG2, AG)

Tandjesberg Shelter

70

Error

Date (calBP) 4

393

107

160

302

1487

1027

130

82

32

96

21

594

Depth below Mean surface Beads Beads diameter OES (cm) (Finished) (Preforms) (mm) frags

7*

BS

Tloutle

8680

Date (bp)

Range (calBP, 95%)

Melkhoutboom OMB Shelter

GS

Tloutle

Period

Layer

Site

Table 2.3.  Continued

11

4

21

65

286

444

100

27

7

52

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches common

ostriches absent

ostriches absent

2 decorated frags

8 decorated frags

1 decorated frag

1 decorated OES frag

ContempoBead rary ostrich (total) sightings Comments

Deacon 1976

Deacon 1976

Deacon 1976

Deacon 1976

Deacon 1976

Deacon 1976

Deacon 1976

Deacon 1976

Deacon 1976

Wadley and McLaren 1998

Mitchell 1993

Mitchell 1993

References

56 • Benjamin Collins, Amy Hatton, April Nowell, and Christopher J. H. Ames

Manufacturing Social Landscapes • 57

Discussion OES Bead Manufacture at Grassridge GAPP has recovered thirty-seven OES beads and preforms from the TP and 488 OES beads and preforms from the MH occupations at Grassridge. When these are added to the OES bead assemblage collected by Opperman for the MH (Table 2.3), this value increases to 1181 OES beads and preforms for the MH. This is the largest number of OES beads and preforms recovered from one chrono-stratigraphically secure occupation in the region, and strongly attests to the importance of OES bead manufacture at Grassridge during the MH. The evidence for bead manufacture is demonstrated by the presence of beads in all stages of production, with preforms being more frequent within the assemblage than finished beads (Table 2.1). Although Opperman’s (1987) data conflated broken finished beads with preforms, the number of broken finished beads recovered by GAPP’s excavations is generally less than 50 percent of the complete finished beads. If this pattern is consistent in the OES bead assemblage recovered by Opperman, then Opperman’s data likely reflect a high number of preforms. In this respect, we can estimate that based on Opperman’s reporting of 140 complete finished beads, we should see about 70 finished broken beads and therefore about 483 preforms from the 1979 assemblage (Table 2.3). This puts an estimate for the total number of preforms recovered from the MH occupation at Grassridge at 809, which is also the highest number recovered from a secure chrono-stratigraphic occupation within the region. This high number of beads and preforms places Grassridge clearly within the “bead factory” site designation described by Orton (2008), in that the large number of preforms provides substantive evidence that bead manufacture was a consistent, time intensive, and culturally significant behavior at Grass­ ridge (Collins et al. 2020). The TP bead assemblage is much smaller than the MH assemblage, but it has a greater ratio of preforms to finished beads (3:1 as opposed to 2:1 seen in GAPP’s MH assemblage). The presence of beads in all stages of production also suggests that bead manufacture was taking place during this occupation. Moreover, it should be noted that the TP has currently been identified in only 1 m2 of GAPP’s excavation (unit B4) and consists of a lens that is at most 15 cm thick (Ames et al. 2020; Collins et al. 2017). Conservatively, the density of OES beads and preforms from the TP is therefore 37 artifacts per 0.15 m3 (or 247 per 1 m3) and further strengthens an argument of the importance of bead production at Grassridge during the TP.

58 • Benjamin Collins, Amy Hatton, April Nowell, and Christopher J. H. Ames

There are two factors that may have situated Grassridge and the surrounding local area as being of importance for the manufacture of OES beads. First and foremost, ostriches were historically, and continue to be, present in and around the site, and on the grassland plains near the site (Roy Callaghan, pers. comm.). Palaeoenvironmental evidence suggests that environmental conditions during the TP and MH were somewhat similar to the present and likely would not have impacted the presence of ostriches in this area (Ames et al. 2020). Second, Grassridge is located at the intersection of several biogeoclimatic zones and sits near the catchment divide between the Kei and Orange/Senqu rivers. This location would have made the site and the surrounding area an attractive location for past foragers, as it offers diverse resources within a relatively small area. Moreover, the location of Grassridge may have been an important intersection or social nexus between groups in the montane, Karoo, and coastal regions (Ames et al. 2020; Collins et al. 2017).

OES Bead Variation at Grassridge Differences between the OES bead assemblages from the TP and MH include bead diameter and aperture size for complete beads, both of which are significantly smaller in the TP. One explanation may be taphonomic, with beads shrinking through time as a result of postdepositional taphonomic attrition (Wilmsen 2015). However, there is no statistical difference in bead thickness between the two assemblages, which should also be impacted if an assemblage is subject to postdepositional attrition. Moreover, the sampled sediment pH values for the TP and MH are not acidic, and faunal preservation is good for both occupations (Ames et al. 2020). These data indicate that the differences reflect changes in bead style between the two occupations, with variation in bead size also being suggested as an important stylistic and cultural variant between different groups throughout Africa through time (d’Errico et al. 2020; Jacobson 1987a, 1987b; Miller 2019; Miller and Sawchuk 2019). At Grassridge, we see other changes in material culture between the TP and MH occupations that strengthen an argument for broader cultural change over this period. Specifically, there is a shift in lithic technology, with the TP being considered Oakhurst-like technology and the MH better fitting within the Wilton technocomplex (Ames et al. 2020; Collins et al. 2017). This shift at Grassridge is consistent with the region-wide shift across southern Africa from the more macrolithic

Manufacturing Social Landscapes • 59

Oakhurst to the microlithic Wilton ~8–7 ka, which is also associated with widespread increased occupational intensities, reflected in higher density artifact accumulations, site use, and hearth construction (Hall 2000, 1990; Mitchell and Arthur 2014; Opperman 1987; Rhodes et al. 2022; Wadley 2000a, 2000b). These changes are also reflected at Grassridge, with the MH demonstrating intensive hearth construction and increased artifact densities over a relatively short span of time, in contrast to the more ephemeral presence during the TP (Ames et al. 2020; Collins et al. 2017, 2020). The evidence for stylistic change in OES beads from the TP to the MH at Grassridge further contributes to the evidence suggesting a cultural shift over this period. Refining the nature and context of this shift across the regional, however, requires further resolution and comparative research.

Regional Variation in Bead Manufacture The review of well-described sites in the broader southeastern region of southern Africa demonstrates that complete finished beads are more frequent than preforms in the majority of OES bead assemblages (Table 2.2) (Hatton et al. 2022). There are several possible reasons for this, one being that several of the sites described in Table 2.2 sit outside of the modern range of ostriches. This may have also been true in the past, especially if conditions were colder and drier, which would serve to shrink ostrich habitat rather than see it expand (Sinclair et al. 2011). A second reason may relate to the analysis of the OES assemblages. We considered these sites to be well-described in that they had stratigraphically secure levels accompanied by radiocarbon dates and descriptions of the accompanying artifact assemblages. The study of OES beads, especially in contexts that pre-date the introduction of herders in southern Africa, may have not been allotted the same attention as other artifact categories, such as lithics and fauna, until much more recently (Miller 2019). In this respect, the identification and classification of complete OES beads and preforms may not have been as rigorous as at present, which may have resulted in the under-reporting of preforms. However, we expect that this likely had a minor impact on the data collected. There are only three sites that we have identified in southeastern Africa that demonstrate intensive bead manufacture, which here is considered as a site with over one hundred preforms: Melkhoutboom Shelter, Maqonqo Shelter, and Grassridge (Table 2.3). The remainder of the sites generally demonstrate a paucity of preforms, which suggests that OES beads were not manufactured there, but rather were brought

60 • Benjamin Collins, Amy Hatton, April Nowell, and Christopher J. H. Ames

to those locations through exchange and the movement of foragers across the landscape (Hatton et al. 2022). In this respect, the presence of finished OES beads across the landscape strengthens an argument for the presence of exchange networks, perhaps similar to hxaro, which formed an important facet of forager culture during this time (Mitchell 1996). The paucity of “bead factories” sites across the landscape also suggests that these factory sites may have been of special significance for their role in the manufacture and production of OES bead jewelry and decoration.

Social Networks and Connections— Evidence from the OES Bead Assemblages The Grassridge TP and MH bead assemblages are indicative of bead production during both occupations. Moreover, we see the presence of complete beads at other sites during this period in the broader region where ostriches were not likely to be present and where preforms have not been recovered. Using the practice of hxaro (Wiessner 1977) as a heuristic, we are building on previous research (d’Errico et al. 2020; Hatton et al. 2022; Jacobson 1987a; Miller and Wang 2021; Miller 2019; Mitchell 1996; Stewart et al. 2020), which suggests that OES beads, and by proxy OES bead jewelry and clothing decorated with OES beads, were exchanged between groups throughout the broader southeastern region of southern Africa. This hypothesis is strengthened by Stewart et al. (2020), who characterize the Strontium (Sr) isotope values for OES beads recovered from montane sites in Lesotho. Their research demonstrates that OES beads from these sites were predominantly coming from nonlocal lithological contexts, with several having traveled at least 326 km. Moreover, Stewart et al.’s (2020) research indicates that OES beads recovered from montane sites in Lesotho originated in the same lithological zone in which Grassridge is located, suggesting a potential social link between these areas in the past. These findings strengthen arguments for the importance of OES bead production sites, such as Grassridge, Melkhoutboom, and Maqonqo, on the social landscape, as they would be drivers for the production of jewelry and decorations that were of social importance as exchange items. These exchanges likely promoted the initiation and maintenance of social connections across potentially large distances and through time, and they may have served as social safety nets for groups when faced with hard times and resource uncertainty, similar to hxaro (Mitchell 1996; Stewart et al. 2020). Future isotopic research will

Manufacturing Social Landscapes • 61

facilitate the tracking of OES across social and geographical landscapes, providing further insight into past social networks and the extent to which they were facilitated through the production and exchange of OES bead jewelry and decorations.

Social Networks and Connections— Evidence from the Gastropod Assemblage Further evidence for social connectivity at Grassridge comes from the gastropod shell assemblage (Table 2.2). The marine gastropods provide clear proxy evidence of connections between Grassridge and the coast, which is at least 200 km from the site in a straight line (Collins et al. 2017, 2020). Of note are the presence of Nassarius shell beads in both the TP and MH occupations, indicating the importance of an interior-coastal connection during both periods. Nassarius shell beads are also present in the montane Drakensberg, as well as further east in KwaZulu-Natal during these periods, which may indicate the potential extent of these social networks during this period (Mazel 1989; Mitchell 1996). There is currently no evidence for the presence of Nassarius beads further into the interior grasslands or the Karoo. However, it does not seem likely that these networks would stop at this biogeographical border, especially with the density of Later Stone Age sites noted in the Orange River catchment (Sampson 1972; Sampson et al. 2015). The MH sees an increase in both the number of gastropod shells, as well as an increase in the diversity of gastropods present (Table 2.2). We see the presence of a Natica sp. bead that is similar in size and shape to the Nassarius beads, as well as cf. Scutellastra sp. (limpet) and Haliotis sp. (abalone) shells, which both display potential evidence of use-wear and ochreous residues (Collins et al. 2020). Also present during the MH are worked Unio caffra (freshwater mussel) shells, identified by both GAPP (Collins et al. 2017) and Opperman (1987) (Table 2.2). Opperman (1987: 158) identified two freshwater mussel shells with holes drilled though the shell, although one was attributed to layer LBS, which GAPP has identified as a stratigraphically mixed layer and thus cannot be reliably attributed to a chrono-stratigraphically secure occupation (Ames et al. 2020). Grassridge is not near a major river, typical of the habitat requirements for freshwater mussels; however, freshwater mussel middens are known in the Eastern Cape from the Fish River Basin (Hall 1990). The presence of freshwater mussel pendants at Grassridge may therefore suggest potential exchange routes from the coast to the interior that follow the major riverways on the landscape. Also of note is the pres-

62 • Benjamin Collins, Amy Hatton, April Nowell, and Christopher J. H. Ames

ence of freshwater mussel middens near Highlands Rockshelter and which overlook the Fish River (David Bowker, pers. comm.). Highlands is approximately 110 km west of Grassridge (Figure 2.1) and has a large assemblage of OES, as well as some OES beads, and the presence of these artifacts and freshwater mussels is suggestive of a potential connection between these regions.

Conclusion This chapter contextualizes the OES and gastropod assemblages from the TP and MH occupations at Grassridge Rockshelter within the broader social and geographical landscapes in southeastern southern Africa. Specifically, this chapter brings to the forefront the importance of OES “bead factories” or locations of OES bead production on the social landscape, as these locations likely would have produced the majority of OES beads used to make jewelry and used to add decoration to items that were exchanged between groups across the landscape (Mazel 1989; Mitchell 1996; Stewart et al. 2020). These exchanges facilitated the complex social landscapes through which past foragers moved and which may have formed social safety nets similar to hxaro (Wiessner 2002). In this respect, the interior grasslands were likely a critical component in this social fabric, because without the production of the vast quantities of OES bead needed for jewelry and decoration (Silberbauer 1981), the social landscape may have manifested in a smaller, less connected fashion. The gastropod bead assemblages from Grassridge provide further evidence for the extent of past social networks, especially during the MH. Specifically, the marine shells recovered from the TP and MH contexts at Grassridge provide direct evidence of links to the coast. The freshwater water mussel shells also provide proxy evidence of connections further south to areas within the Fish River and Kei River basins where these gastropods were intensively collected in the past (Hall 1990). A corollary of this research, demonstrated particularly in Table 2.3, is the need to treat OES bead assemblages with the same analytical rigor as other artifact assemblages, such as lithics and fauna. Providing detailed techno-typological information for OES bead assemblages facilitates an understanding of manufacturing processes, stylistic similarities and differences, and ultimately contributes to understanding past social landscapes. The frameworks for detailed analyses of OES bead assemblages are in place, there are no excuses (Collins 2021; Collins et

Manufacturing Social Landscapes • 63

al. 2020; Collins and Steele 2017; d’Errico et al. 2020; Miller and Wang 2021; Miller 2019; Miller and Sawchuk 2019).

Acknowledgments The authors would like to thank Hermanus Opperman, David Bowker, and the late Roy Callaghan for their time and conversations about the interior grassland landscapes of the Eastern Cape, as well as Andreas Leroux, Cherene DeBruyne, Lisa Rogers, Catherine van Oort, Ayanda Mdludlu, Constance Neyabo, and Sylvia Mazixana who assisted with the excavation. We would also like to thank the Division of Forensic Sciences, University of Cape Town, for use of their Zeiss microscope, the Department of Archaeology at the University of Cape Town, the Eastern Cape Provincial Heritage Resources Authority, and the Albany Museum for supporting this research. Funding was provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada Insight Development Grant, the Wenner-Gren Foundation, and the Leakey Foundation.

Benjamin Collins is affiliated with the Department of Anthropology, University of Manitoba, and the Department of Archaeology, University of Cape Town. His research explores social networks and connections among past forager societies. Amy Hatton was born in Pretoria, South Africa and received her BSc Hons from the University of Cape Town in 2018. She completed her MSc in computational archaeology at University College London in 2020 and is currently a PhD student at the Max Planck Institute of Geoanthropology in Jena, Germany. Her work is broadly focused on long-term human-environment interaction and cultural change. She has received grants from the Centre of Excellence in Palaeoscience for her Honors thesis and a Baldwin Fellowship from the Leakey Foundation for her Masters thesis, researching spatial patterning of archaeological sites in southern Africa. April Nowell is a Paleolithic archaeologist and Professor of Anthropology at the University of Victoria in Canada. She directs an international team of researchers in the study of Paleolithic sites in Jordan and collaborates with colleagues on the study of cave art in Australia. She is known for

64 • Benjamin Collins, Amy Hatton, April Nowell, and Christopher J. H. Ames

her publications on cognitive archaeology, Paleolithic art, the archaeology of children, and the relationship between science, pop culture, and the media. She is the author of Growing Up in the Ice Age (2021). Christopher J. H. Ames is a geoarchaeologist who applies archaeological, geographic, and geoscience methods to better understand past cultural and environmental landscapes, especially the interaction between climate change and communities. He has worked in British Columbia and northern Québec in Canada, as well as in Jordan, South Africa, and Australia. Chris is the co-principal investigator of the Azraq Marshes Archaeological and Paleoecological Project in Jordan and the Grassridge Archaeological and Paleoenvironmental Project in the Eastern Cape of South Africa.

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Manufacturing Social Landscapes • 65 Dayet, L., E. Rasmus, A. Val, L. Feyfant, and G. Porraz. 2017. “Beads, Pigments and Early Holocene Ornamental Traditions at Bushman Rock Shelter, South Africa.” Journal of Archaeological Science: Reports 13 (June): 635–51. Deacon, H. J. 1976. “Where Hunters Gathered: A Study of Holocene Stone Age People in the Eastern Cape.” Cape Town: South African Archaeological Society d’Errico, F., C. Henshilwood, M. Vanhaeren, and K. Van Niekerk. 2005. “Nassarius Kraussianus Shell Beads from Blombos Cave: Evidence for Symbolic Behavior in the Middle Stone Age.” Journal of Human Evolution 48(1): 3–24. d’Errico, F., A. P. Martí, C. Shipton, E. Le Vraux, E. Ndiema, S. Goldstein, M. D. Petraglia, and N. Boivin. 2020. “Trajectories of Cultural Innovation from the Middle to Later Stone Age in Eastern Africa: Personal Ornaments, Bone Artifacts, and Ocher from Panga Ya Saidi, Kenya.” Journal of Human Evolution 141 (April): 102737. Hall, S. 1990. “Hunter-Gatherer-Fishers of the Fish River Basin: A Contribution to the Holocene Prehistory of the Eastern Cape.” PhD diss., Stellenbosch University. ———. 2000. “Burial and Sequence in the Later Stone Age of the Eastern Cape Province, South Africa.” South African Archaeological Bulletin 55(172): 137–46. Hatton, A., B. Collins, B. J. Schoville, and J. Wilkins. 2022. “Ostrich Eggshell Beads from Ga-Mohana Hill North Rockshelter, Southern Kalahari, and the Implications for Understanding Social Networks during Marine Isotope Stage 2.” PLOS One 17(6): e0268943. Henshilwood, C., F. d’Errico, M. Vanhaeren, K. Van Niekerk, and Z. Jacobs. 2004. “Middle Stone Age Shell Beads from South Africa.” Science 304(5669): 404. Hitchcock, R. 2012. “Ostrich Eggshell Jewelry Manufacturing and Use of Ostrich Products among San and Bakgalagadi in the Kalahari.” Botswana Notes and Records 44 (January): 93–105. Hogg, A. G., T. J. Heaton, Q. Hua, J. G. Palmer, C. S. Turney, J. Southon, A. Bayliss, P. G. Blackwell, G. Boswijk, C. B. Ramsey, and C. Pearson. 2020. “SHCal20 Southern Hemisphere Calibration, 0–55,000 Years Cal BP.” Radiocarbon 62(4): 759–778. Jacobson, L. 1987a. “The Size Variability of Ostrich Eggshell Beads from Central Namibia and Its Relevance as a Stylistic and Temporal Marker.” South African Archaeological Bulletin 46(146): 55–58. ———. 1987b. “More on Ostrich Eggshell Bead Size Variability: The Geduld Early Herder Assemblage.” South African Archaeological Bulletin 42(146): 174–75. Kandel, A. W., and N. J. Conard. 2005. “Production Sequences of Ostrich Eggshell Beads and Settlement Dynamics in the Geelbek Dunes of the Western Cape, South Africa.” Journal of Archaeological Science 32(12): 1711–21. Kuhn, S. L., and M. C. Stiner. 2007. “Paleolithic Ornaments: Implications for Cognition, Demography and Identity.” Diogenes 54(2): 40–48.

66 • Benjamin Collins, Amy Hatton, April Nowell, and Christopher J. H. Ames Lee, R. 1979. The !Kung San: Men, Women and Work in a Foraging Society. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mazel, A. D. 1989. “People Making History: The Last Ten Thousand Years of Hunter-Gatherer Communities in the Thukela Basin.” Southern African Humanities 1(07): 1–168. ———. 1996. “Maqonqo Shelter: The Excavation of Holocene Deposits in the Eastern Biggarsberg, Thukela Basin, South Africa.” Southern African Humanities 8(12): 1–39. ———. 1997. “Mzinyashana Shelters 1 and 2: Excavation of Mid and Late Holocene Deposits in the Eastern Biggarsberg, Thukela Basin, South Africa.” Southern African Humanities 9(12): 1–35. Miller, J. M. 2019. “Variability in Ostrich Eggshell Beads from the Middle and Later Stone Age of Africa.” PhD diss., University of Alberta. Miller J. M., and E. A. Sawchuk. 2019. “Ostrich Eggshell Bead Diameter in the Holocene: Regional Variation with the Spread of Herding in Eastern and Southern Africa.” PLOS One 14 (11) p.e0225143.. Miller, J. M., and Y. Wang. 2021. “Ostrich Eggshell Beads Reveal 50,000-Year-Old Social Network in Africa.” Nature 601(7892): 234–39. Mitchell, P. 1993. “The Archaeology of Tioutle Rock Shelter, Maseru District, Lesotho: Ostrich Eggshell.” Navorsinge van die Nasionale Museum: Researches of the National Museum 9(4): 111–13. ———. 1996. “Prehistoric Exchange and Interaction in Southeastern Southern Africa: Marine Shells and Ostrich Eggshell.” African Archaeological Review 13(1): 35–76. Mitchell, P., and C. Arthur. 2014. “Ha Makotoko: Later Stone Age Occupation across the Pleistocene/Holocene Transition in Western Lesotho.” Journal of African Archaeology 12(2): 205–32. Mucina, L., and M. C. Rutherford. 2006. The Vegetation of South Africa, Lesotho and Swaziland. Pretoria: South African National Biodiversity Institute. Retrieved January 2014 from http://www.cabdirect.org/abstracts/20073221934.html. Opperman, H. 1987. The Later Stone Age of the Drakensberg Range and Its Foothills. British Archaeological Reports International Series, Vol 339. Oxford: BAR Publishing. Orton, J. 2008. “Later Stone Age Ostrich Eggshell Bead Manufacture in the Northern Cape, South Africa.” Journal of Archaeological Science 35(7): 1765–75. Pargeter, J., E. Loftus, and P. Mitchell. 2017. “New Ages from Sehonghong Rock Shelter: Implications for the Late Pleistocene Occupation of Highland Lesotho.” Journal of Archaeological Science: Reports 12 (April): 307–15. Rhodes, S. E., P. Goldberg, M. Ecker, L. K. Horwitz, E. Boaretto, and M. Chazan. 2022. “Exploring the Later Stone Age at a Micro-Scale: New High-Resolution Excavations at Wonderwerk Cave.” Quaternary International 614 (March): 126–45. Sampson, C. G. 1972. The Stone Age Industries of the Orange River Scheme and South Africa. Bloemfontein: National Museum.

Manufacturing Social Landscapes • 67 Sampson, C. G., V. Moore, C. B. Bousman, B. Stafford, A. Giordano, and M. Willis. 2015. “A GIS Analysis of the Zeekoe Valley Stone Age Archaeological Record in South Africa.” Journal of African Archaeology 13(2): 167–85. Silberbauer, G. B. 1981. Hunter and Habitat in the Central Kalahari Desert. New York: Cambridge University Press. Sinclair, I., P. Hockey, W. Tarboton, and P. Ryan. 2011. SASOL Birds of Southern Africa, 4th ed. Cape Town: Struik. Stewart, B. A., Y. Zhao, P. J. Mitchell, G. Dewar, J. D. Gleason, and J. D. Blum. 2020. “Ostrich Eggshell Bead Strontium Isotopes Reveal Persistent Macroscale Social Networking across Late Quaternary Southern Africa.” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 117(12): 6453–62. Vanhaeren, M. 2005. “Speaking with Beads: The Evolutionary Significance of Personal Ornaments.” In From Tools to Symbols: From Early Hominids to Modern Humans, edited by F. d’Errico, L. Backwell, and B. Malauzat, 525–53. New York: NYU Press. Wadley, L. 2000a. “The Wilton and Pre-Ceramic Post-Classic Wilton Industries at Rose Cottage Cave and Their Context in the South African Sequence.” South African Archaeological Bulletin (December): 90–106. ———. 2000b. “The Early Holocene Layers of Rose Cottage Cave, Eastern Free State: Technology, Spatial Patterns and Environment.” South African Archaeological Bulletin (June): 18–31. Wadley, Lyn, and G. McLaren. 1998. “Tandjesberg Shelter, Eastern Free State, South Africa.” Southern African Humanities 10(12): 19–32. Wiessner, P. 1977. Hxaro: A Regional System of Reciprocity for Reducing Risk among the !Kung San. Vol. 1. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. ———. 1982. “Risk, Reciprocity and Social Influences on !Kung San Economics.” Politics and History in Band Societies 61 (January): 84. ———. 2002. “Hunting, Healing and !Hxaro Exchange: A Long-Term Perspective on !Kung (Ju/’hoansi) Large Game Hunting.” Evolution and Human Behaviour 23(6): 407–36. Wilmsen, E. N. 2015. “Ostrich Eggshells and Their Beads.” South African Archaeological Bulletin 70(201): 89–105. Wingfield, C. 2003. “Ostrich Eggshell Beads and the Environment, Past and Present.” In Researching Africa’s Past: New Contributions from British Archaeologists, edited by P. Mitchell, A. Haour, and J. Hobart, 54–60. Oxford: Oxford University School of Archaeology.

CHAPTER 3

Perspectives on Stone Age Sociality A New Role for Ostrich Eggshell Beads Jennifer M. Miller

H Introduction Personal ornaments are powerful tools for communication. They can be used to establish group affiliation, define membership boundaries, govern social interactions, and express individual identities (Carter and Fuller 2016; Keblusek, Giles, and Maass 2017; Marsh and Jones 2018). Today, we use ornaments to communicate social messages to those around us, and people in the past likely did the same. Ornaments, such as beads, can provide a window into Paleolithic social lives. Detailed research into beads and ancient sociality has been conducted for the European Upper Paleolithic (e.g., d’Errico, Henshilwood, Lawson, et al. 2003; Vanhaeren and d’Errico 2006), but until recently, little attention has been paid to similar items from Africa. There is still much that archaeologists do not understand about the social systems these African beads are part of, which begs the question: how can we increase our understanding of identity, sociality, and cultural boundaries in the distant past? One way to explore ancient sociality is through stylistic variation in ornaments. Ostrich eggshell (OES) beads are common finds at many archaeological sites in Africa, and they are excellent candidates for stylistic analysis. OES beads are fully shaped, made from a consistent material, and have a long history of use that spans at least fifty thousand years in Africa (Ambrose 1998; d’Errico, Backwell, et al. 2012; Miller and

Perspectives on Stone Age Sociality • 69

Willoughby 2014; Tryon et al. 2018). The most commonly recorded stylistic trait of OES beads is external diameter. Analyses of bead diameters have provided valuable insights into ancient social boundaries in the Holocene, and even into the Pleistocene (Jacobson 1987; Miller and Sawchuk 2019; Miller and Wang 2022; Sadr et al. 2003; Smith et al. 1991). But, these tiny artifacts may contain more stylistic variation than meets the eye. OES is durable and adaptable, making it suitable for manufacturing beads, but also for accruing use-wear through friction. In this chapter, I will summarize the logic behind stylistic analysis, and introduce OES beads from the archaeological and ethnographic records before presenting a case of use-wear on archaeological OES beads. These data come from a larger survey of thirteen archaeological assemblages across eastern and southern Africa. The use-wear trait, which I call “pinching,” manifests as corresponding indents on the inner and outer surfaces of the shell. These pinched beads are present in low numbers at scattered sites, but they are by far most prevalent at Nelson Bay Cave in South Africa, perhaps suggesting a culturally specific way of attaching and displaying ornaments. If expanded, this type of study could provide a more nuanced approach to group boundaries than available through bead diameters alone. OES bead use-wear (and attachment styles) may open up new avenues for investigating social boundaries and identities in the African Stone Age.

Studying Sociality Artifact forms can be used to examine social boundaries in the past. In this method, relevant variation, or “differential persistence of alternative traits through time” (Teltser 1995: 53), is identified and traced through time or by region. Historically, this has been applied to ceramic styles and lithic projectile points (Wiessner 1983), but it is also applicable to other types of artifacts. Variation is stylistic when the alternatives are selectively neutral, meaning that the performance of each variant confers equal fitness; on the other hand, variation is functional when alternatives confer differential success (Neiman 1995: 8). So, an example of stylistic variation could be incised decoration around the rim of a ceramic vessel, while functional variation could include vessel shape or material. Stylistic variation is socially encoded, meaning that people from the same communities will tend to produce similar artifact styles. This may happen naturally, rather than intentionally, as artisans learn, practice, and work together (Wenger 1998). Relationships between individuals

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form social links that transmit information, resources, and influence, and these invisible structures are how norms propagate throughout a community (Otte and Rousseau 2002). Stylistic influence can also be transmitted between communities. Even a single link between two societies will transfer information, and more shared relationships will create a faster homogenization of behavior and style (Borgatti et al. 2009; Otte and Rousseau 2002). If a community splits into two, each group’s new norms will be shaped independently through innovation and cultural drift, with styles becoming more dissimilar through time (Neiman 1995). In the Stone Age, connections between social groups would have been constrained by geography, with opportunities to transmit stylistic information decaying over long distances. Physically distant cultures would have less opportunity to share stylistic traits, and therefore should exhibit greater stylistic variation. As geographic or temporal distances increase, styles should become increasingly distinct, with randomized styles if there are no shared relationships. Put simply, this approach identifies stylistic variation, and then tracks its distribution through time and space. Regional clusters of traits may suggest isolated populations with distinct stylistic signatures. Variables shared over large distances may indicate shared relationships, and the merging of two distinct styles may represent intermittent social contact between groups. In the case of beads, nearly all variation is stylistic. The function of a bead is to be displayed and seen, so it is much less constrained by form than other types of artifacts, such as lithics. Beads have a limited number of functional requirements. They usually require a perforation to be suspended, they should not be so large that they impede the wearer, nor so small they are invisible, but otherwise they can take any size, shape, color, texture, or material. This freedom of form makes beads ideal for identifying and tracing cultural variations.

Ostrich Eggshell Beads OES Beads in Archaeology Beads are a relatively recent development in human history. Most of the archaeological record consists of survival items that help procure necessities such as food, shelter, or clothing, and it is not until 100–150 thousand years (ka) ago that beads appear. These earliest beads are perforated mollusk shells from the Middle Paleolithic/Middle Stone Age of southern Africa, northern Africa, and the Near East (e.g., Bouzouggar et

Perspectives on Stone Age Sociality • 71

al. 2007; d’Errico, Henshilwood, Vanhaeren, et al. 2005; Vanhaeren et al. 2013). In these first examples, the natural shape of the shell is retained, with no additional shaping. Some of these specimens even have natural perforations and could have been collected as ready-made beads with no further modification. It was not until much later that manufactured beads, such as those made from OES, emerged. OES beads were first produced in Africa, approximately forty to fifty thousand years ago. The oldest directly dated OES bead is from Mumba Rockshelter in Tanzania, at 52 ka (McBrearty and Brooks 2000: 522). Magubike Rockshelter, also in Tanzania, has one preform and one completed bead dated to 47,750 ± 750 BP (before present) and >50,100 years BP, respectively (Miller and Willoughby 2014: 120). Southern African OES beads tend to be slightly younger than their eastern counterparts, and the oldest known OES beads from the southern part of the continent are from Border Cave, South Africa, directly radiocarbon dated to 38,020 ± 1240 BP (d’Errico, Backwell, et al. 2012: 13217). Evidence also indicates that Pleistocene people were producing OES beads in Asia, with archaeological finds from China (Lanpo and Weiwen 2009; Mellars 2006; Mellars et al. 2013; Wang et al. 2009), Mongolia (Khatsenovich et al. 2017; Rybin 2014; Zwyns et al. 2014), and Russia (Khatsenovich et al. 2017; Rybin 2014). These disc beads are found in increasing numbers through the Pleistocene, eventually reaching into the thousands within Holocene deposits at some African sites. Although OES beads are not as old as marine shell ones, they have unique characteristics that make them more suitable for studying Stone Age identities. First, OES beads are the earliest ornaments to have a fully imposed shape. This means that the resulting bead does not resemble the original ostrich egg, rather the fragments of shell transform into something new. Previously the shells dictated the shape of the bead, but OES beads are the product of extensive shaping from a mental template in the mind of the beadmaker. Second, and more importantly, OES beads are the first mass-produced ornaments that exhibit a degree of standardization. They are rounded discs, less than one centimeter in diameter with a central perforation, and have consistent forms from the earliest examples to those produced and sold in tourist shops today. This high degree of shaping allows for numerous stylistic variations, and the commonly assessed trait is bead size (external diameter). Diameter is the most commonly studied stylistic trait for OES beads, however there may be additional variations that are useful to reconstruct social interactions, such as use-wear. Ostrich shells are durable and compact but also soft enough to be reduced through friction. There

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are three main layers within OES: cuticle, palisade, mamillary. The cuticle is the most external layer of an eggshell, it is only several micrometres thick, and repels water and microbes (Dauphin et al. 2006: 1763; Li-Chan and Kim 2008: 4). Underneath the cuticle is the palisade layer. This layer has a spongy appearance but is structurally sturdy (Li-Chan and Kim 2008), and it is often the only layer remaining in ancient OES beads. The innermost portion of the eggshell is the mammillary layer (Dauphin et al. 2006: 1763), and this layer is sometimes missing from archaeological specimens. Excluding the cuticle layer, which is too brittle to accurately measure, the inner layers of an ostrich egg have a Mohs hardness of three (slightly harder than a fingernail). This soft texture is what permits the shell to be shaped into beads, but it can also allow use-wear to accumulate, as beadwork rubs against the body, string, or other beads, during wear.

OES Beads in African Ethnographic Records During their fifty-thousand-year history, OES beads have probably been strung or affixed to garments in a variety of ways. Each of these configurations could produce use-wear. Today, we can observe a variety of styles through traditional handicrafts, or by studying ethnographic photos and collections. Though it may be tempting to imagine beads as a simple strand, these modern examples suggest a wide array of visual displays using OES beads. Ethnographies from eastern and southern Africa have described many different items as being adorned with/or made from OES beads (Table 3.1). In some cases, OES beads were displayed as single items, like those worn decoratively in the hair of men or women (Driberg 1923: 59; Schapera 1930: 66). In other cases, they were displayed in abundance, such as a skirt described in Silberbauer (1965: 50) with an estimated four thousand beads. This list is not comprehensive, but it shows the surprising variety of OES decorations that exist in the present. Variations may include multiple parallel strings, a staggered basket weave pattern, sewn flat onto a garment, or dangling from the edge of a piece of cloth (Figure 3.1). Each ethnographic garment, pattern, or style can have unique meanings that help express and enact identity. For example, Gulliver (1951: 432) notes that in eastern Africa among Turkana pastoralists, a young woman who bears a child will change from “the unmarried girl’s v-shaped ostrich-egg trimmed pinafore . . . [to an] oblong pinafore like a wife’s, usually heavily decorated with beads along the edges.” In southern Africa,

Perspectives on Stone Age Sociality • 73 Table 3.1.  Documented uses for OES beads. Item

Reference(s)

apron/dress/skirt

Bleek 1928: 10; Clark 1970: 184; Gulliver 1951: 432; P. Gulliver and P. H. Gulliver 1953: 8; Hahn, Vedder, and Fourie 1966: 89; Marshall 1976a: 240; Silberbauer 1965: 50, 1981: 227; Stow 1905: 46; Van der Post and Taylor 1984: 63

armband/ankleband/ bracelet

Dornan 1925: 88–89; Driberg 1923: 63; Hollis 1909: 28; Lebzelter 1934: 73; Marshall 1976b; Schapera 1930: 66; Silberbauer 1981: 227; Stow 1905: 46; Tanaka 1980: 42–43; Theal 1919: 56; Van der Post and Taylor 1984: 63–64

baby harness

Silberbauer 1981: 227

bag/pouch/satchel

Silberbauer 1981: 227; Van der Post and Taylor 1984: 83

belt

Dunn 1931: 36; P. Gulliver and P. H. Gulliver 1953: 8; Schapera 1930: 66; Stow 1905: 139

box/container

Jacqz 1976: 72; Marshall 1976a: 240; Silberbauer 1965: 50

calabash

Dornan 1925: 88; Stow 1905: 46, 559

coronet/crown/fillet

Silberbauer 1981: 227

decorative squares

Silberbauer 1981: 227

ear pendants

Lebzelter 1934: 73

girdle

Stow 1905: 46

headband

Dornan 1925: 88–89; Driberg 1923: 63; Hollis 1909: 28; Marshall 1976a: 240, 1976b; Schapera 1930: 66; Stow 1905: 46; Tanaka 1980: 42–43; Theal 1919: 56; Van der Post and Taylor 1984: 63–64

necklace

Dornan 1925: 88; Driberg 1923: 63; Hahn et al. 1966: 58; Hitchcock et al. 1996: 157; Hollis 1909: 28; Lebzelter 1934: 72; Lee 1979: 482; Marshall 1976b; Schapera 1930: 66; Schultze, Knight, and Ziolkowski 1907: 116; Tanaka 1980: 43; Thomas 1959: 168

nose ornament

Stow 1905: 46; Theal 1919: 56

worn in hair

Bleek 1928: 9; Driberg 1923: 59; Hahn et al. 1966: 58; Hollis 1909: 28; Lebzelter 1934: 72; Schapera 1930: 66; Stow 1905: 139

Marshall (1976a: 240) observes that the shape of the decorative OES head ornaments related to gender among the !Kung, with square ones for men and triangular ones for women. Lebzelter (1934: 72) writes that “longer chains of alternating wood and ostrich egg beads worn in the hair are insignia of the female doctors,” among the San in Namibia and Botswana.

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Figure 3.1.  Various attachment styles for OES beads. © Jennifer M. Miller.

Some works include darkened OES beads (likely achieved through the application of heat) to heighten the contrast in the beadwork. If archaeologists could recover these beaded items in their entirety, the distinct patterns and attachment styles would be apparent. However, most recovered artifacts are isolated OES beads, collected with no obvious indications of how they were worn, and no criteria by which to reconstruct their possible use. Modern ethnographic collections are the best available proxy for reconstructing the variation in OES bead patterns; they can provide a starting point for hypotheses about Stone Age designs and use-wear.

Pinched: A Case of OES Bead Use-Wear Discovery, Description, Distribution After studying OES beads for several years, I started observing unusual traits that seemed related to use-wear. I began recording these as best as possible, with the goal of eventually tracking any similarities. The

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pinched trait described in this chapter was present in the very first assemblage I examined in southern Africa. A pinched bead is one that has matching indentations on the opposing cuticle and mammillary surfaces (Figure 3.2). This trait is best observed in profile view (i.e., the side of the bead), where the indents typically appear as smoothed patinated depressions. In some cases, the shape of the bead viewed from overhead is affected by the pinching, as the shell has been so intensively reduced that the bead appears flattened at the pinched end. This pinched trait appears exclusively on completed beads, supporting the notion it results from use-wear and not manufacture. Pinching can sometimes be identified from a photo, however not being present is not the same as being absent. Photos of the cuticle/ mammillary views alone cannot be used to identify pinching. Even in profile view, if the pinched side is not oriented toward the camera, then it may not be visible. For these reasons, some assemblages analyzed in Miller (2019) (e.g., Mlambalasi Rockshelter in Tanzania and Enkapune ya Muto Rockshelter in Kenya) could not be considered for this study. In total, I assessed 1,500 archaeological OES beads from thirteen sites, and identified a total of thirty-four pinched beads (Table 3.2, Figure 3.3). Strictly by abundance, the highest number of pinched beads

Figure 3.2.  Parts of an ostrich eggshell, and an example of a pinched bead. © Jennifer M. Miller.

76 • Jennifer M. Miller Table 3.2.  OES bead assemblages assessed for the pinched trait. Time period of OES beads

# of beads assessed

Historic, IA, LSA

170

0

Robbins 1999; Robbins et al. 2000

Kakapel Rockshelter, Kenya

Holocene

7

0

S. Goldstein, pers. comm.

Hora-1, Malawi

Late Pleistocene

37

2

J. Thompson, pers. comm.

Kadawonda-1, Malawi

Late Pleistocene

1

0

J. Thompson, pers. comm.

Mazinga-1, Malawi

Late Pleistocene

26

1

J. Thompson, pers. comm.

LSA, MSA

170

1

Vogelsang et al. 2010; Wendt 1972

Border Cave, South Africa

LSA

16

0

Butzer, Beaumont, and Vogel 1978; d’Errico, Backwell, et al. 2012; Villa et al. 2012

Dikbosch Rockshelter, South Africa

LSA

3

0

Humphreys 1974

Nelson Bay Cave, South Africa

Holocene

535

25

Inskeep 1987

Wonderwerk Cave, South Africa

Historic, LSA

364

3

Lee-Thorp and Ecker 2015; Thackeray et al. 1981

Daumboy 3 Rockshelter, Tanzania

PN, LSA

13

0

Prendergast, Mabulla, et al. 2013

Magubike Rockshelter, Tanzania

IA, LSA, MSA

33

1

Miller and Willoughby 2014; Werner and Willoughby 2017; Willoughby 2012

Mumba Rockshelter, Tanzania

IA, PN, LSA

125

1

Gliganic et al. 2012; Mehlman 1989; Prendergast, Luque, et al. 2007

Totals

1500

34

Site, Country

White Paintings Shelter, Botswana

Apollo 11 Cave, Namibia

# of pinched Time period beads reference(s)

IA = Iron Age, PN = Pastoral Neolithic, LSA = Later Stone Age, MSA = Middle Stone Age

Perspectives on Stone Age Sociality • 77

Figure 3.3.  Location of OES bead assemblages assessed for the pinched trait. Modified from Wikimedia Commons, public domain.

is found at Nelson Bay Cave (n=25). These were recovered from levels dated between 2400 and 6700 BP (Inskeep 1987). Wonderwerk Cave, also in South Africa, has three pinched beads with estimated ages from 2500–5000 BP (Lee-Thorp and Ecker 2015; Thackeray et al. 1981). There is a single case in southern Namibia, dated near the end of the LSA (Vogelsang et al. 2010; Wendt 1972), bringing the southern African total to twenty-nine pinched beads. Toward the east, there are two sites in Malawi with three cases between them, all from Late Pleistocene contexts (J. Thompson, pers. comm.). Finally, in eastern Africa there is one pinched bead each from Magubike at 1500 BP (Werner and Willoughby 2017) and from Mumba at 1800 BP (Prendergast, Luque, et al. 2007), for a total of five pinched beads between Malawi and Tanzania. While I have classified all pinching examples in the same manner, I did observe different manifestations of this trait. Some pinched beads have narrow and well-defined indents (Figure 3.4a, b), while others have more diffuse depressions (Figure 3.4c, d). Some indentations are relatively shallow (Figure 3.4e), and others are quite deep (Figure 3.4f). Pinched areas may be symmetrical (Figure 3.4g), but not necessarily so,

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Figure 3.4.  Examples of pinched bead variations: a) Wonderwerk Cave; b) Apollo 11 Cave; c) Nelson Bay Cave; d) Magubike Rockshelter; e) Wonderwerk Cave; f) Nelson Bay Cave; g) Wonderwerk Cave; h) Hora-1; i, j) Nelson Bay Cave; k) Mazinga-1; l) Nelson Bay Cave; m, n) Nelson Bay Cave. © Jennifer M. Miller.

and often one depression can be deeper than the other (Figure 3.4h). At least three specimens I observed had multiple, adjacent pinching locations, giving a rippled appearance (Figure 3.4i, j). Sometimes the perforation is closer to one edge of the bead rather than centrally located, perhaps indicating it had a pendant-like attachment (Figure 3.4k, l). Finally, a few cases from Nelson Bay Cave even have pinching on opposing ends of the bead (Figure 3.4m, n). Experimental studies can help determine whether these variations are meaningful.

Potential Challenges to Interpretation Some may argue that the pinching is not related to use-wear, but instead is a phenomenon arising from either the production or use of beads. For example, during the trimming stage of bead manufacture a larger than intended piece of shell may detach, leaving an indented flake scar near the perimeter of the bead or preform. This indent could later smooth out through normal use, resulting in the smoothed indents

Perspectives on Stone Age Sociality • 79

in the edge of the bead. I suggest it is unlikely that such an occurrence would create indents in opposing surfaces by chance. If this were the case, there should be far more beads with randomly placed, single surface indentations, which is not the case with my data. Further, the presence of the pinching trait is not randomly distributed among the beads analyzed, and it has been identified only on completed and worn beads, never on preforms, strongly supporting its interpretation as use-wear. Even if we accept that pinching is a genuine use-wear trait, interpreting its regional distribution is challenging at this stage for a number of reasons. First, it is not yet possible to say whether variations of pinching (shallow, deep, narrow, diffuse) should be considered as different traits. Second, and more importantly, it is difficult to assess its prevalence at various sites since the assemblages and their number of beads vary widely. For example, Wonderwerk and Nelson Bay Cave have >350 beads each, while other sites like Dikbosch or Kakapel Rockshelter have less than ten. This makes it impossible to know whether the presence of 25/535 (4.7 percent) pinched beads at Nelson Bay Cave, South Africa should have the same impact as 2/37 (5.4 percent) at Hora-1, Malawi. There is no easy remedy to this assemblage size dilemma. One solution would be to exclude smaller assemblages and compare only those with a minimum number of recovered OES beads. However, this method would introduce bias, as the amount of OES beads recovered at a site depends on variables like site location and purpose, occupation intensity, past access to raw material, duration of excavation, fieldwork methods, and so on. Regardless, it may be prudent to begin targeting assemblages with a minimum threshold of OES beads finds. Eventually, once use-wear types have been codified, a comparative database would aid the assessment of smaller assemblages.

Pinching and Display Archaeological beads are usually recovered in isolation, but in use they were likely part of complex visual displays with stylistic variations over space and time. If it’s possible to link archaeological OES use-wear with stringing patterns through ethnographic analogy and experimental replication, then we can move closer to recreating these designs and their corresponding cultural identities. So, what stringing patterns would cause pinching? The pinching use-wear is intuitively produced by an attachment style where the bead can dangle freely, perhaps from the edge of a garment or beadwork. In the previous section I showed how archaeo-

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logical examples of pinching manifest in a variety of ways, and it is possible that multiple styles of attachment create similar use-wear. Some attachment styles seem unlikely as the cause of pinching. For example, OES beads that are strung back-to-back, so that the resulting sequence resembles a roll of pennies, would not be expected to develop pinching. In this configuration, use-wear should be concentrated evenly around the perimeter of the bead, and on the cuticle and mammillary surfaces. Use-wear in this context should enhance circularity, increase outer rim patina, and mold the angle between the outer rim and shell surface toward ninety degrees. In fact, in an unpublished experimental wear test I conducted of OES beads in this configuration, none of the beads developed the pinching trait. All had subtle reductions in bead diameter and shell thickness, but they retained or even enhanced their ninety-degree surface/outer rim angle. While a simple thought experiment can predict the use-wear from a roll of pennies pattern, there are many alternative patterns that are not as intuitive (refer to Figure 3.1). These variations should be examined by experimentally stringing modern OES beads in ethnographically documented patterns. Future efforts could examine ethnographic garments for use-wear, systematically describe use-wear on OES beads, and conduct experimental studies to re-create identified patterns. Pinched beads are not equally distributed among the data surveyed, but rather they are found more frequently at Nelson Bay Cave, in South Africa. The higher frequency of this type of trait may represent a cultural style specific to populations who utilized the shelter, such as people with a shared culture who constructed their beadwork in similar ways. The pinched beads from this site were recovered from layers dating to the mid to Late Holocene. Perhaps as styles (and identities) became increasingly elaborate and distinctive over the past few thousand years, unique instances of use-wear increase. In order to confirm whether pinching indeed results from a specific display pattern, and therefore a cultural style, assemblages from nearby sites in the same time range should be assessed for similar wear. If pinched beads are present at neighboring sites, it supports the likelihood they result from intentional cultural behavior. These sites then may be areas frequented by the same community, and/or by adjacent communities with regular contact. This could be a useful proxy to trace group identity and cultural contact, on a much smaller geographic scale than bead diameters. Eventually, archaeologists could identify multiple types of use-wear, revealing finer scales of regional or temporal variation than are available using OES bead diameters alone.

Perspectives on Stone Age Sociality • 81

Conclusion OES beads have understudied potential for reconstructing cultural identities and community interactions in the distant past. They are the first ornaments to be completely manufactured, and they have been used across two continents for tens of thousands of years. The shells are both durable and malleable, meaning they can be shaped through use-wear but still survive the rigors of taphonomy. Despite all this, their interpretive value is still being discovered, described, and quantified. In this chapter, I identified one type of use-wear (pinching) and evaluated its presence across thirteen archaeological sites, finding it in much higher numbers at one particular site (Nelson Bay Cave). If pinching use-wear results from a dangling attachment, and is a culturally specific mode of bead display, then nearby sites should also show higher numbers of pinched beads. This trait is just one possible example of OES bead use-wear, and future research should observe ethnographic data for a variety of beaded ornaments, designs of and stringing patterns. These modern items are our best proxy for traditional OES bead designs, and they can be used to guide future studies linking experimental use-wear to archaeological beads, and perhaps to ancient social boundaries.

Acknowledgments For permissions and assistance with accessing archaeological collections for this research, I recognize the following people and agencies: the McGregor Museum, David Morris and Michael Chazan (Border Cave, Dikbosch 1, Wonderwerk Cave); the Tanzanian Commission on Science and Technology (COSTECH), the Tanzanian Division of Antiquities, Ministry of Natural Resources and Tourism Pamela Willoughby, Mary Prendergast, Audax Mabulla and Manuel Domingo-Rodriguez (Daumboy 3 Rockshelter, Magubike Rockshelter, Mumba Rockshelter); the Malawi Department of Museums and Monuments, Jessica Thompson and Elizabeth Gomani-Chindebvu (Hora-1, Kadawonda-1, Mazinga-1); the National Museums of Kenya, Steven Goldstein, Emmanuel Ndiema, and Nicole Boivin (Kakapel Rockshelter); the Iziko Museums of South Africa (Nelson Bay Cave); the National Museum of Namibia (Apollo 11 Cave); the Government of the Republic of Botswana, Ministry of Environment, Wildlife and Tourism, the National Museum of Gaborone, and Larry Robbins (White Paintings Shelter). I also appreciate the

82 • Jennifer M. Miller

help of Michael Storozum and Elizabeth Sawchuk who kindly provided me with comments on earlier drafts of this chapter.

Jennifer M. Miller is a postdoctoral researcher at the Max Planck Institute of Geoanthropology, where she helps oversee investigations into Panga Ya Saidi, a significant Pleistocene site in coastal Kenya, and also conducts independent research. Her PhD dissertation (“Variability in Ostrich Eggshell Beads from the Middle and Later Stone Age of Africa”) is the largest existing study of ostrich eggshell bead variation.

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Perspectives on Stone Age Sociality • 83 d’Errico, F., C. Henshilwood, M. Vanhaeren, and K. van Niekerk. 2005. “Nassarius Kraussianus Shell Beads from Blombos Cave: Evidence for Symbolic Behaviour in the Middle Stone Age.” Journal of Human Evolution 48(1): 3–24. Gliganic, L. A., Z. Jacobs, R. G. Roberts, M. Domínguez-Rodrigo, and A. Z. P. Mabulla. 2012. “New Ages for Middle and Later Stone Age Deposits at Mumba Rockshelter, Tanzania: Optically Stimulated Luminescence Dating of Quartz and Feldspar Grains.” Journal of Human Evolution 62(4): 533–47. Gulliver, P. H. 1951. “A Preliminary Survey of the Turkana: A Report Compiled for the Government of Kenya.” Communications from the School of African Studies. Cape Town: University of Cape Town. Gulliver, P. and P. H. Gulliver. 1953. The Central Nilo-Hamites: East Central Africa Part VII, Ethnographic Survey of Africa. London: International African Institute. Hahn, C. H. L., H. Vedder, and L. Fourie. 1966. The Native Tribes of South West Africa. London: Frank Cass. Hitchcock, R. K., J. E. Yellen, D. J. Gelburd, A. J. Osborn, and A. J. Crowell. 1996. “Subsistence Hunting and Resource Management among the Ju/’hoansi of Northwestern Botswana.” African Study Monographs 17(4): 153–219. Hollis, A. C. 1909. The Nandi: Their Language and Folk-Lore. Oxford, UK: Clarendon Press. Humphreys, A. J. B. 1974. “A Preliminary Report on Test Excavations at Dikbosch Shelter I, Herbert District, Northern Cape.” South African Archaeological Bulletin 29(115/116): 115. Inskeep, R. R. 1987. Nelson Bay Cave, Cape Province, South Africa: The Holocene Levels. BAR International Series, no. 357. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports. Jacobson, L. 1987. “The Size Variability of Ostrich Eggshell Beads from Central Namibia and Its Relevance as a Stylistic and Temporal Marker.” South African Archaeological Bulletin 42(145): 55–58. Jacqz, J. W. 1976. “Art in African Living: Objects and Ornaments from East and Southern Africa.” African Arts 9(4): 71–73. Keblusek, L., H. Giles, and A. Maass. 2017. “Communication and Group Life: How Language and Symbols Shape Intergroup Relations.” Group Processes & Intergroup Relations 20(5): 632–43. Khatsenovich, A. M., E. P. Rybin, B. Gunchinsuren, J. W. Olsen, R. A. Shelepaev, L. V. Zotkina, T. Bolorbat, A. Y. Popov, and D. Odsuren. 2017. “New Evidence for Paleolithic Human Behavior in Mongolia: The Kharganyn Gol 5 Site.” Quaternary International 442: 78–94. Lanpo, J., and H. Weiwen. 2009. “The Late Palaeolithic of China.” In Palaeoanthropology and Paleolithic Archaeology in the People’s Republic of China, edited by W. Rukang and J. W. Olsen, 211–23. New York: Routledge. Lebzelter, V. 1934. Native Cultures in Southwest and South Africa, Vol. 2. Leipzig: Karl W. Hiersemann.

84 • Jennifer M. Miller Lee, R. B. 1979. The !Kung San: Men, Women and Work in a Foraging Society. London: Cambridge University Press. Lee-Thorp, J. A., and M. Ecker. 2015. “Holocene Environmental Change at Wonderwerk Cave, South Africa: Insights from Stable Light Isotopes in Ostrich Eggshell.” African Archaeological Review 32(4): 793–811. Li-Chan, E. Y., and H. O. Kim. 2008. “Structure and Chemical Composition of Eggs.” In Egg Bioscience and Biotechnology, edited by M. Yoshinori, 1–95. Hoboken: Wiley. Marsh, B., and J. Jones. 2018. “Reading Social Symbol Systems.” In Handbook of Community Movements and Local Organizations in the 21st Century, edited by R. Cnaan and C. Milofsky, 61–78. New York: Springer. Marshall, L. 1976a. The !Kung of Nyae Nyae. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. ———. 1976b. “Sharing, Talking, and Giving: Relief of Social Tensions among the !Kung.” In Kalahari Hunter-Gatherers: Studies of the !Kung San and Their Neighbours, edited by R. B. Lee and I. Devore, 349–72. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. McBrearty, S., and A. S. Brooks. 2000. “The Revolution That Wasn’t: A New Interpretation of the Origin of Modern Human Behavior.” Journal of Human Evolution 39(5): 453–563. Mehlman, M. J. 1989. “Later Quaternary Archaeological Sequences in Northern Tanzania.” PhD diss., University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. Mellars, P. 2006. “Going East: New Genetic and Archaeological Perspectives on the Modern Human Colonization of Eurasia.” Science 313(5788): 796–800. Mellars, P., K. C. Gori, M. Carr, P. A. Soares, and M. B. Richards. 2013. “Genetic and Archaeological Perspectives on the Initial Modern Human Colonization of Southern Asia.” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 110(26): 10699–704. Miller, J. M. 2019. “Variability in Ostrich Eggshell Beads from the Middle and Later Stone Age of Africa.” PhD diss., University of Alberta. Miller, J. M., and E. A. Sawchuk. 2019. “Ostrich Eggshell Bead Diameter in the Holocene: Regional Variation with the Spread of Herding in Eastern and Southern Africa.” PLOS ONE 14(11): e0225143. Miller, J. M., and Y. V. Wang. 2022. “Ostrich Eggshell Beads Reveal 50,000-YearOld Social Network in Africa.” Nature 601(7892): 234–39. Miller, J. M., and P. R. Willoughby. 2014. “Radiometrically Dated Ostrich Eggshell Beads from the Middle and Later Stone Age of Magubike Rockshelter, Southern Tanzania.” Journal of Human Evolution 74: 118–22. Neiman, F. D. 1995. “Stylistic Variation in Evolutionary Perspective: Inferences from Decorative Diversity and Interassemblage Distance in Illinois Woodland Ceramic Assemblages.” American Antiquity 60(1): 7–36. Otte, E., and R. Rousseau. 2002. “Social Network Analysis: A Powerful Strategy, also for the Information Sciences.” Journal of Information Science 28(6): 441–53.

Perspectives on Stone Age Sociality • 85 Prendergast, M. E., L. Luque, M. Dominguez-Rodrigo, F. Diez-Martin, A. Z. P. Mabulla, and R. Barba. 2007. “New Excavations at Mumba Rockshelter, Tanzania.” Journal of African Archaeology 5(2): 217–44. Prendergast, M. E., A. Z. P. Mabulla, K. M. Grillo, L. G. Broderick, O. Seitsonen, A. O. Gidna, and D. Gifford-Gonzalez. 2013. “Pastoral Neolithic Sites on the Southern Mbulu Plateau, Tanzania.” Azania: Archaeological Research in Africa 48(4): 498–520. Robbins, L. H. 1999. “Direct Dating of Worked Ostrich Eggshell in the Kalahari.” Nyame Akuma 52: 11–16. Robbins, L. H., M. L. Murphy, G. A. Brook, A. H. Ivester, A. C. Campbell, R. G. Klein, R. G. Milo, K. M. Stewart, W. S. Downey, and N. J. Stevens. 2000. “Archaeology, Palaeoenvironment, and Chronology of the Tsodilo Hills White Paintings Rock Shelter, Northwest Kalahari Desert, Botswana.” Journal of Archaeological Science 27(11): 1085–1113. Rybin, E. P. 2014. “Tools, Beads, and Migrations: Specific Cultural Traits in the Initial Upper Paleolithic of Southern Siberia and Central Asia.” Quaternary International 347: 39–52. Sadr, K., A. Smith, I. Plug, J. Orton, and B. Mutti. 2003. “Herders and Foragers on Kasteelberg: Interim Report of Excavations 1999–2002.” The South African Archaeological Bulletin 58(177): 27–32. Schapera, I. 1930. The Khoisan Peoples of Southern Africa. London: Routledge. Schultze, L. S., E. C. Knight, and T. Ziolkowski. 1907. In Namaland and the Kalahari. Jena: Gustav Fischer. Silberbauer, G. B. 1965. “Bushman Survey: Report to the Government of Bechuanaland.” Gaborone: Bechuanaland Government. ———. 1981. Hunter and Habitat in the Central Kalahari Desert. London: Cambridge University Press. Smith, A. B., K. Sadr, J. Gribble, and R. Yates. 1991. “Excavations in the SouthWestern Cape, South Africa, and the Archaeological Identity of Prehistoric Hunter-Gatherers within the Last 2000 Years.” The South African Archaeological Bulletin 46(154): 71–91. Stow, G. W. 1905. The Native Races of South Africa. London: Swan Sonnenschein. Tanaka, J. 1980. The San, Hunter-Gatherers of the Kalahari: A Study in Ecological Anthropology. Translated by D. W. Huges. Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press. Teltser, P. A. 1995. “Culture History, Evolutionary Theory, and Frequency Seriation.” In Evolutionary Archaeology: Methodological Issues, edited by J. Skibo and P. A. Teltser, 51–68. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Thackeray, A. I., J. F. Thackeray, P. B. Beaumont, and J. C. Vogel. 1981. “Dated Rock Engravings from Wonderwerk Cave, South Africa.” Science, New Series 214(4516): 64–67. Theal, G. M. 1919. Ethnography and Condition of South Africa before AD 1505. London: G. Allen and Unwin. Thomas, E. M. 1959. The Harmless People. New York: Knopf.

86 • Jennifer M. Miller Tryon, C. A., J. E. Lewis, K. L. Ranhorn, A. Kwekason, B. Alex, M. F. Laird, C. W. Marean, E. Niespolo, J. Nivens, and A. Z. P. Mabulla. 2018. “Middle and Later Stone Age Chronology of Kisese II Rockshelter (UNESCO World Heritage Kondoa Rock-Art Sites), Tanzania.” PLOS ONE 13(2): e0192029. Van der Post, L., and J. Taylor. 1984. Testament to the Bushmen. New York: Penguin Books. Vanhaeren, M., and F. d’Errico. 2006. “Aurignacian Ethno-Linguistic Geography of Europe Revealed by Personal Ornaments.” Journal of Archaeological Science 33(8): 1105–28. Vanhaeren, M., F. d’Errico, K. L. van Niekerk, C. S. Henshilwood, and R. M. Erasmus. 2013. “Thinking Strings: Additional Evidence for Personal Ornament Use in the Middle Stone Age at Blombos Cave, South Africa.” Journal of Human Evolution 64(6): 500–17. Villa, P., S. Soriano, T. Tsanova, I. Degano, T. F. G. Higham, F. d’Errico, L. Backwell, J. J. Lucejko, M. P. Colombini, and P. B. Beaumont. 2012. “Border Cave and the Beginning of the Later Stone Age in South Africa.” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 109(33): 13208–13. Vogelsang, R., J. Richter, Z. Jacobs, B. Eichhorn, V. Linseele, and R. G. Roberts. 2010. “New Excavations of Middle Stone Age Deposits at Apollo 11 Rockshelter, Namibia: Stratigraphy, Archaeology, Chronology and Past Environments.” Journal of African Archaeology 8(2): 185–218. Wang, C., Y. Zhang, X. Gao, X. Zhang, and H. Wang. 2009. “Archaeological Study of Ostrich Eggshell Beads Collected from SDG Site.” Chinese Science Bulletin 54(21): 3887–95. Wendt, W. E. 1972. “Preliminary Report on an Archaeological Research Programme in South West Africa.” Cimbebasia B(2): 1–61. Wenger, E. 1998. Communities of Practice: Learning, Meaning, and Identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Werner, J. J., and P. R. Willoughby. 2017. “Middle Stone Age Technology and Cultural Evolution at Magubike Rockshelter, Southern Tanzania.” African Archaeological Review 34(2): 249–73. Wiessner, P. 1983. “Style and Social Information in Kalahari San Projectile Points.” American Antiquity 48(2): 253–76. Willoughby, P. R. 2012. “The Middle and Later Stone Age in the Iringa Region of Southern Tanzania.” Quaternary International 270: 103–18. Zwyns, N., S. A. Gladyshev, B. Gunchinsuren, T. Bolorbat, D. Flas, T. Dogandžić, A. V. Tabarev, et al. 2014. “The Open-Air Site of Tolbor 16 (Northern Mongolia): Preliminary Results and Perspectives.” Quaternary International 347: 53–65.

CHAPTER 4

A Shell Bead from a Faraway Ocean Significance Assessment of a Single Indigenous Ornament from Southern Australia Keryn Walshe

H Introduction Robust archaeological evidence in the form of incised ochre and bone from Blombos Cave in southern Africa (Henshilwood, d’Errico, and Watts 2009) and shell and bone beads from other African and some Asian sites such as Ille Cave in the Philippines (Bouzouggar et al. 2007; Henshilwood et al. 2009; Vitales 2013) has been used to argue for cultural complexity as early as 100,000 years ago (Balme and O’Connor 2019). The use of ochre and the act of incising or cutting objects have enabled these finds to act as proxies in the ongoing debate on cognitive capacity and cultural (symbolic) behavior of earlier hominins. Underpinning these debates is the recording of a wide range of archaeological sites revealing an abundance of such finds, which increases with sites associated with modern humans (Vitales 2013; Balme and O’Connor 2019). In contrast, Australia has been occupied only by fully modern humans but lacks large datasets for numbers of ornaments and for archaeological sites where ornaments have been recorded. Current genomic evidence for human migration into Australia places this event as a succession of entries over some thousands of years, pivoting around 55,000 years ago (Tobler et al. 2017). This is incompati-

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ble with the oldest reported archaeological sites in Australia at around 60,000–65,000 years old (Clarkson et al. 2017), giving rise to vigorous debate over molecular data versus carbon, luminescence or isotopic captures (Wood et al. 2016; O’Connell et al. 2018). Genomic evidence is more compelling given the presence of Denisovan DNA and the absence of Neandertal DNA in Indigenous Australian populations (Tobler et al. 2017; O’Connell et al. 2018). Suffice to say that entirely modern humans were adapting or had adapted to the Australian continent by 50,000 years ago. Shell beads have been recovered from Australian archaeological sites dating to over 30,000 years old (Przywolnik 2003; Balme and Morse 2006; Balme et al. 2019; Balme and O’Connor 2019). The gap of some 20,000 years or more between human arrival and the oldest beads reported to date, is curious given that the earliest ornaments from both Africa and Asia are also beads cut from shell and date 80,000 to 100,000 years old (Bouzouggar et al. 2007; Vitales 2013). This gap is possibly due to taphonomic events reflecting differential preservation, misidentification, and excavation bias (Kuhn and Stiner 2007; Baynes. Piper, and Thorn 2019). Within the Australian archaeological context, shell beads outnumber bone beads, but overall, few beads (approximately 200) have been found archaeologically and of those, only seventy-two are older than 10,000 years (Balme and O’Connor 2019). Furthermore, these shell beads represent a particularly narrow taxonomic range when compared to Pleistocene (greater than 10,000 years) availability of marine shellfish and all but one are from sites concentrated in the northwest of the country (Balme and O’Connor 2019). A higher number of Holocene (less than 10,000 years) archaeology sites have yielded beads, and the distribution is broader, although still concentrated in the northern part of the country (McAdam 2008; McAdam and Davidson 2018; Balme and O’Connor 2019). The absence of evidence for earlier hominins in Australia makes proxy applications such as investigating cognitive and cultural complexity, as undertaken on beads from African and Asian sites, irrelevant. Instead, recent research has focused on mapping social relationships and long-distance trade networks across the northern part of Australia and into its very center (McAdam and Davidson 2018; Balme, O’Connor, and Langley 2018; Balme and O’Connor 2019). This fascinating and informative research has added significantly to the interpretative context for ancient patterns and dynamics of cultural behavior. Prior to establishing this research however, providing convincing evidence for classi-

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fying a piece of shell, bone, or stone as a bead was the first hurdle. This process has been greatly assisted with the introduction of increasingly sophisticated microscopy and spectrographic techniques (Moro Abadia and Nowell 2014). However, investigating dimensions of ornamentation via status, hierarchy, or the legacy of objects remains problematic when working with small datasets; these problems are not necessarily obviated by introducing more sophisticated technology or improved methodologies. Seventy-two beads representing 20,000 years in time and a land mass of approximately 7.5 million km² promotes each bead (and distorts each site) through a converging lens of celebrity status and curiosity. Such distortions become disadvantageous on at least two levels: • an overly heightened interest in contesting definitions of cultural modification of a naturally formed object; •  a poorly informed process for assessing significance whereby “rarity” is no more than archaeological presence or absence. These levels trap the object as a “curiosity,” equivalent to eighteenth-century cabinet displays in the style of a Wunderkammer. Such positioning not only minimises Indigenous cultural objects but also, as argued here, actively prevents discovery of complex contextualized cultural, ecological, and temporal knowledge. A single shell bead excavated from a Pleistocene site (Allen’s Cave) in southern Australia offers an opportunity to move beyond the limitations of a small dataset. The lost and found knowledge gained from an otherwise “object of curiosity” is explored within the wider framework of an archaeological significance assessment.

Allen’s Cave, Nullarbor Plain Allen’s Cave is a north-facing shelter on the Nullarbor Plain of South Australia (Figure 4.1). Although referred to as a “cave,” it is more correctly a rock shelter or overhang, with a maximum depth of less than 10 m and a width of 18 m (Walshe 1994b; Cane, Jones, and Nicholson 1995). The Nullarbor Plain is one of the largest karst systems in the world and is characterized by numerous surface sinkholes, collapsed dolines, and subsurface chambers and caves. The site was excavated in 1969 (Marun 1972) and 1989 (Walshe 1994a; Cane 1989; Cane et al. 1995; Cane 2002), with the 1989 exca-

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Figure 4.1.  Allen’s Cave, Nullarbor Plain, South Australia. © Keryn Walshe.

vation overlaying the original and reaching a depth of over 4 m. As is typical of Nullarbor cave sites, no burials were found, and no human bone was identified in the excavation assemblages. Both excavations yielded a significant quantity of animal bone with a more minor stone tool component (Marun 1972; Walshe 1994a, 1994b; Cane et al. 1995). The animal bone was derived mostly from desiccated owl pellets along with a small amount derived from scats deposited by native marsupials, chiefly the Tasmanian Devil (Sarcophilus harrisii). This small but robust mammal is a highly efficient carnivorous scavenger, and its scat reflects a wide weight range of animals, while owl pellet material is restricted to prey weighing less than about 3 kg. The remainder of the vertebrate assemblage represents discard by humans and composes less than 3 percent of the total osteology component (Walshe 1994a, 1994b). The stone assemblage is dominated by small flakes struck from flint, quartzite, and silcrete (Cane et al. 1995). Radiometric and luminescence analysis of sediment samples collected in 1989 gave an age span for the site of approximately 39,000 years to about 1,500 years ago (Roberts et al. 1995, 1996). This considerably extended the dates of occupation for this site and for the Nullarbor

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Plain more broadly—well beyond earlier results for significant cave sites in the region, such as Koonalda Cave (Wright 1971). Later analysis of the sediments confirmed that archaeological sites on the Nullarbor Plain are more than 30,000 years old (Turney, Bird, and Roberts 2001). Importantly, it could be concluded that occupation of the site commenced well before the last glacial maximum (LGM) and continued through and beyond the LGM. The LGM was a phase of significant climatic and environmental shift commencing around 25,000 years ago and leading to hyper aridity (extremely cold and dry) and oceanic retreat, which lasted at least 10,000 years (Williams, Ulm, et al. 2018). It was during the LGM that a shell bead was lost or discarded in the rock shelter known today as Allen’s Cave. Allen’s Cave is located approximately 15 km inland from the visually impressive Nullarbor cliffs, which form an escarpment of 100 m or more above the Southern Ocean. The Nullarbor cliffs prohibit direct access to a narrow, subtidal beach set well below and in contemporary times there have been only six access points to the sea, along the almost unbroken 200 km stretch of Nullarbor coastline (Gara and Cane 1988). During the LGM, the ocean lay a further 140 km to south of the Nullarbor cliffs, placing Allen’s Cave almost 160 km inland (Turney et al. 2001; Williams, Ulm, et al. 2018). For all of these reasons, the absence of midden (shell) material in the assemblage was unsurprising while the find of a fragment of abalone shell was surprising. More surprising still was the deliberately cut hole on the shell, through which cordage could be passed. This was the first Pleistocene bead to be reported for the whole of southern Australia (Cane et al. 1995; Cane 2002).

Allen’s Cave Shell Bead The Allen’s Cave shell bead was excavated from the lower unit (trench D2/spit 22), at a depth of about 0.24 m (Cane et al. 1995: 35). Based on radiocarbon analysis of hearth samples above and below this find, it was initially assigned a date of approximately 16,000 years old: This puts the shell about half way down the site. This position is stratigraphically equivalent to the horizon . . . that contains three hearths. Charcoal samples were taken for these features (both above and below the position of the shell) but were too small to be dated. A OSL [Optically Stimulated Luminescence] sample taken below the hearths, and 40 cm beneath the horizon containing the shell suggested a date of 22,000 BP. The age depth curve for Allen’s Cave would thus suggest an

92 • Keryn Walshe age of about 16,000 BP for the actual spit containing the shell. (Cane et al. 1995: 35)

Since the original investigations, Marine09 calibration has revised the earlier age estimates giving an approximate age for the shell bead as 14,700 years old (Cane 2013; Smith 2013). This revision does not preclude the possibility that the shell bead is in fact older, given that its age has been estimated via correlation with samples from adjacent trenches, rather than the precise location of the find. In fact, an age closer to 18,000 years old is supported by recent revision of the Southern Hemisphere curve, SHCal20 (Hogg et al. 2020). However, given the southerly location of Allen’s Cave, precise application of this calibration may need to await data specific to high southern latitudes (Hogg et al. 2020). As Cane et al. (1995) have remarked, suggesting greater antiquity is not for “gratuitous” purposes but in view of the need for finer resolution of correlations, particularly with sea levels. For example, the lower age range of approximately 39,000 years old arrived at by both C14 and OSL analysis (Roberts et al. 1995, 1996) was not well accepted until the inherent stability of the cave sediments was confirmed (Turney et al. 2001). Marine calibrations were applied to the reported age estimates, but new analyses of sediments were not undertaken. Taking all of the above into consideration, it is proposed that the shell bead from Allen’s Cave has an age currently estimated scientifically as at least 15,000 years old. The shell bead from Allen’s Cave (Figure 4.2a, b) is manufactured from a green lipped abalone, Haliotis laevigata (Akerman 2018: 206). Its shape is informal (unclassifiable as rectangular, triangular, circular,

Figure 4.2a.  Abalone bead, outer surface, Allen’s Cave. © Keryn Walshe.

Figure 4.2b.  Abalone bead, inner (nacre) surface, Allen’s Cave. © Keryn Walshe.

A Shell Bead from a Faraway Ocean • 93

square, or other) and holds an asymmetrical look by virtue of measuring 37x27x2 mm. The inner surface has retained its nacre, although down the viewer’s lefthand side (LHS) is a thin layer, darker in color. The upper viewer’s righthand side (RHS) is the longest edge and has a clean margin, suggesting a fresh break during or after excavation. The remaining margins are smooth with similar coloring of the outer surface. A hole has been formed by drilling, boring, or piercing along the shorter margin. The hole is rectangular in shape and measures 2 mm x 1 mm. Earlier analysis identified wear on the margins of the perforation, consistent with “prolonged friction of a cord” but suggested that the hole was a naturally formed “excretory” pore (Akerman 2018: 206). Pores on the shell of a living abalone are used for respiration and usually number around seven on the green lipped variety. These respiratory pores invariably form a line, arcing along the deeper margin. By overlaying the fragment from Allen’s Cave against a complete abalone shell, it can be seen that the hole cannot be a respiratory pore due to the lack of alignment (Figures 4.3a, b). This shell has been deliberately perforated and given the wear around the margins of the hole; it is classified as a pendant. It is possible that the bead was part of a series, or formed a composite set; however, this is considered unlikely given that the cordage hole has been placed centrally along the margin rather than set against a “corner” to allow securing to another similar piece. Furthermore, exhaustive surveys of institutionally held archaeology and ethnography collections failed to find composite shell sets (McAdam 2008).

Figure 4.3a.  Abalone bead from whole shell. © Keryn Walshe.

Figure 4.3b.  Piece of abalone shell used to make the bead. © Keryn Walshe.

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Australian Pleistocene Beads Balme and O’Connor (2019) provide details of all reported bead finds from archaeological sites across Australia. The chronological bracket for the shell bead from Allen’s Cave contains five other cave or rock shelter sites, all from northern Australia (Devil’s Lair, Mandu Mandu, Carpenter’s Gap 3, Riwi and Boodie). As seen in Table 4.1, the majority of Pleistocene beads recorded in Australia have been manufactured from shells (numbering sixty-six). Marine shell appears to be the preferred material for manufacturing Pleistocene beads in Australia, as it is in Asia and elsewhere (Vitales 2013). Shell holds universal appeal in view of its nacreous quality, robusticity, and (possibly) abundance. The shellfish can also be removed as food without destroying the shell and this dual purpose may have added to its appeal. Marine shells can be collected and carried by children “beachcombing” or from shallow water and preparation of a hole for cordage and wearing requires minimal skill sets (Bednarik 1998, 2019).

Types of Australian Archaeological Shell Beads Regardless of the wide range of mollusks available around the coast of Australia, archaeological shell beads fall into a narrow taxonomical range limited to scaphopod, baler, and oyster (also known as “pearl shell”) (Balme and O’Connor 2019). Ethnographic collections appear to Table 4.1.  Survey of Pleistocene archaeological beads (adapted from Balme and O’Connor (2019).  Site

Material

Number of beads

Age

Devil’s Lair, Western Australia

bone

3

19,000–12,000

Devil’s Lair, Western Australia

bone

1

12,000

Devil’s Lair, Western Australia

stone

1

19,000–12,000

Mandu Mandu, Western Australia

shell

3

21,000

Carpenters Gap, Western Australia

shell 

5

11,000–5,500

*Riwi, Western Australia

shell 

14

30,000–8,000

Boodie Cave, Western Australia

shell

22

12,000

Mandu Mandu, Western Australia

shell

22

26,000–22,000

*Riwi shell beads were originally reported to be ca. 30,000 years old (Balme and Morse 2006) but have been recently revised into a span of 30,000 to 8,000 years old (Balme et al. 2019; Balme and O’Connor 2019).

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be somewhat more restrictive for shells with predominantly pearl and baler pendants but include much greater diversity of animal parts, such as teeth, bone, claws, feathers, and quills. With poorer survival rates for highly organic elements such as feathers, quills, and immature teeth and claws, it is possible that similar diversity existed prehistorically. Abalone is a commonly discarded economic shell found in middens around Australia, but it is virtually absent as an ornament or bead in both archaeological and ethnographic collections. Oyster and baler shells are common in Australian coastal middens and were also widely traded across northern and central Australia for bead-making (McAdam 2008; McAdam and Davidson 2018). Baler shell has been identified as a main item of commerce across Asia (Vitales 2013). No evidence exists for abalone as a trade item either in Australia or offshore. The abalone bead from Allen’s Cave is currently the only reported one of Pleistocene age for southern Australia and one of only three reported Holocene abalone beads. One of these is from South Australia (Walshe, Littleton, and Graham 2010) and the other from Western Australia (Akerman 2018) and both were found in burial contexts. The abalone (Haliotis laevigata) bead reported from Western Australia was found clasped in the left skeletal hand of an adult female and held against the chest (Akerman 2018: 210). It displayed a single perforation along the margin, presumably for cordage to pass through, suggesting that the bead was worn as a pendant. Microscopic examination of the margins of the perforation failed to find evidence for wear and it was concluded that the bead had not been worn in life (Akerman 2018). In this case, the bead was made as a grave good and suspended around the neck of the deceased with the pendant placed into the left hand. Made for death rather than for life, the cordage would leave no trace of wear around the perforation. The abalone bead from South Australia, at a site named Gillman Mound, was also found in association with a burial but does show evidence for having been worn in life.

Gillman Mound Abalone Bead The Gillman Mound on the Adelaide Plains of South Australia was excavated under salvage conditions in 1970. It revealed human burials (twenty-two individuals), one or more dingo burials, non-burial associated dingo bone, midden shells, and stone tools dated between 1,100 to 600 years ago (Littleton, Walshe, and Hodges 2013; Walshe et al. 2010). A piece of abalone shell (taxonomically uncertain) from the mound site with a roughly rectangular form revealed a hole drilled at one end. The

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exterior surface of the whole piece is blackened by ashy sediment, but the interior face reveals patches of nacre. The margin of the whole object is entirely smooth without interruption to the coloration, suggesting that it was complete prior to excavation. It is likely that mechanical sieving (the salvage work was severely time constrained) has caused the object to split across the perforation, forming a shelf at the upper end. Initial inspection of this shell piece attributed the perforation to a flesh-eating mollusk (Hodges 1973). More recent microscopic examination revealed micro flaking along the interior margin of the hole rather than the regular bevelling typical of predatory mollusk (Walshe et al. 2010). Red pigment was also detected on the upper surface, as was a curious, incised swirl pattern. The swirl may have been created by predatory marine life if the shell was collected sometime after its natural lifespan. The selection of an older shell with naturally made marks, rather than a fresh shell, is an unusual choice for marine ornaments on other continents (Kuhn et al. 2001). The Gillman abalone bead is similar in size and shape to the abalone bead from Allen’s Cave, despite significant temporal and spatial differences. Thus, manufacture of shell beads by perforation of a shell has persisted for at least 14,000 years in southern Australia. Such a simple technique matches the ease of collecting a shell from a shoreline or keeping one after a meal and perforating its margin. It is not reliant on or attenuated by status or hierarchy. In this way, the making of a shell bead becomes unrestrictive and indiscriminate. The greater effort and skill was in gathering the raw materials (hair, fur, reeds) and manufacture of cordage for the shell to be worn.

Australian Indigenous Ethnographic Ornaments Museum collections and ethnographic observations in the 1800s attest to the wide variety of ornamentation being created and worn by Indigenous people in Australia at the time of European arrival (Peterson, Allen, and Hamby 2008). The ethnographic collection from the South Australia Museum for example, contains over eight hundred ornaments made from various animal parts such as teeth, bone, shell, cartilage, sinew, hair, fur, feather, tail tips, and so on to make aprons, headbands, armlets, pendants, or other styles of ornamentation (Walshe 2011). Human hair, animal fur, or plant fiber was commonly used to make string from which one or a variety of objects could be suspended. Cordage was used extensively in Australia to manufacture woven objects such as

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baskets, bags, mats, and skirts (Hamby and Young 2001). Suspension of an object from a strand of cordage may have evolved from the weaving process and possibly as an amusement for children. The relationship between creating cordage, weaving, and ornaments remains an under researched area in Australia. The rich, ostentatious display of ethnographic ornaments is not matched in Australian archaeological deposits. The archaeology collection housed at the South Australia Museum contains only ten ornaments (Walshe et al. 2010). As these ten ornaments span approximately 15,000 years in time, we have on average one appearing every 1,500 years—which is a lower occurrence than the appearance of comets and celestial showers in the night sky. The South Australia Museum is by no means unique, with other major institutions across the country reporting similarly low numbers of archaeological ornaments (Balme and O’Connor 2019). Differential environmental preservation of organic materials in archaeological sites is a well-known taphonomic bias but there is generally better survival of shell, bone, and teeth, from which most Australian Indigenous ornaments are composed (Walshe 2011). Other taphonomic factors such as sieve mesh size is a widely recognized bias across a range of disciplines (Baynes et al. 2019) and failure to identify ornaments in the field and/or lab will affect archaeological outcomes (Kuhn and Stiner 2007). The misidentification of the Gillman Mound abalone bead in the 1970s provides a case in point. Regardless of the winnowing factors, archaeological beads in Australia clearly number very few. This has limited our understanding of Pleistocene cultural behavior and limited our means of impartial significance assessment. Significance assessment of institutionally housed archaeology collections is of vital importance when considering the economic cost of housing and conserving a collection composed of thousands of bits of broken stone, shell, and bone. Archaeology collections in Australia are held primarily for their research value rather than for display or teaching purposes. The intrinsic value of a collection could be elevated significantly if more display items were recognized, with the additional value of generating and disseminating more complex knowledge for the public benefit.

Significance Assessment of the Allen’s Cave Abalone Bead Assessing significance of sites, assemblages, collections, and objects is fundamental to archaeology as a discipline. Impartial and dispassionate

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assessment is achieved through the application of a set of consistent and agreed upon principles. In Australia, significance assessment criteria are set out in the Australia ICOMOS Burra Charter, 2013, which evolved from an International Committee of Monuments and Sites meeting held in Australia in 1979. Since 1979 two other policy documents underpinning best practices for institutional management of collections and objects have been produced by government agencies (Russell and Winkworth 2009; Wilkinson 2005; Cultural Gifts Program Guidelines 2013). The significance of a collected object, particularly if archaeological, rests mostly on its research value. State or Commonwealth heritage assets need to be assessed beyond their research value in view of the costs of resourcing such collections. The appraisal process set out in the Burra Charter and subsequent policies refers specifically to: provenance, rarity, condition, and interpretative capacity. Applying these criteria to the Allen’s Cave abalone shell bead is provided in Table 4.2. What becomes clear is that this archaeologically rare object holds little or no value outside of its research potential, exposing it to risk of a sliding scale of conservation interest. Summarizing from Table 4.2, the Allen’s Cave abalone bead is considered to: •  be reliably provenanced; •  be rare spatially and temporally; •  be poorly conserved; •  hold reliable chronology; •  offer limited interpretative capacity (for cultural behavior). Technique is not a separate criterion under the conventional criteria. Including technique would not alter the overall outcome considering that the manufacturing technique is not unusual or complex. Replicative studies have demonstrated that the usual prehistoric techniques in manufacturing shell beads (egg or marine) lack complexity with few steps involved and can be completed within minutes (Bednarik 2019). Russell and Winkworth (2009) identify four primary criteria when assessing significance and these are historic, artistic or aesthetic, scientific or research potential, and social or spiritual. By applying the ICOMOS criteria alone, the assessment of the Allen’s Cave abalone bead (Table 4.2) fails to fully explore these criteria, including the most relevant, which is “social or spiritual.” Australian Indigenous people as ecological agents are deeply entwined with an embodied, storied, mythologized landscape and all of its flora and fauna. Explo-

A Shell Bead from a Faraway Ocean • 99 Table 4.2.  Significance assessment of Allen’s Cave shell bead. Provenance

It is well provenanced whereby the locality of the find is well recorded, reported by publication and is undisputed. Provenance has been consistently repeated in multiple reports and publications.

Rarity

Perforated shell ornaments have been found in north-western and south-eastern Australia, with a greater concentration in the latter area (McAdam 2008) but are considered rare archaeologically. It is the only Pleistocene ornament from the southern part of Australia and the only Pleistocene abalone bead from the whole of Australia. It is one of only three abalone beads found in an archaeological context in Australia. No abalone shell beads have been identified in rigorous surveys of institutionally held ethnographic collections across Australia (McAdam 2008; McAdam and Davidson 2018; Balme et al. 2018; Balme and O’Connor 2019). The Allen’s Cave bead is rare within a collection context. 

Condition

The bead is incomplete, having been broken into two pieces post excavation. The surfaces are worn and discolored due to long-term burial. Its overall condition is poor. 

Chronology

The bead is aged at ca 15,000 years old but could be older. A more precise age requires dating of fresh samples from the profile. This is problematic in view of contamination of the excavation trench, which has been left open to a depth of 4 m since 1989. Animal bone sourced from the Allen’s Cave archaeology collection could be dated as a proxy, however the collection is not currently accessible. There is also no dedicated research budget available for analytical research on this collection. 

Interpretative Of the 250 archaeological sites recorded for the Far West of South capacity Australia, only fifteen are associated with the Nullarbor Plain, of which only two sites have been excavated. Allen’s Cave and Koonalda Cave are the only sites to have been systematically investigated during multiple field trips and archaeological research (Walshe 2017). The difficulty of securing field and research budgets has led to large gaps in archaeological effort. This has resulted in the absence of a regional comparative context for prehistoric Nullarbor sites and interpretative capacity is poor. Occupation of Allen’s and Koonalda Caves was continuous from 39,000 to about 1,500 years ago including during the hyper-aridity of the LGM. The scale and details of occupation is difficult to decipher from the animal bone (Walshe 1994a, 1994b) and the stone tool record (Marun 1972; Cane et al. 1995; Cane 2013). Site interpretation has looked to ethnographic and oral history drawn from Western Desert culture in order to present a possible (not necessarily probable) scenario (Cane et al. 1995; Cane 2002, 2013). Some Nullarbor caves display hand stencils; incisions and finger flutings (Bednarik 2007; Wright 1971; Cane 1989; Walshe 2017). Positioning one ornament within the context of cave art pre­ sents numerous challenges. 

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rations of interpretative capacity, knowledge or epistemology of a site, assemblage or object need to enter into natural and cultural spheres and their overlap. This is reflected in the evolving Burra Charter, which has stated more recently that: “Conservation of a place should identify and take into consideration all aspects of cultural and natural significance without unwarranted emphasis on any one value at the expense of others” (The Burra Charter Article 5.1, 2013: 4). As argued by Harrison (2013, 2015), an object and its significance is best assessed when exploring its natural and cultural biographies. The notion of an object biography was pioneered in particular by Spector (1993) through her engagement with a single bone awl from an archaeological site. Such biographies enable culture and nature, modification and ecology to inform each other. Dividing nature from cultural spheres of knowledge, ecology, and temporality restricts meaningful interpretations of archaeological finds from Indigenous precontact sites. This is exemplified in a comment by an Indigenous man and staff member with the Australian Museum, Phil Gordon: “some animals can’t just be classified as fauna . . . Pademelon (a small kangaroo) . . . are my people, my relations” (Harrison 2015: 31). Descola (2013) and Harrison (2013, 2015) argue for mutual exploration of heritage ontologies that merge natural with cultural heritages, and natural with cultural significance assessments into a seamless appraisal. The potential of this merging has been witnessed in the evolution of co-management for some of Australia’s National Parks. Under co-management, non-Indigenous historic and inherited views of nature and conservation practices have opened to an Indigenous enculturated landscape and ecologies. A similar situation has been evolving with Indigenous peoples on other continents, whereby prehistoric ontologies begin to shape current management and project planning (Hill 2012). Reflecting this approach, methodologies can explore natural and cultural aspects of archaeological assemblages and individual objects to reveal enculturated landscapes across time and space. The natural values of the bead from Allen’s Cave become as critically important as its cultural values.

Assessing the Natural Values of the Allen’s Cave Abalone Bead The Allen’s Cave abalone bead was manufactured from a green lipped abalone, Haliotis laevigata (Cane et al. 1995; Akerman 2018). This species is today widely distributed around the southern coastline of Aus-

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tralia in shallow subtidal and temperate waters with a preference for rocky substrates adjacent to drift algae (Geiger 1999). Aboriginal people smashed abalone off the rocks after wading out when the tide was low or by diving in shallow water (Egloff 2000). Recent datasets (Williams, Veth, et al. 2015; Williams, Ulm, et al. 2018) suggest that between 15,000 and 13,000 years ago the Southern Ocean was about 140 km offshore. This places Allen’s Cave some 160 km from the closest abalone beds at the time when the bead was manufactured. Williams, Ulm, et al. (2018) also found that during the terminal LGM, sealevel transgression was inundating coastlines at an average of 0.5 km per human generation. Such a rapidly changing coastline “would similarly have affected the establishment and growth of shell beds, which while no doubt present were also likely struggling with the fluctuating conditions” (Williams, Ulm, et al. 2018: 16–17). If shell beds were difficult to access during the terminal LGM (15,000 to 8,000 years ago), then it is more likely that the abalone shell was collected before these turbulent and fluctuating conditions were established. The most stable time during the LGM for rocky platforms and offshore reefs is predicted to have been from 20,000 to 17,000 years ago. At that time the sea was 180 km or more to the south, placing Allen’s Cave 200 km inland and in the middle of a hyper-arid plain. Regardless of its inland arid position, this would have been a good time to harvest abalone, compared to 2,000 years later. However, sea temperatures were also much colder at 17–20,000 years ago, compared to 15,000 years ago (Petherick et al. 2013) and green lipped abalone prefer temperate waters (Geiger 1999). Alternatively, the shell may have been tossed up on the beach following mass mollusk death with the onset of colder, fluctuating, and generally turbulent conditions between 17,000 and 15,000 years ago. In this scenario, the abalone bead was manufactured during a time of maritime abundance but when the mollusk beds were at their most extreme distance from Allen’s Cave. That is, abalone shells were common and easily obtainable as a raw material for bead-making, but very far from the sheltered site and in an environmentally hostile landscape. Allen’s Cave is one of very few easily accessible and protected rock shelters on the Nullarbor Plain, which is better known for its deep rather than shallow caves. Table 4.3 revisits three of the criteria (rarity, chronology, and interpretative capacity) previously applied in assessing the significance of the Allen’s Cave bead. The remaining criteria (provenance and condition) are unaltered by the inclusion of natural values.

102 • Keryn Walshe Table 4.3.  Significance reassessment of Allen’s Cave shell bead (with natural values). Rarity

Abalone shells were common ca. 15,000 years ago.

Chronology

In view of comparatively poorer conditions for reef formation and stability after 15,000 years ago, it is likely that the shell predates this era. The age of the shell is likely to be closer to 17,000–20,000 than to 15,000 years old. This overcomes some of the difficulty of undertaking further radiometric and/ or luminescence analysis. 

Interpretative capacity

The abalone bead was collected at time when Allen’s Cave was approximately 200 km inland and the Nullarbor Plain was in a state of climatic hyper-aridity. Rainfall was extremely low and surface water was scarce. Rock-holes such as the one at Allen’s Cave (Gara and Cane 1988; Cane et al. 1995) acted as small reservoirs prior to the LGM (and would do so again following amelioration) but were empty during the LGM. Regardless of the compromised water availability and hotter conditions, the presence of the abalone shell confirms that Indigenous people populated the emerging land as the sea retreated to the edge of the continental shelf. Indigenous people followed the coastline as it moved south, and they reached its furthest point. Along the coastline, it was a more pleasant environment with the relief of low-pressure belts and freshwater points compared to the open, sparsely vegetated plain to the north (Martin 1973). Regardless, Indigenous people traversed the 200 km or so of aridity to return regularly to Allen’s Cave. This is a detail previously only assumed, rather than confirmed. The shell may have been passed between individuals to reach the inland, but this still requires someone to visit the coast. Abalone was a food source easily taken from reefs and reused as ornaments. The focus on a common raw material points to inclusivity among a social group. A raw material that can be collected without restrictions as to age, gender, or status provides a level of detail fundamental to its overall interpretation. Wearing a simply produced pendant, itself made from a common and readily acquired raw material strongly suggests it was worn unrestricted to a particular demographic. This, in turn suggests absence of hierarchy. 

Summarizing from Tables 4.2 and 4.3, the shell bead: •  is reliably provenanced; •  is spatially and temporally common in its unmodified form; •  is poorly conserved; •  holds highly reliable chronology; • offers exceptional interpretative capacity for a single archaeological find.

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As a final step in the assessment process, the criterion of provenance needs further discussion. Indigenous mapping of landscapes replete with social, food gathering, sacred, totemic, and other site types are not relational to European concepts of longitude and latitude, triangulation and grids. An Indigenous way of linking Allen’s Cave into a past enculturated landscape when the site lay atop the escarpment and bordering a hyper-arid Nullarbor Plain is yet to be ontologically expressed. It is clear, however, that Indigenous people at this point in time were choosing to leave the far more hospitable and sustaining coastline to reach Allen’s Cave (and Koonalda Cave further north, away from the coast) not for physical sustenance and certainly not for water. Perhaps it can be assumed that these expeditions were to maintain ontological connections.

Discussion Archaeological research in general and significance assessment in particular are reliant on comparative materials, assemblages, and databases. Small datasets detailing a few finds from a few sites across vast stretches of time and space pose difficulties for meaningful interpretations, and more worryingly for significance assessment. Harrison (2015: 25) argued for a reconfiguration of the “relationship between heritage and other modalities of caring for the future.” He urges us to confront the “entanglements of culture and nature” (Harrison 2015: 24) by liberating significance assessment from the contested grounds of “eurocentrism” and “bias driven by gender, culture, privilege and class.” The limitations on defining rarity are further exacerbated when an assemblage becomes an institutional collection and is exposed to a sliding scale of curation and limited or no scholarship according to often poorly formulated, or contested, notions of significance. The abalone shell ornament described in this chapter is rare archaeologically but was composed from an easily sourced and common material. A similar situation resides with the other seventy-one shell, bone, and stone beads from Pleistocene archaeology sites from northern Australia. Ethnographic and ethnohistoric collections of ornaments along with watercolors, illustrations, and photographs portray a rich and dynamic array of adornment by Indigenous people from pre- to postcontact. A comprehensive survey of ethnographic collections held in major institutions across the country has revealed a national richness of ornaments composed of shell, bone, teeth, and seeds worn prior to European arrival (McAdam 2008; McAdam and Davidson 2018). Much

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ornamentation was elaborately composite by use of plant resins, but all were manufactured from locally abundant materials. Easily acquired and easily rendered materials for ornaments also ensures their ease of replacement and absence of hierarchy. Personal curation and modification can be achieved with minimal labor, and, again, in absence of any notable hierarchy, restriction, or prohibition. Rarity is most often an outcome of taphonomic events, failure of identification and excavation bias. As with the abalone bead from Gillman Mound, South Australia, it is possible that other unidentified or misidentified beads reside in archaeology collections across the country. The Gillman Mound also revealed two dingo bone beads that had been previously overlooked (Walshe et al. 2010). It is of additional concern that the subset of Holocene-aged beads in Australia have all come from burial contexts, suggesting that identification and awareness of ornaments increases with an expectation of grave goods and diminishes as expectation is curtailed. Expectation can act as a gross limitation in the identification of Indigenous archaeological ornaments. Bias is too often shaped by entrenched and unchallenged views of Indigenous hunter-gatherer culture and also a “purist” approach that denies postcontact “hybrid” forms. For example, Indigenous postcontact modification of glass to make tools was vigorously challenged in Australia well into the 1990s and postcontact campsites continue to be, if not dismissed, then certainly considered of lesser importance (Irish 2017). The recording of a unique hybrid ornament in the form of a wolf head made from the pelvis of an echidna was reported from Kangaroo Island (off South Australia) (Walshe 2018). This object conveys a personal and group mythical history carried to the island by European sealers and whalers, across geopolitical borders and cultural disjunctions. It appears in a novel landscape, using novel material to create an object of meaning and memory from a very different place. In a similar fashion, the abalone bead from Allen’s Cave represents human movement into physically challenging spaces in a bid to continue a personal and group connection to a landscape imbued with memory. There is also the necessary adjusting of social connections and exchange (Balme and Morse 2006) across emerging land as the ocean retreats.

Conclusion The focus of this discussion has been on just one archaeological abalone bead from a Pleistocene site on the Nullarbor Plain of southern

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Australia. This bead has revealed meaningful contextual information by deep exploration of its cultural and natural values. Where it sits comparatively, remains speculative given the very few comparative objects recovered from other Australian archaeological contexts. The paucity of such finds is considered to arise from a range of biases operating before, during, and after excavation. Revisiting institutionally curated archaeological collections is considered imperative in addressing some of these biases, as is the merging of cultural and natural spheres of analysis in order to reach heritage ontologies. Keryn Walshe is an archaeologist whose focus is on Indigenous archaeology of southern Australia, from the oldest sites (40,000 years plus) to the present. Her core skills are in taphonomy and zooarchaeology. She has held positions with Flinders University and South Australian Museum; during those twenty years she ran field schools, laboratory workshops, lectured, and collaborated in funded research programs as well as curating the largest Australian Aboriginal archaeology collection in the world. She has also undertaken extensive consulting work in cultural heritage mapping, salvage, and conservation. Archaeology of the Nullarbor Plain of southern Australia remains her key area of research.

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A Shell Bead from a Faraway Ocean • 107 Harrison, R. 2013. Heritage: Critical Approaches. Abingdon: Routledge. ———. 2015. “Beyond Natural and Cultural Heritage: Toward an Ontological Politics of Heritage in the Age of Anthropocene.” Heritage and Society 8(1): 24–42. Henshilwood, C. S., F. d’Errico, and I. Watts. 2009. “Engraved Ochres from the Middle Stone Age Levels at Blombos Cave, South Africa.” Journal of Human Evolution 57: 27–47. Hill, E. 2012. “The Nonempirical Past: Enculturated Landscapes and OtherThan-Human Persons in Southwest Alaska.” Arctic Anthropology 49(2): 41–57. Hodges, J. 1973. A Report of the Excavations at Gillman, SA, 1970. Adelaide: Unpublished Report Prepared for the South Australian Museum. Hogg, A., J. Heaton, Q. Hua, J. Palmer, C. S. M. Turney, J. Southon, A. Bayliss, et al. 2020. “SHCal20 Southern Hemisphere Calibration, 0–55,000 Years cal BP.” Radiocarbon 62(4). https://doi.org/10.1017/RDC.2020.59. Irish, P. 2017. Hidden in Plain View: The Aboriginal People of Coastal Sydney. Sydney: NewSouth. Kuhn, S. L., and M. C. Stiner. 2007. “Paleolithic Ornaments: Implications for Cognition, Demography and Identity.” Diogenes 214: 40–48. Kuhn, S. L., M. C. Stiner, D. S. Reese, and E. Gulec. 2001. “Ornaments of the Earliest Upper Paleolithic: New Insights from the Levant.” PNAS 98(13): 7641–46. Littleton, J., K. Walshe, and J. Hodges. 2013. “Burials and Time at Gillman Mound, Northern Adelaide, South Australia.” Australian Archaeology 77: 38–51. Martin, H. A. 1973. “Palynology and Historical Ecology of Some Cave Excavations in the Australian Nullarbor.” Australian Journal of Botany 21: 282–316. Marun, L. H. 1972. “The Mirning and Their Predecessors on the Coastal Nullarbor Plain.” PhD diss., University of Sydney. McAdam, L. E. 2008. “Beads Across Australia: An Ethnographic and Archaeological View of the Patterning of Aboriginal Ornaments.” PhD diss., University of New England. McAdam, L., and I. Davidson. 2018. “Beads and Boundaries.” In The Archaeology of Portable Art, Southeast Asian, Pacific and Australian Perspectives, edited by M. Langley, M. Litster, D. Wright, and S. May, 221–40. London: Routledge. Moro Abadia, O., and A. Nowell. 2014. “Palaeolithic Personal Ornaments: Historical Development and Epistemological Challenges.” Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 22: 952–79. O’Connell, J. F., J. Allen, M. A. J. Williams, A. N. Williams, C. S. M. Turney, N. A. Spooner, J. Kamminga, G. Brown, and A. Cooper. 2018. “When Did Homo Sapiens First Reach Southeast Asia and Sahul?” PNAS 115(34): 8482–90. Peterson, N., L. Allen, and L. Hamby. 2008. Makers and Making of Australian Indigenous Museum Collections. Melbourne: Melbourne University Press. Petherick, L. H., T. J. Bostock, K. Cohen, J. Fitzsimmons, J. Tibby, M. S. Fletcher, P. Moss, et al. 2013. “Climatic Records Over the Past 30 ka from Temperate Australia—A Synthesis from the Oz-INTIMATE Workgroup Quaternary Science.” Quaternary Science Reviews 74: 58–77.

108 • Keryn Walshe Przywolnik, K. 2003. “Shell Artefacts from Northern Cape Range Peninsula, Northwest Western Australia.” Australian Archaeology 56: 12–21. Roberts, R. G., N. A. Spooner, R. Jones, S. Cane, J. M. Olley, A. S. Murray, and M. J. Head. 1995. “Luminescence Dating of Archaeological Sediments on the Nullarbor Plain, South Australia.” In Nullarbor Antiquity: Archaeological Luminescent and Seismic Investigations on the Nullarbor Plain, edited by S. Cane, 56–72. Unpublished Report to the National Estate Grants Program, Australian Heritage Commission, Department of State Aboriginal Affairs and Department of Environment and Natural Resources. ———. 1996. “Preliminary Luminescence Dates for Archaeological Sediments on the Nullarbor Plain, South Australia.” Australian Archaeology 42: 7–14. Russell, R., and K. Winkworth. 2009. Significance 2.0: A Guide to Assessing the Significance of Collections. Collections Council of Australia Inc. Canberra: Department of Environment, Land, Water and the Arts. Smith, M. A. 2013. The Archaeology of Australia’s Deserts. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Spector, J. D. 1993. What this Awl Means: Feminist Archaeology at a Wahpeton Dakota Village. Minnesota: Minnesota Historical Society Press. The Burra Charter: The Australia ICOMOS Charter for Places of Cultural Significance. Australia ICOMOS, Australia. https://openarchive.icomos.org/id/ eprint/2145. Tobler, R., A. Rohrlach, P. Soubrier, B. Llamas, J. Tuke, Bean., A. Abdullah-Highfold, S. Agius, A. O’Donoghue, I. O’Loughlin, P. Sutton, F. Zilio, K. Walshe, A. N. Williams, C. S. M. Turney, M. Williams, S. M. Richards, R. J. Mitchell, E. Kowal, J. R. Stephen, L. Williams, W. Haak, and A. Cooper. 2017. “Aboriginal Mitogenomes Reveal 50,000 Years of Regionalism in Australia.” Nature 544: 180–84. https://doi.org/10.1038/nature21416. Turney, C. S. M., M. Bird, and R. G. Roberts. 2001. “Elemental δ¹³C at Allen’s Cave, Nullarbor Plain, Australia: Assessing Post-Depositional Disturbance and Reconstructing Past Environments.” Journal of Quaternary Science 16(8): 779–84. Vitales, T. 2013. “Beyond Subsistence: Cultural Usages and Significance of Baler Shells in Philippine Prehistory.” In Prehistoric Marine Resource Use in the Indo-Pacific Regions, edited by R. Ono, A. Morrison, D. Addison, 123–39. Canberra: Australian National University. Walshe, K. 1994a. “Tasmanian Devils, Sarcophilus harrisii, and Human Occupation: Estimating the Cultural Component.” In Archaeology in the North, Proceedings of the 1993 Australian Archaeological Association Conference, edited by M. Sullivan, S. Brockwell, and A. Webb, 375–80. Darwin: NARU. ———. 1994b. “Taphonomic Analysis of the Vertebrate Material from Allen’s Cave: Implications for Australian Arid Zone Archaeology.” PhD diss., Australian National University. ———. 2011. “Past and Present Status of Aboriginal Archaeology in South Australia: Collecting, Excavating, Recording and Collections Since 1880.” In Is-

A Shell Bead from a Faraway Ocean • 109 sues in South Australian Aboriginal Archaeology, edited by A. Roberts and K. Walshe, 1–20. Special issue, Journal of the Anthropological Society of South Australia 34: 1–20. ———. 2017. “Revision of Radiometric and Optical Dating in Koonalda Cave, Nullarbor Plain, South Australia.” GEOCHRONOMETRIA 44: 366–73. ———. 2018. “Echidna to Wolf’s Head: A 19th-Century Sealer’s Ornament from Kangaroo Island, South Australia.” The Artefact 39: 5–8. Walshe, K., J. Littleton, and S. Graham. 2010. “The Bioarchaeology of the Gillman Mound Site.” Unpublished Report Prepared for the Kaurna Nation Cultural Heritage Association and the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies. Wilkinson, H. 2005. Museums for the Future, Report of a Museums Association Inquiry. Sydney: Museums Association. Williams, A. N., S. Ulm, T. Sapienza, S. Lewis, and C. Turney. 2018. “Sea-Level Change and Demography During the Last Glacial Termination and Early Holocene Across the Australian Continent.” Journal of Quaternary Science Reviews 182: 144–54. Williams, A. N., P. Veth, W. Steffen, S. Ulm, C. Turney, J. Reeves, S. Phipps, and M. Smith. 2015. “A Continental Narrative: Human Settlement Patterns and Australian Climate Change Over the Last 35,000 Years.” Journal of Quaternary Science Reviews 123: 91–112. Wright, R. V. S., ed. 1971. Archaeology of the Gallus Site, Koonalda Cave. Canberra: Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies. Wood, R., Z. Jacobs, D. Vannieuwenhuyse, J. Balme, S. O’Connor, and R. Whitau. 2016. “Towards an Accurate and Precise Chronology for the Colonization of Australia: The Example of Riwi, Kimberley, Western Australia.” PLOS One 11(9): e0160123. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0160123.

CHAPTER 5

Building Identities and Social Organization throughout the Early Holocene Interpreting the Personal Adornments of the Last Hunter-Gatherers in Portugal Lino André

H Introduction Personal adornments, such as perforated beads, are considered one the earliest art forms and one of the elements with the longest distribution in both space and time (Stiner 2014), representing a crucial element of identity and group affiliation as well as carrying different types of social information because of its stylistic variations (Kuhn and Stiner 2007). Ethnographic studies show that they play an important role in strengthening kinship networks and egalitarian relations due to the possibility of: 1) expressing information regarding identity, 2) enhancing similarities that can modify physical differences, 3) creating homogeneity between individuals of different groups, and 4) captivating mates from other groups to forge ties (Wiessner 1997). The production and use of these items are generally recognized as evidence of symbolic behavior among Anatomically Modern Humans (Tattersall 2009) and as an important issue regarding the study of the evolution of social behavior (d’Errico, Vanhaeren, et al. 2009; Kuhn et al. 2001; Taborin 2004; Vanhaeren et al. 2013). Mostly made from marine shells, the oldest ornamental items were found in archaeological contexts dated from the Early Upper Paleolithic and Middle Paleolithic in Europe and the Middle

Building Identities and Social Organization throughout the Early Holocene • 111

East, respectively (Álvarez-Fernández and Joris 2009; Bar-Yosef Mayer, Vandermeersch, and Bar-Yosef 2009; Kuhn et al. 2001; Stiner 1999; Tátá et al. 2014; Vanhaeren and d’Errico 2006; Vanhaeren et al. 2013) and in Africa, since the Middle Stone Age (Bouzouggar et al. 2007; d’Errico, Henshilwood, et al. 2005; d’Errico, Vanhaeren, et al. 2009; d’Errico, Backwell, et al. 2012; Henshilwood et al. 2004; Steele and Álvarez-Fernández 2011; Vanhaeren et al. 2013). In southwestern Europe we can attest a continuity of its use during the Upper Paleolithic both in Atlantic and Mediterranean contexts with a strong consistency regarding shape and size, in spite of the raw material used for their production (Taborin 1993; Bicho, Stiner, et al. 2003; Álvarez-Fernández 2006; Stiner 2014; Tátá et al. 2014). During the Mesolithic there is a change in the selection of raw material, especially in the case of marine shells, and specific taxa that were characteristic of the Upper Paleolithic either are no longer being collected or there is a decrease in their use (Álvarez-Fernández 2011). Nevertheless, several sets of perforated marine and riverine shells have been found in different contexts throughout most of the Iberian Peninsula during the early Holocene (Álvarez-Fernández 2006; André and Bicho 2016; Rolão 1999; Martízez-Moreno, Mora, and Casanova 2010;

Figure 5.1.  General map with the location of the Mesolithic clusters mentioned in the text. A: Muge shell middens; B: Sado shell middens. © Lino André.

112 • Lino André

Gutierrez-Zugasti et al. 2011). In Portugal, there are more than three hundred Mesolithic sites (according to the Directorate-General for Cultural Heritage: http://arqueologia.patrimoniocultural.pt.), and although personal adornments appear in several Mesolithic settlements, such as the Muge and Sado shell middens, located on the Tagus and Sado valleys respectively, not much has been written about them. While the information for some of these items is still very scarce, others have been subjected to more detailed analysis in recent past (André and Bicho 2015, 2016; André in press), mainly with a focus on the technological aspects of the perforations and the procurement of the raw material used to produce them. The purpose of this chapter is to provide more precise and up-to-date information regarding personal adornments found in these Portuguese Mesolithic sites, taking into account not only the quantity and raw material variability of the adornments but also the social function related to them.

The Muge and Sado Clusters Muge Shell Middens First discovered in 1863 by Carlos Ribeiro, a total of eleven sites have been identified on the Tagus Valley, more specifically located along the shores of three small rivers—Magos (Ribeiro 1867), Muge (Ribeiro 1884), and Fonte da Moça (Santos 1987)—all situated on the left margin of the Tagus river (Figure 5.2). Despite the fact that most of the sites were destroyed by agricultural activities (Rolão 1999), researchers were able to collect relevant information regarding their formation, stratigraphy, and material culture. According to Bicho, Umbelino, et al. (2010) and Bicho, Cascalheira, et al. (2013), Mesolithic occupation took place at Muge Valley ca. 8000 cal BP and ended ca. 7400 cal BP, when Neolithic groups were already populating central Portugal (Zilhão 2001; Carvalho 2007) and started using the valley, and the Muge river loci, possibly integrating local Mesolithic people (Bicho, Umbelino, et al. 2010). Due to the presence of common features (e.g., human burials, site characteristics, chronology, and location) and most of all, the presence of personal adornments, five sites were chosen for this study: Cabeço da Amoreira; Cabeço da Arruda and Moita do Sebastião on the margins of the Muge river; and Fonte da Moça I and Fonte da Moça II on the margins of the Fonte da Moça River. Except for Moita do Sebastião, which was destroyed in the 1950s (Cardoso and Rolão 2000), the other two shell middens located on the Muge river had been excavated on and

Building Identities and Social Organization throughout the Early Holocene • 113

Figure 5.2.  Location of the Muge shell middens. MS, Moita do Sebastião; CAM, Cabeço da Amoreira; CA, Cabeço da Arruda; FM I, Fonte da Moça I; FM II, Fonte da Moça II. © Lino André.

off since their discovery, revealing hundreds of burials, habitat features (e.g., post holes, hearths and storage pits), thousands of lithic and bone tools, and personal ornaments (Roche 1954; Rolão 1999; Cardoso and Rolão 2000; Bicho, Umbelino, et al. 2010; André and Bicho 2015, 2016). The reports show that since early excavations more than three hundred persons have been found in Muge shell middens, mainly on the sterile basal layers and apparently separated by groups of adults and nonadults; the reports also refer to the presence of shell beads and several lithic artifacts made of flint in close proximity to the burials, reinforcing

114 • Lino André

the fact that we are in the presence of funerary rituals (Roche 1954, 1960 Ferembach 1974). Regarding the type of settlements, both Roche (1960) and Rolão (1999) believed that some of the sites were occupied during long periods of time, and in the opinion of the later there would have been about six to fifteen shelters around the central area of Moita do Sebastião, described as the spiritual and social core of the group. The Fonte da Moça shell middens were excavated in the 1980s by Farinha dos Santos and Rolão (Santos 1987; Rolão 1999), and several common characteristics were found between the two of them, such as human remains, lithic tools, faunal remains, and personal adornments. Unfortunately, both shell middens were partially destroyed by earthmoving machinery, and, at the time of its discovery, it was reported that Fonte da Moça II was about 2,500 square meters and still well preserved enough to allow the imagining of its original size. The 1987/88 excavation works revealed several combustion structures with the presence of shell and fish remains, lithic tools, and some ochre fragments. While it has been long argued, based on typological and technological grounds, that the largest shell middens were residential sites used sequentially in time (Ribeiro 1884; Rolão 1999) it is now believed, after reanalyzing both old and recently found lithic tools (Marreiros et al. in press) together with new isotopic data (Umbelino et al. 2007), that the differences among the sites are not related to chronology, but are very likely related to social diversity and different ethnic groups (Bicho, Umbelino, et al. 2010). Since 2008, new projects funded by the Portuguese National Science Foundation (FCT) made it possible for Nuno Bicho’s team to recover thousands of artifacts, including several hundred personal adornments from the main excavation area and from a 12 m x 1 m trench that opened in 2010 (André and Bicho 2015, 2016; Cascalheira et al. 2015; Gonçalves et al. 2019).

Sado Shell Middens Eleven Mesolithic shell middens have been identified throughout the Sado Valley, dispersed along the margins of the Sado river and other small tributary rivers (Gonçalves 2013). On the margins of the Sado river there are six sites: Arapouco, Barrada das Vieiras, Cabeço do Rebolador, Cabeço das Amoreiras, Cabeço do Pez, and Vale das Romeiras. All but one, Barrada das Vieiras, have personal adornments (Arnaud 1989). The other five sites, Poças de S. Bento, Várzea da Mó, Barrada do Grilo, Fonte da Mina, and Barranco da Moura are located on the margins of small tributary rivers and only the first site mentioned has personal adorn-

Building Identities and Social Organization throughout the Early Holocene • 115

ment items (Figure 5.3). According to Arnaud (1989) the early radiocarbon dates available for these shell middens revealed a contemporaneity between Sado and Muge settlements. This statement was later corroborated with the dates obtained for other sites (Arnaud 2002), which confirmed that Arapouco and Vale das Romeiras were the first sites occupied by the Mesolithic communities around 8000 cal BP (Arnaud 2000). Arapouco is the shell midden closest to the estuary region, and therefore the Atlantic shore, and has an estimated area of approximately 1,174 m2 (Arnaud 1989). It was found during a survey campaign along the valley that took place between 1955 and 1966 and it was excavated in 1961, by Manuel Heleno, the director of the Museu National de Arqueologia. Some artifacts (non-ornamental) and human remains recovered from past excavations were subjected to a more detailed analysis after the turn of the century (Arnaud 2000; Cunha and Umbelino 2001; Gabriel, Prista, and Costa 2012; Diniz and Nukushina 2014). Cabeço do Rebolador shell midden, located on the left margin of the Sado river, is one of the smallest middens known in this area (ca. 1,000 m2) and one of the few that has no burials (Arnaud 1989). It was excavated in the 1950s under Heleno’s supervision and its lithic artifacts were analyzed and published around the turn of the century (Marchand 2001). The shell midden known as Cabeço das Amoreiras, also located on the left margins of the river, has an estimated area of 1,270 m2. It was identified and first excavated, under Heleno’s supervision, in 1958. In the 1980s

Figure 5.3.  Location of the Sado shell middens. ARA, Arapouco; CR, Cabeço do Rebolador; PSB, Poças de São Bento; AM, Cabeço das Amoreiras; CP, Cabeço do Pez. © Lino André.

116 • Lino André

the site was again excavated, this time by Arnaud and his team. The fieldwork allowed the researcher to acknowledge the main differences between the Sado and Muge shell middens (Arnaud 1986a). Cabeço do Pez, the largest of the sites, with an estimated area between 4,000 and 8,000 m2 (Arnaud 2000), was partially excavated from 1958 onward, and it has yielded thousands of artifacts and, at least, twenty-seven buried individuals. In the 1980s the shell midden was again excavated by Arnaud’s team (Arnaud 1989) and the fieldwork consisted of the regularization of the old profiles as well as opening a new area to collect samples in order to obtain new radiocarbon dates and also to perform isotopic analysis (Arnaud 2000). More recently, since 2010, the site has been excavated within a new project called SADO-MESO (Arias and Diniz 2015). The Poças de S. Bento shell midden was identified during the survey project that took place in the 1950s and is located in the margins of a small tributary river, around 3 km from the Sado river (Arnaud 1986b). It was first excavated in the 1950s and 1960s and again between 1986 and 1988 (Arnaud 2000). Like Cabeço do Pez, this site is included in the SADO-MESO project and fieldwork has been in progress since 2010 (Arias and Diniz 2015).

Samples and Methods Materials A total of 5,109 items bearing ornamental features composes the large collection of personal adornments coming from both the Muge and Sado shell middens. While most of them are made from marine and riverine shells, mainly gastropods, followed by bivalves and scaphopods, other raw materials were used to produce these items, including shark vertebrae, cervid teeth, antlers and bones, and lithics and clay. A number of the items used for this study are stored in public museum collections, except the ones coming from recent excavations. The items that were found during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, from both Muge and Sado shell middens, are deposited in three major institutions: Museu Geológico, Museu Nacional de Arqueologia, both in Lisbon, and Museu de História Natural da Universidade do Porto, in Oporto.

Taxonomic Identification Due to the fact that a considerable number of perforated shells were recovered from old excavations, there was a need to proceed with the

Building Identities and Social Organization throughout the Early Holocene • 117

proper and up-to-date identification of several specimens. Unaccepted nomenclature, for example, Neritina fluviatilis, Cardium edule, Cardium norvegicum, Bittium sp., Cassis saburon, Cypraea pyrum and Nassa/ Hinia reticulata, have been referred to in literature since the 1930s (Corrêa 1933; Roche 1951, 1959, 1960; Arnaud 1989; Rolão 1999). All the items were thoroughly observed, photographed, and compared with the reference collection present at the archaeology laboratory at University of Algarve in order to do a proper identification. The nomenclature used in this chapter adopted the classification available in WoRMS—World Register of Marine Species database (WoRMS Editorial Board 2023).

Microscopic Analysis The holes as well as the surfaces were observed with a portable DinoLite Edge 3.0 Digital Microscope, which allowed us to determine the origins of the perforations, their characteristics, and gather all the images. Previous experimental studies (e.g., Álvarez-Fernández 2006; Stiner, Kuhn, and Guleç 2013; Vanhaeren et al. 2013; Tátá et al. 2014), performed on similar specimens, were used to compare the characteristics found on the perforations (e.g., morphology, fractures, wedging, etc.) as well as use-wear marks.

Adornments from the Muge Shell Middens Moita do Sebastião (MS) A total of 901 items (Table 5.1) bearing ornamental features such as perforations were recovered from MS during the 1950s excavation seasons. Most of them were made from freshwater gastropod Theodoxus fluviatilis and, according to Roche (1960), more than two hundred were found in the bottom layers, in association with human burials or near post holes, along with ochre fragments. Regarding salt-water gastropods, Trivia sp. has the most relevant presence, followed by Tritia reticulata and a Cerithium vulgatum shell, the only one present on all sites. Bivalves are represented by Cerastoderma edule and Ostrea edulis, with one valve each, both perforated (Roche 1960; Rolão 1999). Apart from the perforated shells, there are four lithic pendants in the collection (Figure 5.4), made from quartzite, amphibolite, and schist, all with biconical perforations (Rolão 1985). According to Roche (1960: 132), a large portion of the shell beads, made from Theodoxus fluviatilis, were found on

118 • Lino André

five burials, associated with the human remains or on their immediate surroundings. Recent reanalysis of the MS items that are deposited at the Museu Geológico in Lisbon, has uncovered one Lamnidae vertebra and a Cervus elaphus ulna (see Table 5.1), both perforated. Microscopic observation shows irregular and polished areas around the holes, which may Table 5.1.  Quantity of ornamental items present at Muge shell middens: MS, Moita do Sebastião; CA, Cabeço da Arruda; CAM, Cabeço da Amoreira; FM I, Fonte da Moça I; FM II, Fonte da Moça II. MS

CA

CAM

FM I

FM II

Total

Shell species 869

436

1,643

76

2

3,026

Trivia sp.

16

43

300

12

–

371

Tritia reticulata

7

5

99

5

–

116

Cerastoderma edule

1

–

2

–

1

4

Ostrea edulis

1

–

3

1

–

5

Bithynia tentaculata

–

–

1

–

–

1

Cerithium vulgatum

1

–

–

–

–

1

Semicassis saburon

–

1

–

–

–

1

Scrobicularia plana

–

–

7

1

–

8

Pecten maximus

–

–

1

–

–

1

Laevicardium crassum

–

–

3

–

–

3

Lamnidae vertebrae (Family)

1

–

4

–

–

5

Marine mammal teeth

–

–

2

–

–

2

Unidentified fish tooth

–

1

–

–

–

1

Cervus elaphus

1

–

6

–

–

7

Capreolus capreolus

–

–

1

–

–

1

Unidentified taxa

–

3

–

–

–

3

Quartzite

2

1

1

1

–

5

Schist

1

–

1

–

–

2

Hyaline quartz

–

–

2

–

–

2

Clay

–

–

2

–

–

2

Theodoxus fluviatilis

Other marine fauna

Terrestrial fauna

Others

Amphibolite TOTAL

1

–

–

–

–

1

901

490

2,078

96

3

3,568

Building Identities and Social Organization throughout the Early Holocene • 119

indicate these were hung in the same position for some time (Stiner 2014). These two items are not unique in Muge and are also present at Cabeço da Amoreira (Roche 1951).

Cabeço Da Arruda Past excavations on this shell midden allowed for the recovery of personal adornment items made of shells, bones, and lithics. A total of 490 artifacts (see Table 5.1) bearing features consistent with the production and/or use of these items were found on different layers of the midden (Lentacker 1986; Roche 1972; Rolão 1985, 1999). Regarding shell beads, the numerous taxon is Theodoxus fluviatilis, followed by Trivia sp. and Tritia reticulata. A unique Semicassis saburon shell (Figure 5.4g), perforated near the aperture and presenting well-defined traces of use, was found on an unidentified layer (Rolão 1999). A pendant made of quartzite and measuring more than 5 cm is considered the largest one found on the Muge shell midden complex, exhibiting a biconical perforation on one of its extremities (Roche 1959; Rolão 1985, 1999). Microscopic analysis on its surface and on its hole, allowed stating these were polished by use. Four more items made from faunal and terrestrial remains are mentioned by Rolão (1999), although these were unable to be relocated to the Museu Geológico: one unidentified fish tooth whose extremity was weathered in order to create a space to hold a suspension element and three Bos sp. bones with holes made through abrasion so they could be suspended (Rolão 1999).

Cabeço da Amoreira This site has the largest collection of personal adornments on the entire Muge shell midden complex, known since the 1930s (Corrêa 1933), possibly due to the fact that: (1) it is the best preserved midden in the region; (2) it has the largest excavation area and/or; (3) recent and more precise methodologies allows better results. The total of 2,078 items of personal adornments (Table 5.1) are made from fresh and saltwater gastropod and bivalve species, marine and terrestrial remains, and also lithic and clay raw material. Past excavations allowed for the recovery of 2,055 items from different layers (top, middle, and bottom); regarding shell beads, the majority are made from Theodoxus fluviatilis, followed by Trivia sp., Tritia reticulata, and Bithynia tentaculata, the later with only one specimen present. Bivalves are represented by Scrobicularia plana, Ostrea edulis, Laevicardium crissum, Cerastoderma edule, and Pecten

120 • Lino André

maximus (Roche 1951, 1966; Lentacker 1986; Rolão 1999). Two marine mammal teeth, referred to as being from “Sirénien” (Roche 1951: 148) or Manatee, uncovered from the middle and bottom layers, are mentioned as being personal adornments and, according to Rolão (1999: 199), they “both show a pronounced suspension area with circular incisions, produced by abrasion, on the region of the alveolar insertion.” Four Lamnidae vertebrae have perforations, and the wear marks are consistent with being hung on a suspension element. Concerning the items made from animal bones, Roche (1951: 149) acknowledges the presence of several items made from herbivore remains. According to the author’s inventory, there is, on the bottom layer, one perforated phalanx, a scapula of Cervus elaphus, and a perforated cervid incisive; on the middle layer, a polished cervid incisive; and on the top layer a perforated Capreolus capreolus phalanx. Another perforated cervid incisive is listed on the inventory but without stratigraphic provenance. Regarding other raw materials, clay and different types of stones were used to produce five items: quartzite, schist, and hyaline quartz (Roche 1951). The clay, quartzite, and schist ones are oval-shaped with perforations and wear marks on the region of the hole. The hyaline

Figure 5.4.  Examples of ornamental items found at the Muge shell middens. a: Lithic pendants; b: cervid teeth; c: Trivia sp.; d: Theodoxus fluviatilis; e: Tritia reticulata; f: Cerithium vulgatum; g: Semicassis saburon; h: Cerastoderma edule; i: Ostrea edulis. © Lino André.

Building Identities and Social Organization throughout the Early Holocene • 121

quartz items are not perforated, possibly due to their hardness, but reveal intense polishing and ochre residues on their surfaces (Rolão 1999). The excavations that have been ongoing since 2008 allowed the research team to recover more of the referred items with evidence of being used as personal adornments, from both the midden area and the 12 m trench opened in 2010 (André and Bicho 2015, 2016). On the main area the ornamental items are mostly made of gastropod shells, followed by scaphopods, bivalves, and perforated deer teeth. A total of twenty-one items—nineteen gastropod shells, a cervid tooth, and a clay bead—were recovered from the 12 m x1 m trench area opened during the 2010 field season (Cascalheira et al. 2015). The perforated shells belong to both fresh- and saltwater species: Theodoxus fluviatilis and Trivia sp., respectively. Microscopic analysis performed on the holes of those shells that were intact show these were made by rotation and pressure techniques using lithic, bones, or antler implements and that the cervid tooth perforation was performed by rotation on both sides, showing also a high degree of wear on the upper region of the hole (André and Bicho 2015, 2016).

Fonte da Moça I Although its surface was partially destroyed (by farming activities), it was possible to recover, during the 1980s excavations several ornamental items. A total of ninety-five perforated shells and one lithic pendant were identified as personal adornments (Table 5.1). Most of these belong to the freshwater species Theodoxus fluviatilis, followed by marine and riverine species Trivia sp., Tritia reticulata, Scrobicularia plana, and Ostrea edulis (Rolão 1999). With a biconical perforation on one of its extremities, the elliptical shape lithic pendant has a very smooth surface with the presence of incised decorations. The polished surface as well as the wear marks on the hole shows this pendant was used for some time (Rolão 1985).

Fonte da Moça II Very few items of personal adornments were found on this site (Table 5.1), yet, those found were on the bottom layers, right above the sterile sands, with a total of three perforated shells: two Theodoxus fluviatilis and one Cerastoderma edule (Rolão 1999). This low frequency can be explained by the fairly small amount of work done on this site and the fact that it could not be relocated since 1990.

122 • Lino André

Adornments from the Sado Shell Middens Arapouco The recent revision of the Arapouco collection, stored at the Museu Nacional de Arqueologia, includes a total of 1,017 items, making it the site with the highest number of personal adornments in all of Sado middens known to this date (Table 5.2). Freshwater gastropod Theodoxus fluviatilis is the most represented species, with 815 individuals, followed by marine gastropods Littorina sp., Tritia reticulata, and Trivia sp. The lesser quantity (< 10) includes Columbella rustica, Antalis sp., Zonaria pyrum, Cerithium vulgatum, and one perforated valve of Cerastoderma edule (See Figure 5.5). According to the handwritten notes found near the perforated shells, several items were found near, or are associated to, human burials. Near the remains of Burials 11 and 12 were found one shell of Zonaria pyrum, five shells of Tritia reticulata, and 139 shells of Theodoxus fluviatilis, and associated with Burial 1A were seven shells of Theodoxus fluviatilis.

Table 5.2.  Quantity of ornaments present at Sado shell middens: ARA, Arapouco; CR, Cabeço do Rebolador; AM, Cabeço das Amoreiras; CP, Cabeço do Pez; PSB, Poças de São Bento. Shell species

ARA

CR

AM

CP

PSB

Total

Theodoxus fluviatilis

815

17

60

94

142

1,128

Trivia sp.

34

–

5

7

15

61

Tritia reticulata

72

2

7

9

3

93

Cerastoderma edule

1

–

53

25

–

79

Ostrea edulis

–

–

1

1

–

2

Bithynia tentaculata

–

–

35

–

1

36

Cerithium vulgatum

2

–

–

–

–

2

Antalis sp.

3

–

–

–

–

3

Columbella rustica

9

–

1

–

–

10

Littorina sp.

79

–

–

–

41

120

Zonaria pyrum

2

–

–

–

–

2

Bolma rugosa operculum

–

–

–

2

1

3

Unidentified taxa

–

–

1

–

1

2

1,017

19

163

138

204

1,541

TOTAL

Building Identities and Social Organization throughout the Early Holocene • 123

Figure 5.5.  Examples of ornamental items found at the Sado shell middens: a) Cerithium vulgatum; b) Cerastoderma edule; c) Bolma rugosa operculum; d) Columbella rustica; e) Antalis sp.; f) Theodoxus fluviatilis; g) Littorina sp.

Poças de S. Bento A total of 204 items were found amongst the artifacts from Poças de S. Bento assemblage at the museum (Table 5.2). The species most represented is the freshwater gastropod Theodoxus fluviatilis, followed by Littorina sp. and Trivia sp. Also present are three specimens of Tritia reticulata and one fractured operculum of Bolma rugosa, a marine species whose individuals can be found today on both Mediterranean and Atlantic shores.

Cabeço das Amoreiras A total of 163 items bearing ornamental features belonging to this shell midden were found in the museum collections. Freshwater gastropod Theodoxus fluviatilis is the most representative taxa, followed by estuarine bivalve Cerastoderma edule and freshwater gastropod Bithynia tentaculata, respectively (Table 5.2). Columbella rustica and Ostrea edulis are also present with one specimen each. According to the notes found, some of the shell beads are associated with the human burials at Amoreiras. Associated with the Burials 4 and 5 were one and three perforated shells of Theodoxus fluviatilis, respectively. One Theodoxus and two Trivia shells were found near the remains of a child, in Burial 6. Associated with Burial 7 were found one Theodoxus and one Bithynia shell; and, associated with Burial 8, one Theodoxus and twenty-two Bithynia tentaculata specimens were found.

124 • Lino André

Cabeço do Pez This shell midden had 138 adornment items in its collection (Table 5.2), mostly composed of shell beads. Riverine gastropod Theodoxus fluviatilis is the taxa most represented, followed by estuarine bivalve Cerastoderma edule. Marine gastropods are also present with specimens of Tritia reticulata and Trivia sp. species. One whole Ostrea edulis valve bearing a perforation is also present. Two other perforated Bolma rugosa opercula bearing rotation marks and wear evidences around the holes were found among the collection (Figure 5.5c).

Cabeço do Rebolador This shell midden has seventeen shell beads (Table 5.2) and is the one with the least number of items in this collection. Most of the beads were made of freshwater gastropod Theodoxus fluviatilis, except for two specimens, made of Tritia reticulata, a marine gastropod.

Discussion and Conclusion Taxonomic variety is very present at both Muge and Sado personal adornment assemblages. Evidence clearly shows that these populations were gathering aquatic and terrestrial resources as subsistence not only for making tools but also for ornamental purposes. In terms of the raw material used to manufacture these items there is a bigger variety at Muge shell middens, attested by the presence of artifacts made from shells, animal bones, and lithics on the majority of the middens, while at Sado these were made exclusively from shells, or shell-related materials (e.g., shell operculum). There is nonetheless a consistency for the use of certain shell species in all Mesolithic sites from both clusters, in particular for the river gastropod Theodoxus fluviatilis, which is present at all sites and is, by far, the most used for making these types of beads. This can be explained by the proximity of the settlements to the natural habitat of the species or by the appealing colors and patterns they bear when collected alive, or immediately after death, on river shores. Nevertheless, it is common knowledge that the selection of a certain species to produce shell beads were used as symbols and ways of communication between hunter-gatherer groups (Godfrey-Smith 2014). Regarding the presence of marine gastropods Trivia sp. and Tritia reticulata, these are also common at the majority of the sites of both clusters.

Building Identities and Social Organization throughout the Early Holocene • 125

In the case of the Sado assemblage, Arapouco has more variety concerning marine species, possibly due to its proximity to the seashore when compared to the other sites. Columbella rustica, one of the most common species found in the northeast Iberia during the Mesolithic (Alday 2002; Álvarez-Fernández 2006; Arias 2007; Martínez-Moreno et al. 2010) and in Mediterranean assemblages, since at least the Upper Paleolithic (Stiner et al. 2013; Bosch et al. 2015; Perlès 2019), are present at two of the Sado middens (Arapouco and Amoreiras) reinforces the idea that some artifacts, ideas, and possibly people were circulating, trading, and transporting marine shells over large distances (e.g., Taborin 1993; Álvarez-Fernández 2006). If these Mesolithic groups were living in the same region in a yearround basis, thus exploring the same environments, their relationships would have become more complex, increasing the necessity of social controls to define boundaries, territories, and group affiliations. Ornamental items, individually or in composed sets, were easily carried around and would have been traded or gifted in order to maintain social connections as well as used to express differences and similarities among local groups and/or strengthen ties with individuals from distant regions (Cashden 1985). The presence of few specimens of a certain shell species used as personal adornment, on both Sado and Muge shell middens, and the reduced quantity of pendants made from bone, marine mammal teeth, and lithics on each site of the Muge cluster, may suggest these were used to identify a specific member of the group, in order to be distinguished from others for some specific reason (e.g., social rank, gender, or function within the group) or may also represent some kind of charm. While most of the shell beads were found scattered on the shell middens, a few were found associated with human burials on both clusters. While at Moita do Sebastião (Muge) there is only one taxon associated with the human remains, Theodoxus fluviatilis, at Arapouco and Cabeço das Amoreiras (Sado) these specimens are often related with others from different species, both marine and riverine. In conclusion, the selection of species and the large number of personal adornments present at both Muge and Sado shell middens exhibit consistency over long periods of occupation, but there is also some variability between the two clusters and sites, showing that these populations were using not only local species and raw materials but also collecting and transporting marine shells longer distances, and possibly trading with other groups, both local and distant, in order to strengthen ties and reinforce their social networks.

126 • Lino André

Acknowledgments This study would not be possible without the support of the Museu Geológico de Lisboa (Lisbon Geological Museum), Museu Nacional de Arqueologia (National Archaeology Museum), and Museu de História Natural da Universidade do Porto (Natural History Museum of the University of Oporto). The analysis of the Oporto materials benefited from PRISC.pt (Portuguese Infrastructure of Scientific Collections). I would also like to thank Casa Cadaval, S.A. (Muge) and Countess Teresa Schonborn, its CEO, for the logistical support during this investigation.

Lino André was born and lives in Faro, Portugal, where he studied and worked. In 2015 he graduated from University of Algarve with a degree in archaeology and cultural heritage and is now a PhD candidate. He has been involved in several research projects both in Portugal and Mozambique regarding not only the use of shells for the production of personal adornments but also for human consumption. Since 2018 he is Co-PI for the Earthwatch Institute project Discovering Ancient Societies in Portugal, focused on the transition from hunter-gathering to farming in Tagus Valley.

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130 • Lino André Perlès, C. 2019. “Cultural Implications of Uniformity in Ornament Assemblages : Paleolithic and Mesolithic Ornaments From Franchthi Cave, Greece”. Paleoanthropology, 131: 196-207. Ribeiro, C. 1884. “Les kioekkenmoeddings de la Vallée du Tage.” In Actas da IX Sessão do Congresso Internacional de Antropologia e Arqueologia Préhistorica, Lisboa 1880, 279–90. Lisboa: Typographie de l’Académie des Sciences. ———. 1867. “Note sur le terrain quaternaire du Portugal.” Bulletin de la société Géologique de France XXIV(2): 692–717. Roche, J. 1951. L´industrie préhistorique du Cabeço d´Amoreira (Muge). Porto: Centro de Estudos de Etnologia. Instituto para a Alta Cultura. ———. 1954. “Résultats des dernières campagnes de fouilles exécutées a Moita do Sebastião (Muge).” Revista da Faculdade de Ciências, 2ª série IV: 177–86. ———. 1959. “Les objets de parure trouvés dans les amas coquiller mésolithique de Muge.” Trabalhos de Antropologia e Etnologia XVII(1–4): 407–11. ———. 1960. Le gisement mésolithique de Moita do Sebastião (Muge—Portugal). Archéologie I. Lisboa: Instituto de Alta Cultura, ———. 1966. “Balance de un siglo de excavaciones en los concheros mesoliticos de Muge.” Ampurias 28: 13–48. Museu d’Arqueologia de Catalunha, Barcelona, Spain. Rolão, J. 1985. “Os pendentes mesoliticos existentes no território português.” In XVII Congreso Nacional de Arqueologia, 1985, edited by Congresos Arqueológicos Nacionales, 105–15. Zaragoza, Spain. ———. 1999. “Del Wurm final al Holocénico en el Bajo Valle del Tajo (Complejo Arqueológico Mesolítico de Muge).” PhD diss., Universidad de Salamanca. Santos, M. 1987. “Vale da Fonte da Moça.” Informação Arqueológica 8: 71–72. Steele, T. E., and E. Álvarez-Fernández. 2011. “Initial Investigations into the Exploitation of Coastal Resources in North Africa during the Late Pleistocene at Grotte Des Contrebandiers, Morocco.” In Trekking the Shore: Changing Coastlines and the Antiquity of Coastal Settlement, edited by N. Bicho, J. Haws, and L. G. Davis, 383–403. New York: Springer. Stiner, M. C. 1999. “Trends in Paleolithic Mollusk Exploitation at Riparo Mochi (Balzi Rossi, Italy): Food and Ornaments from the Aurignacian through Epigravettian.” Antiquity 73: 735–54. ———. 2014. “Finding a Common Bandwidth: Causes of Convergence and Diversity in Paleolithic Beads.” Biological Theory 9: 51–64. Stiner, M. C., S. L. Kuhn, and E. Guleç. 2013. “Early Upper Paleolithic Shell Beads at Uçagizli Cave I (Turkey): Technology and the Socioeconomic Context of Ornament Life-Histories.” Journal of Human Evolution 64: 380–98. Taborin, Y. 1993. La parure en coquillage au Paléolithique. XXIX Supplément “Gallia Préhistoire.” Paris: CNRS. ——— . 2004. Langage sans parole. La parure aux temps pré-historiques. Paris: La Maison des Roches.

Building Identities and Social Organization throughout the Early Holocene • 131 Tátá, F., J. Cascalheira, J. Marreiros, T. Pereira, and N. Bicho. 2014. “Shell Bead Production in the Upper Paleolithic of Vale Boi (SW Portugal): an Experimental Perspective.” Journal of Archaeological Science 42: 29–41. Tattersall, I. 2009. “Human Origins: Out of Africa.” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 106(38): 16018–21. https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.090 3207106. Umbelino, C., A. Pérez-Pérez, E. Cunha, C. Hipólito, M. Freitas, and J. Cabral. 2007. “Outros sabores do passado: um novo olhar sobre as comunidades mesolíticas de Muge e do Sado através de análises químicas dos ossos.” Promontória 5: 45–90. Vanhaeren, M., and F. d’Errico. 2006. “Clinal Distribution of Personal Ornaments Reveals the Ethno-Linguistic Geography of Early Upper Palaeolithic Europe.” Journal of Archaeological Sciences 33: 1105–28. Vanhaeren, M., F. d’Errico, K. van Niekerk, C. Henshilwood, and R. Erasmus. 2013. “Thinking Strings: Additional Evidence for Personal Ornament Use in the Middle Stone Age at Blombos Cave, South Africa.” Journal of Human Evolution 66(6): 500–17. Wiessner, P. 1997. “Seeking Guidelines through an Evolutionary Approach: Style Revisited among the !Kung San (Ju/’hoansi) of the 1990s.” Archeological Papers of the American Anthropological Association 7: 157–76. https://doi .org/10.1525/ap3a.1997.7.1.157. WoRMS Editorial Board. 2023. World Register of Marine Species. https://doi .org/10.14284/170. Zilhão, J. 2001. “Radiocarbon Evidence for Maritime Pioneer Colonization at the Origins of Farming in West Mediterranean Europe.” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 98(24): 14180–85. https://doi.org/10.1073/ pnas.241522898.

CHAPTER 6

Beads on the Edge of the World Atlantic Identity and Sociality during the Upper Paleolithic of Western Iberia Nuno Bicho and Lino André

H Introduction For many different reasons, humans tend to emphasize their individuality within their own group and mark their group as particular and exclusive within a much larger society. This process of identification, both at the individual and group levels, is a fundamental part of the process of evolutionary adaptation, likely contributing to the biological speciation needs of our own species. In archaeology, this process is usually associated with a common phenomenon designated as style (e.g., Binford 1986; Close 2002; Conkey 1990; Earle 1990; Wiessner 1997). While it is beyond the scope of this chapter to discuss the archaeological meaning of style, its application to the study of personal ornaments is inherent to the topic of the present chapter, and likely also of the whole volume. While style can be identified through many facets of material culture recovered from the archaeological record of the Paleolithic, including technological traits (Sackett 1982, 1992), the most common form is undoubtedly that of social visual communication, either through artistic expressions (e.g., Aubert et al. 2014; Cook 2013; Fortea Pérez et al. 2004; McCauley, Maxwell, and Collard 2018; Pettitt 2003) or body adornments that likely included clothing, hairstyle, body painting, scarification, and tattooing (e.g., Nowell and Cooke 2020)—which is the topic of this chapter. Unfortunately, time, preservation, and site formation processes have not been too kind to the archaeological evidence of Paleolithic

Beads on the Edge of the World • 133

body adornment. These processes limit the archaeological record to information based on either scarce examples of direct data or indirect proxies. Elements such as hairstyle, clothing, and body painting are visible on rare examples of Upper Paleolithic art, such as cave paintings and anthropomorphic carvings. Good examples of practices of adornment of the human body can be seen on: the Venus figurines such as those from Hohle Fels (Conard 2009) or Willendorf (Antl-Weiser 2008), argued by some to be self-portraits (McCoid and McDermott 1996; McDermott 1996); the Löwenmensch figurine (Kind et al. 2014); the so-called Sorcerer or Shaman of Trois-Frères cave (Breuil and Windels 1952); or the evidence of ochre in human burials such as that of the Magdalenian “Red Lady of El Mirón” (Straus, González Morales, and Cuenca-Solana 2015). These cases may show, respectively, a window to the past on Paleolithic hairstyle, clothing, and possibly body painting (but see Soffer, Adovasio, and Hyland 2000), possibly in a symbolic context and representation of the natural and anthropogenic world. Perhaps the most common archaeological evidence of Paleolithic human body decoration is that of the beads, usually in the form of organic artifacts such as bone, antler, and ivory elements, of specific shell species, and teeth, frequently red deer canines, that have all been perforated, either anthropogenically or naturally (e.g., Tátá et al. 2014). In Portugal, evidence of Upper Paleolithic body adornment is limited to the presence of ochre in the Gravettian human burial of Lagar Velho (Zilhão and Trinkaus 2002), and 313 beads, from marine shell and red deer canines, coming from fourteen sites, including open-air, rock shelter, and cave settings, which are the focus of this chapter. In addition to the beads, there are a set of ninety-one specimens that belong to the same species but have not been perforated. Since they are not edible, they were likely brought to the sites as raw materials to produce beads, but they were never altered. Both types of specimens are here termed ornamental shells. Both types of artifacts (pierced and non-pierced) occur more commonly in Gravettian contexts, but they are heavily represented in Solutrean and Magdalenian occupations, all coming mostly from Portuguese Estremadura. In this chapter, we report on the diversity existing in Portugal, and the geographical and temporal patterns within the distribution and style of personal ornaments. We then discuss what these patterns can tell us about the organization of society and how personal ornaments functioned to mediate self, personal, and group identities in the Portuguese Upper Paleolithic.

134 • Nuno Bicho and Lino André

The Archaeological Evidence The Sites There are close to fifty Upper Paleolithic sites in Portugal, spread from the Douro basin in the north to Algarve in the south (Figure 6.1). Although there are a few isolated sites in the Algarve, the Alentejo, and the Portuguese Estremadura, many sites are concentrated into three main areas: the Côa Valley, with open-air locations, many of which are marked by the extensive presence of rock art, all found since the mid-1990s; the Redinha area, south of the city of Coimbra, and in the Mondego Valley where cave sites are common; and the Rio Maior region, where openair sites have been excavated since the 1930s and formed the original basis for the Portuguese chrono-cultural sequence. Unfortunately, no beads, and, in general, no organic evidence has been uncovered from the Côa Valley or the Rio Maior open-air sites, except for some charcoal. In fact, except for the open-air loci of the site of Vale Boi, in the south, all other locations with preserved bone and shell remains are from cave sites located from the Mondego to the Tagus Valley, which is between Coimbra and Lisbon. It should be said here that some of the specimens considered to be ornaments have no clear evidence they were either used as such or were produced by humans and not as the result of naturally induced mechanisms. In this chapter, we list all, but we separate the two groups for analytical purposes. The sites in the central Portugal region are important for the study of the Upper Paleolithic in Portugal, because, apart from the open-air sites of Cabeço do Porto Marinho and Carneira in the Rio Maior region, they are the locations with the longest sequences. This is the case of Buraca Grande and Buraca Escura (Redinha), Lagar Velho (Leiria), Caldeirão (Tomar), Picareiro (Alcanena), Lapa dos Coelhos also known as Bugalheira (Torres Novas), and Vale Boi (Vila do Bispo), all containing Upper Paleolithic beads. In addition to these multilayered sites, there are other sites with beads, namely Anecrial (Porto de Mós), Suão and Lapa da Rainha (Torres Vedras), Casa da Moura and Lapa Furada (Óbidos), Salemas (Loures), and Escoural (Évora). The site of Buraca Escura is a small cave located in a tributary of the Mondego River, the Poio Novo, that crosses the Sicó mountain range on the southern side of the valley and is about 30 km from the present coastline. It has a 1.5-meter-long sequence, starting in the Middle Paleolithic, with Gravettian and Proto-Solutrean occupations, overlain by more recent occupations. The Paleolithic layers have a relatively low number of lithic artifacts, with good organic preservation where both

Beads on the Edge of the World • 135

Figure 6.1.  Map of Portugal with the sites mentioned in the text: 1) Buraca Grande and Buraca Escura; 2) Caldeirão cave; 3) Lagar Velho; 4) Anecrial cave; 5) Picareiro, Bugalheira, and Coelhos; 6) Casa da Moura and Lapa Furada; 7) Suão cave; 8) Lapa da Rainha; 9) Salemas; 10) Escoural Cave; 11) Vale Boi. © Nuno Bicho and Lino André.

136 • Nuno Bicho and Lino André

charcoal and fauna are present. The latter include herbivores, lagomorphs, and carnivores (Aubry, Brugal, et al. 2001). The Proto-Solutrean layer has produced four perforated teeth. The cave of Buraca Grande is located on the northern side of the Poio Novo Valley, in the Redinha region, almost in front of the previous cave. Again, a small cave has a multilayered sequence of less than two meters. The lower part of the sequence includes Gravettian, ProtoSolutrean, and Magdalenian occupations capped by layers with Mesolithic and Neolithic (Aubry, Fontugne, and Moura 1997; Aubry, Dimuccio, et al. 2011). A single perforated tooth has been found associated with the Solutrean materials. The Caldeirão cave, near the city of Tomar, is a large cavern with a small entrance, facing the valley of the Nabão river, some 60 km from the present coastline. Excavated during the 1980s, it has a long sequence of various meters, starting with Mousterian, followed by Gravettian, Proto-Solutrean, Solutrean, Magdalenian, early Neolithic, and Bronze Age, capped finally during Medieval times (Zilhão 1997). Organic preservation is very good, resulting in large bone assemblages. Charcoal and shell, including beads, are also present. It is currently one of the sites with a large bead collection in Portugal, second only to the site of Vale Boi, but mostly coming from the Magdalenian levels. Caldeirão has yielded a total of sixty-three beads. The Lagar Velho, discovered in 1999, together with the Côa Valley rock art open-air sites, is probably the best-known Paleolithic site in Portugal. It is located in a small limestone canyon, near the city of Leiria, some 25 km from the present Atlantic shore. It is a multicomponent site, with three main sections: the Gravettian child burial; the Gravettian occupation zone; and the so called-remnant, which has Proto-Solutrean and Solutrean layers (Zilhão and Trinkaus 2002). A total of sixteen shell and teeth beads were found in the three locations (Vanhaeren and d’Errico 2002). Anecrial is a small cave in the Serra d’Aires mountain range, some 35 km east of the present seashore. Discovered in the early 1990s, a small excavation took place in the next few years, revealing a short sequence with Gravettian, Proto-Solutrean, and Solutrean short occupations (Zilhão 1997). Organic preservation is particularly good, and a small set of four perforated marine shells were uncovered in the Solutrean layer. Picareiro cave is a large cave with the longest Paleolithic sequence, so far known in Portugal (Haws, Benedetti, Friedl, et al. 2018). It is located at the highest elevation of these sites, on top of the Serra d’Aires, some

Beads on the Edge of the World • 137

40 km from the present-day coastline. The multicomponent sequence starts with Middle Paleolithic, followed by Aurignacian, Gravettian, ProtoSolutrean, Solutrean, and Magdalenian followed by Mesolithic, Neolithic, and Bronze Age occupations on the top of a ten-meter-long sequence. Excavations started in 1994 (Bicho, Haws, and Hockett 2006; Bicho, Haws, et al. 2003). Although the organic preservation is particularly good, only a total of seven elements have been found in Picareiro, including marine shells and three red deer canines. Lapa dos Coelhos is a small cave part of the Almonda Complex, located a couple of kilometers away from Picareiro, on the other side of the mountain range. With recent prehistory horizons on the top, they cover Magdalenian occupations and a Gravettian occupation at the bottom (Almeida, Angelucci, et al. 2004). Organic preservation is very good, and lithic artifacts are very common. There are nineteen perforated shells and one perforated bear tooth. Casa da Moura and Lapa Furada are caves in the Cesareda plateau (Zilhão 1997), located some 10 km away from the Atlantic coast. They were both excavated by Nery Delgado in the late 1800s, and thus there is limited information on the stratigraphy and provenience of materials. Nonetheless, there is a total of eight items of personal adornment coming from those two cave sites, all perforated teeth (Veiga Ferreira and Roche 1980). Suão cave is located inland, some 70 km north of Lisbon in a narrow limestone valley, at about 15 km from the shoreline, as the crow flies. It is a long and narrow cave, excavated in the 1960s and then again in the 1980s by Jean Roche with the collaboration of the archaeology group from the Universidade do Porto (Roche 1964, 1982). It has a long sequence with materials coming from Gravettian and Magdalenian layers that are covered with recent prehistoric occupations (Manso 2015), but unfortunately, the contextual provenance of the materials is not clear. A total of forty-five shells and three other possible items of personal adornment were found in the Magdalenian levels of Suão (Veiga Ferreira and Roche 1980). Lapa da Rainha located near Vimeiro, only 5 km from the present coast, was excavated first in 1968 by Veiga Ferreira and colleagues (Almeida, Santos, et al. 1969), unearthing a Pleistocene human occupation, thought to date to the early Upper Paleolithic. In 1987, Anthony Marks returned to the site, and his work confirmed the presence of only a Solutrean occupation (Zilhão 1997). Two items of personal adornment, one shell and one tooth, both pierced, were found in the early excavation (Veiga Ferreira and Roche 1980).

138 • Nuno Bicho and Lino André

Salemas cave is located a few km north of Lisbon. It was excavated for the first time in 1959 by Veiga Ferreira and Camarate França (Zbyszewski et al. 1962). That early work provided information on a sequence with various Paleolithic layers, perhaps the most important was Solutrean (Roche 1974). Again, there are uncertainties about the context and provenance of the materials, but it seems reasonably certain that twelve marine shells (ten perforated) date to the Solutrean occupation. Escoural is a cave site located inland, some 55 km from the present coastline, near the city of Évora in Alentejo, southern Portugal. It is well known by its Neolithic and Chalcolithic human burials, but more importantly, by the fact that it is the only cave site with painted Paleolithic rock art in Portugal (Glory, Vaultier, and Dos Santos 1965; Santos 1964). Most of the excavations took place in the 1960s, but a new set of excavations were carried out in the 1990s headed by Marcel Otte, resulting in the discovery of Middle Paleolithic horizons, both inside and outside the main entrance of the cave (Otte and da Silva 1996). A small set of perforated items of personal adornment (one shell and one cervid tooth) were recovered from the earlier excavations, together with some Upper Paleolithic artifacts (Gomes, Cardoso, and Santos 1990), but their stratigraphic provenience is not clear (Zilhão 1997). Vale Boi is located in the western Algarve, a couple of kilometers from the modern shore. It has a series of loci (Rock Shelter, Rockshelter 2, Slope, Terrace), all with long sequences that include Gravettian, Proto-Solutrean, and Solutrean. Magdalenian and Epipaleolithic are also common, while Mesolithic and Neolithic are found only in the Terrace (Bicho 2012). The site was found in 1998, and excavations started in 2000, running up to 2019. It is the only Upper Paleolithic site in Algarve that has organic preservation, producing thousands of bones as well as many shells, mostly species used as food resources such as limpets, cockles, clams, and mussels (Bicho, Manne, et al. 2013). A total of 147 beads have been recovered from the different levels of Vale Boi (Tátá et al. 2014).

Beads There is a total of 374 specimens of ornamental shells known in the Upper Portuguese Upper Paleolithic, of which ninety do not show any perforation (Tables 6.1 through 6.5, Figure 6.2). These mollusks include four different species of gastropods, of which three are marine (i.e., Littorina obtusata/fabalis, Trivia sp., and Tritia reticulata) and one fluviatile (Theoduxus fluviatilis), three species of bivalves,

1

15 29

1 2

1

17 1

Vale Boi Terrace

3

6

Total

6

1

Other teeth Perforated

47

63

1

3

1

1 1

Vale Boi Slope

Cervid canine Perforated Whole

1

1

Vale Boi Shelter 2

34

2

Vale Boi Shelter

1 3

2 1

Lapa dos Coelhos

Antalis sp. 3 1

2

Lagar Velho Habitation

5 2

1

1

Lagar Velho Burial

Tritia reticulata Perforated Whole

Trivia sp. Perforated Whole

Theodoxus fluviatilis Perforated

Littorina obtusata Perforated Whole

Caldeirão

Table 6.1.  NISP of Gravettian beads and ornamental shells.

130

1

7 1

35

5 2

2 2

2

39 34

Total

Beads on the Edge of the World • 139

140 • Nuno Bicho and Lino André Table 6.2.  NISP of Proto-Solutrean beads and ornamental shells. Buraca Escura

Littorina obtusata Perforated Whole

Caldeirão

Picareiro

1 1

Vale Boi Slope

Vale Boi Terrace

8 6

7

16 7

5

5

1

2

Theodoxus fluviatilis Perforated Antalis sp.

1

Cervid canine

3

Other teeth

1

Total

4

3

Total

6 1

3

3

14

13

37

all marine (Acanthocardia tuberculata, Anadara diluvia, and Cerastoderma edule), and one scaphopod (Antalis sp.). Other shells, although they did not show any evidence of human transformation or use, have been listed as ornamental by other authors in various cases (Chauvière 2002) since they are not commonly used as edible shellfish. Contrary to that view, and for this work, we decided, however, to include only those species that have specimens that seem to have anthropogenic perforations (i.e., those pierced shells whose perforation is not the result of a predator or of natural erosion). We can, thus, be sure that those species were gathered for producing adornments, even if not all the specimens present at the site were perforated but were likely carried to the site as raw material for producing pendants. The only exception to the above decision is that of Antalis because the shell is naturally perforated and there is frequent evidence of sectioning to make shorter elements for human use. Other species that are not edible or seen usually as such, and do not show any evidence of human modification could have been brought to the site accidentally together with other aquatic resources such as fish, birds, or marine mammals. Thus, they were not considered here. In addition to the shells, there are thirty-one other anthropogenically modified pendants, including fourteen red deer canines, eight other teeth, including cervid and various carnivore incisors; and nine other various elements, mostly small bones, that are said to have been perforated by humans (Veiga Ferreira and Roche 1980). However, very little taphonomic analysis was carried out to confirm the human char-

Beads on the Edge of the World • 141

Figure 6.2.  Examples of beads from Portuguese Upper Paleolithic sites. Top to bottom: Red deer canines from Picareiro; Littorina obtusata from Vale Boi; Trivia sp. from Vale Boi; Theodoxus fluviatilis from Vale Boi; Antalis from Vale Boi. © Nuno Bicho and Lino André.

acter of these perforations. Thus, although we have listed them in the tables, we prefer not to include them in this discussion. Half of the perforated red deer canines were found in Gravettian horizons (Table 6.6), with four in Proto-Solutrean and just one of two cases in the following Upper Paleolithic phases, suggesting that those ornaments were par-

1

3

4

Total

12

1

1

Lapa da Rainha

Other 28

1 3

Lagar Velho

1

1

10 2

Gruta das Salemas

Cervid incisive Perforated

Cervid canine Perforated

4

Antalis sp.

3

18 2

Caldeirão

1

4

4

Buraca Grande

Acanthocardia tuberculata Perforated

Theodoxus fluviatilis Perforated Whole

Trivia sp. Perforated Whole

Littorina obtusata Perforated Whole

Anecrial

Table 6.3.  NISP of Solutrean beads and ornamental shells.

38

18

6

5 2

3 4

Vale Boi Shelter

6

1 1

4

Vale Boi Shelter 2

1

1

Vale Boi Terrace

11

1

8 2

Vale Boi Slope

108

1

1

1

22

1

6 3

7 3

49 14

Total

142 • Nuno Bicho and Lino André

Beads on the Edge of the World • 143 Table 6.4.  NISP of Magdalenian beads and ornamental shells.

Littorina obtusata Perforated Whole Trivia sp. Perforated Tritia reticulata Perforated Whole

Suão

Caldeirão

40

8 1

Picareiro

Vale Boi Shelter

2

1

1

3

Total

52 1 3

1

5 4

Theodoxus fluviatilis Perforated Whole Cerastoderma edule

Lapa dos Coelhos

2

3 3

8 4

15 15

18 18

1

1

Acanthocardia tuberculata Perforated Whole

2

2 1

2 1

Anadara diluvii Perforated Whole

1 1

1 1

Cervid canine Perforated

2

2

Other

3

Total

48

1 31

4

33

4

1

117

Table 6.5.  NISP of Upper Paleolithic (undifferentiated phase) beads and ornamental shells. Casa da Moura

Lapa Furada

Littorina obtusata Perforated Other perforated teeth

4

Other

3

Total

7

1

1

Escoural

Vale Boi

Total

1

2

1

6

2

1

3

1

12

 

35

  7 1

Cerastoderma edule

Antalis sp.

Cervid canine Perforated Whole

130

   

Acanthocardia tuberculata Perforated Whole

Total

     

Anadara diluvii Perforated Whole

1 

  5 2

Tritia sp Perforated Whole

 

  2 2

Trivia sp. Perforated Whole

Other

  2  

Theodoxus fluviatilis Perforated Whole

Other teeth

  39 34

Gravettian

Littorina obtusata Perforated Whole

 

37

1

6

2

5

  16 7

Proto-Solutrean

108

1

1

1

22

1

  7 3

6 3

  49 14

Solutrean

117

4

2

2

2 1

1 1

8 4

3

18 18

52 1

Magdalenian

Table 6.6.  NISP for beads and ornamental shells for the Portuguese Upper Paleolithic.

12

4

6

2

Upper Paleolithic

404

8

9

16 1

59

2

3 1

1 1

13 6

12 5

31 21

158 56

Total

144 • Nuno Bicho and Lino André

Beads on the Edge of the World • 145

ticularly important in the early Upper Paleolithic of Portugal. From the geographical point of view, it seems that there is a homogenous distribution across the territory with sites from the Mondego basin to the southern tip of Portugal in the Algarve. The only site that has a high number of this type of pendant is Lagar Velho (Table 6.7), perhaps due to the presence of the human burial, which just by itself has three perforated teeth. The other perforated teeth do not seem to present any particular pattern, except for appearing episodically in the archaeological record. However, the Algarve is the exception, as there are no known examples in the Upper Paleolithic. Littorina obtusata/fabalis/mariae or flat periwinkle was in the past thought to be a single species, known as Littorina littoralis. The two gastropod subspecies are similar in terms of shape, diversity of colors, and in their general morphology, but fabalis tends to be smaller and wider than obtusata. Nevertheless, the current, wide geographical distribution, from the northern Atlantic of the Norway coast to southern Iberia, entering the Mediterranean, of both subspecies, results in an overlap of their dimensions. This species’ habitat is usually rocky, and it can be found in the littoral and sublittoral band sometimes down to one hundred meters deep, although it is also easily collected in the intertidal zone and usually associated with the brownish seaweed of the genus Fucus (Watson and Norton 1987). Littorina obtusata presents a great color diversity with at least nine chromatic groups that can be found today (Dautzenberg and Fisher 1914; Reid 1996). The habitat may define its color. Individual periwinkles recovered from sheltered shores have a lighter and more uniform color (such as yellow, brown, orange, or olive green), while those recovered from more exposed settings, tend to present darker colors. There are authors who argue that based on size, it is possible to differentiate the color morphs because there appears to be a difference in the size of specimens of different colors (Vanhaeren and d’Errico 2002). However, this idea was not confirmed by the analyses of a modern collection from the British Isles, where shell colors are not separated by size (Regala 2011), and thus size cannot indicate or suggest preferential use of certain colors by human groups. There is a total of 157 perforated flat periwinkles and an additional fifty-six whole or fragmented shells but without evidence of humaninduced piercing. The importance of periwinkle shells seems to increase through time, with the highest number of shells associated with Magdalenian levels. This fact is due to the very high number of these shell beads at the cave site of Suão, located north of Lisbon. Nevertheless, Vale Boi, in the south, presents the highest number of Littorina obtu-

Littorina obtusata Perforated Whole Tritia reticulata Perforated Whole Trivia sp. Perforated Whole Theodoxus fluviatilis Perforated Whole Acanthocardia tuberculata Perforated Whole Anadara diluvii Perforated Whole Cerastoderma edule Perforated Antalis sp. Cervid canine Perforated Whole Other perforated teeth Other Total

 

4

4

Anecrial

1

1

Buraca Grande

4

1

3

Buraca Escura

63

2

5

15 15

17

1 36

1 3

198

1

1

1

54

13

1 1

1

1

3

40

9 5

1

1

4

5 2

64 45

1

2

1

31 21

12 5

13 6

158 56

Total

3 7

3

1

2

3 48

7

3

8 403

18 1 7

59

2

1 1

1

Vale Lapa dos Casa da Lapa Lapa do Lapa do Boi Coelhos Moura Furada Escoural Suão Picareiro

1 1

6 1

6 4

Lapa da Rainha

3 1

12

10 2

Gruta das Lagar Salemas Velho

3 1

3 6

5 4

27 5

Caldeirão

Table 6.7.  NISP for adornments for Portuguese Upper Paleolithic sites. 146 • Nuno Bicho and Lino André

Beads on the Edge of the World • 147

sata in the country, mostly from Gravettian times. In addition, there is a very high number of nonperforated shells that were brought to the site, again, mostly during Gravettian times. Tritia reticulata (this species was previously known as Nassarius or Hinia, so in twentieth-century publications appears frequently as such) has a light brown–colored thick shell, sometimes with dark bands and a white lip, egg-shaped, up to 30 mm long. It is known vernacularly as the dog whelk, and it can be found from the northern Atlantic Ocean in Sweden all the way to the Moroccan coast as well as within the Mediterranean up to Greece (Pizzola 2005). It lives in both sandy bottoms as well as in rocky settings, but within the soft sandy materials in the rocks, from the intertidal zone down to 15 m deep. It is very common today on sandy beaches along the Portuguese Atlantic shore, and it can easily be collected up during the low tide. Clearly, this was not a particularly important species during the Upper Paleolithic in Portugal, as there are only thirteen perforated specimens and another six whole shells. They are known only from four caves in the Algarve and in the Portuguese Estremadura. However, there seems to be a clear geographical pattern— while in Estremadura, those shells are present in the Magdalenian, in Algarve they are present only during the Gravettian. The small, lemon-shaped Trivia, also known as cowrie (Graham 1988), includes two different species, T. arctica and T. monacha, both whitish to cream-colored, easily distinguishable while alive due to the presence of three dark, rounded spots on the surface of T. monacha. However, those black dots tend to disappear with time, and it becomes impossible to separate the two species in most archaeological assemblages. Their habitat, usually in rocky areas, is in the intertidal zone down to the circalittoral, but they can, very much like the periwinkle, be found postmortem on the shore. They are fairly small shells, usually less than 10 mm, but can reach up to 15 mm long (Pelseneer 1932). They are very easy to collect on the present-day shores. Archaeological cowries are a total of twelve beads and seven whole nonperforated shells. They are present at only two sites, Vale Boi and Suão, located close to the present shoreline. While in the latter site, these shells are known only during the Magdalenian, in Algarve it is during the Solutrean and Gravettian that they were used as ornaments. Theodoxus fluviatilis is a small gastropod from fresh and brackish water, found in ponds, springs, and rivers, sometimes estuaries, spreading from Iberia to central Asia. It is also well adapted to high salinity settings of brackish water, prefers calcium-rich waters (Glöer and Pešić 2015), and they can reach 10 mm in size (Nobre 1941). It has a thick shell marked by a wide chromatic variation, sometimes banded. It lives

148 • Nuno Bicho and Lino André

in rocky settings and appears in high densities with populations of thousands of snails per square meter. It is, thus, very easy to collect in high numbers, primarily in shallow waters. There is a total of thirty-one perforated specimens and twenty-one whole shells. They are present in all phases of the Portuguese Upper Paleolithic, but they are clearly more important during the Magdalenian. They are, however, part of the pendant assemblages in only three sites: Caldeirão, Coelhos, and Vale Boi. In the latter site, however, this species is used as ornament only in Gravettian times. Anadara diluvii is a Miocene to Pleistocene fossil ark clam that can reach a size of 45 mm. The two valves have the same morphology, but each valve is asymmetrical. It was likely edible, similar to the cockle, and the habitat was likely the same, that is, estuarine and lagunar soft bottoms. It is known from the Iberian coast only during the Pleistocene (Macedo et al. 1999). There is only one site with this species, that of Caldeirão during the Magdalenian. Acanthocardia tuberculata is a large bivalve that lives in the northeastern Atlantic shores and the Mediterranean Sea, in the continental shelf from low tide to 200 m of depth (Macedo et al. 1999). It is known as the rough cockle, and it is edible. At present, shell specimens are very common on the Portuguese shores, usually in muddy, sandy beaches. It is a thick shell that can reach almost 10 cm in diameter, usually of light brown to yellow colors and white inside. It commonly appears on the shores, naturally perforated due to its predators. Acanthocardia, very much like Anadara, was very rarely used as an ornament. There is only one perforated shell known in the Magdalenian of Caldeirão. Since no taphonomic study was carried out, it is possible that the perforation is natural. The common cockle, Cerastoderma edule, previously known as Cardium (Boyden 1971) is, like the previous species, part of the Cardiidae family. It is an edible bivalve, with a fast reproductive turnover in central and southern Portugal. The shell can grow up to ca. 3–4 cm, but it is usually slightly smaller than that. It is spread in the eastern Atlantic from northern Europe to the African equator belt (Macedo et al. 1999). The common cockle is one of the most abundant species of mollusks in tidal flats located in the bays and estuaries of Europe, particularly in Atlantic Iberia. It is easily gathered in large amounts during low tide in those settings. Like Acanthocardia, the common cockle shells frequently appear on Portuguese shores with a perforation due to predators. This type of cockle was also rarely used as an ornament. It is known only from two sites, both during Magdalenian times in Estremadura. Again, since no

Beads on the Edge of the World • 149

taphonomic or use-wear study was carried out, it is possible that the piercing is due to natural actions, particularly those of predators. The tusk shells (Antalis sp.) can be found in sandy and muddy bottoms below the intertidal zone, at various depths that can reach down to 200 m, and they feed on foraminifera (Macedo et al. 1999; Morton 1959). They are found in the Mediterranean and eastern Atlantic shore. The collection of these specimens, due to their depth habitat can take place only on the shore, when they are already dead. Even today, the Portuguese Atlantic coast is full of tusk shells, although they tend to be smaller than those found at the archaeological sites. There is a high number of specimens of Antalis (n=59), but they are present at only two sites, Caldeirão and Vale Boi. This is, thus, the second most important species for bead production during the Upper Paleolithic of Portugal, after the flat periwinkle. Highly common during the Gravettian, the use of this species for body ornamentation tended to lose its importance through time and was completely absent during Magdalenian times.

Discussion Although the Upper Paleolithic bead assemblage in Portugal is not that large, less than four hundred pieces, there are several possible patterns that can be seen in the Upper Paleolithic bead data. Specifically, these data may inform on body adornment and its relation to the organization of hunter-gatherer prehistoric societies in a temperate region of the world, characterized by easy access to high-productivity seashores. Among others, these patterns seem to be related to landscape organization and regional networking, and to regional territorial boundaries expressed by social visual identifiers, and are marked by temporal trends potentially reflecting local social resilience. All marine shell species used as ornaments in the Portuguese sites are common to very common on the present Atlantic shore, both as live or dead specimens, and, thus, they are very easy to find and collect. The same can be said about the freshwater species, Theodoxus. In the case of the marine species, one must bear in mind that during most of the Pleistocene, the Portuguese coast was marked by much stronger upwelling activity and the regional marine biomass was in general much higher than today, and at some periods during the late Pleistocene, as much as seven times higher than at present (Abrantes 2000). Thus, it is likely that both edible and ornamental shell species were much more

150 • Nuno Bicho and Lino André

numerous on the shore during the late Pleistocene than today (Bicho and Haws 2008). Access, as well as gathering productivity, was likely to have been much higher than at present times. While some sites are close to the present shoreline (e.g., Vale Boi), during the Upper Paleolithic the distance to the shore changed (Bicho and Haws 2008; Bicho, Infantini, and Marreiros 2020) and might have been as far as 50 km away during the Last Glacial Maximum in certain areas, depending on the local bathymetry. This distance, together with the present gap from site to shore, as the crow flies, indicates that in some cases, such as in Caldeirão or Picareiro, those distances were greater than 100 km, and for many other sites, more than 50 km, for the collection of marine shells for the production of personal adornments. Since other raw materials, such as stone resources used to produce stone tools, are either local or from close proximity regional settings (Aubry, Almeida, et al. 2003; Aubry, Gameiro, et al. 2016; Bicho, Manne, et al. 2013; Bicho, Marreiros, et al. 2016), it is unlikely that those hunter-gatherer groups included in their settlement and mobility range the movement to the shore, equivalent to a few days walk. More likely, in many of these sites, the presence of marine shells for adornment production resulted from extensive and embedded exchange/trading networks at the regional level. It is virtually impossible to reconstruct this inland-coastal exchange system, since half of it, that is, where the suppliers of seashells lived and explored the landscape, is now the submerged continental shelf. Nevertheless, it is likely that this system was structured upon the exchange of marine items for chert, which was fairly abundant and in many cases of good quality, from inland regions such as Cós, Rio Maior, or Caxarias, near Tomar, where sources are well known (Aubry, Gameiro, et al. 2016; Haws, Benedetti, Funk, et al. 2020; Marks, Shokler, and Zilhão 1991). The diversity of shell species and teeth seems to indicate a regional pattern, which could possibly group the sites into four major areas (Figure 6.3), and which might correspond to large human social groups and landscape territories: the Mondego basin, coastal Atlantic Estremadura, central Estremadura, and Algarve. The two cave sites located in the Mondego are marked by the exclusive presence of perforated teeth with no shells. A similar trend is seen in the coastal sites in the Atlantic region north of Lisbon up to the Óbidos region (e.g., Casa da Moura, Lapa Furada). The exception to this apparent pattern is the site of Salemas, where no teeth have been found or at least reported. The inland central Estremadura is marked by rough mountain terrains where the sites of Caldeirão, Coelhos, Anecrial, Picareiro, and

Beads on the Edge of the World • 151

Figure 6.3.  Potential social networks and territories of the Upper Paleolithic of Portugal based on ornamental elements: 1) Buraca Grande and Buraca Escura; 2) Caldeirão cave; 3) Lagar Velho; 4) Anecrial cave; 5) Picareiro, Bugalheira, and Coelhos caves; 6) Casa da Moura and Lapa Furada; 7) Suão cave; 8) Lapa da Rainha; 9) Salemas; 10) Escoural Cave; 11) Vale Boi. Potential social territories are marked in dashed lines with red letters with the indication of the most common adornments for each region. © Nuno Bicho and Lino André.

152 • Nuno Bicho and Lino André

Lagar Velho are located. These sites are in difficult-to-access settings, all far from the coast (with the exception of Lagar Velho), but curiously most have evidence for the consumption of marine foods that include fish and mammals (e.g., Almeida, Angelucci, et al. 2004; Bicho, Haws, and Hockett 2006; Moreno-García and Pimenta 2002). The ornaments are generally in low numbers but include not only gastropods, both marine and freshwater species, but also a variety of bivalves. The bivalve specimens (Acanthocardia, Anadara, and Cerastoderma) are large shells that could have been used for other functions other than just body ornamentation. Again, we would like to note that these species are found frequently with the umbo naturally perforated by predators, and since no taphonomic or microwear studies have been carried out on these cases, there is a chance that they were not used as ornaments. The site of Vale Boi in Algarve is characterized by high numbers of beads as well as a diversity of species that are primarily gastropods, some of which present a great diversity of colors and shapes (e.g., Littorina and Theodoxus), mixed with species that are mostly white (Antalis, Trivia, and Tritia). There is also a single perforated cervid tooth in one of the Gravettian occupations. The presence of a high number of nonperforated specimens of Littorina, Tritia, and Trivia suggests that the exploitation of the coast was frequent, as is attested by other food marine resources (Bicho 2012; Bicho, Manne, et al. 2013), as well as by the indication of local bead production (Tátá et al. 2014; Regala 2011). Resilience elements may be present in this data set. While data are limited for most sites mainly due to short sequences and the low number of beads, in the two particular cases with long sequences and high numbers of perforated and whole specimens, Caldeirão and Picareiro, it is possible to see the persistence of species and thus, cultural habits, through time (Table 6.8). Those species that were used in the Gravettian were persistently utilized across the whole sequence. In the case of Caldeirão, once new species were introduced, they remained in the bead repertoire throughout the rest of the sequence. This pattern is possibly present due to cultural traits, since the diversity of shell species present in each region was much larger than the number of species that were modified, and species that were modified could also have very easily been changed through time—but they did not. This resilience aspect can be found in other archaeological items during the Upper Paleolithic in Portugal, as has been previously reported (e.g., Cascalheira, Bicho, Manne, et al. 2017), namely in certain types of retouched stone tools such as the scaled pieces in the Upper Paleolithic of Algarve that are a constant presence during the whole Upper Paleolithic in the region.

Beads on the Edge of the World • 153 Table 6.8.  NISP for adornments through time for selected Portuguese Upper Paleolithic multicomponent sites. Caldeirão

Vale Boi

ProtoMagdaProtoMagdaSolutrean Solutrean lenian Gravettian Solutrean Solutrean lenian

Littorina obtusata

1

18

Tritia reticulata

8

33

5

5

Trivia sp.

15

2

Theodoxus fluviatilis

3

3

Acanthocardia tuberculata

1

2

Anadara diluvii

2

15

1

7 5

6

1

Antalis sp.

1

4

2

35

1

18

Total

2

26

21

78

21

46

1

Conclusion The Portuguese Upper Paleolithic adornment system is still largely unknown, although the first paper focusing on the topic is now almost forty years old (Veiga Ferreira and Roche 1980). Partially, this fact may be due to the reduced number of sites with beads (fourteen) and the low number of beads uncovered at each of those sites. Proxy data, that is, evidence other than the presence of beads, are limited to a single site with a human child burial (Lagar Velho), dated to the Gravettian. This in itself may be an important aspect to understanding the nature of body ornamentation in the Upper Paleolithic Iberian Atlantic huntergatherers—perhaps the main visual communication vehicle in this region was not the use of beads, for both hair and clothing adornment, but other means of decoration that have not survived in the archaeological record—body painting, tattooing, or scarification. The few possible patterns, based on very limited data, seem to point to the existence of several groups in the region, organized in different landscape settings, such as the Mondego River basin, the highlands of central Estremadura, and the coastal ecologies of Estremadura and Algarve. Each group had a particular way to identify themselves, through the use primarily of teeth, gastropod and scaphopod beads, or a mix that included all of these and bivalves. It seems likely that the color of

154 • Nuno Bicho and Lino André

those beads, and possibly their sizes, were important visual communication elements for inter-group identity. Changes through time, with a tendency for the increase in diversity of bead elements (i.e., species, types, and colors) seem to indicate a progressive social complexity that may be related to a demographic expansion in the Atlantic Iberian region. This can also be seen in other cultural systems, such as the settlement pattern and the lithic technology (Bicho, Cascalheira, et al. 2017; Bicho and Haws 2012; Cascalheira and Bicho 2015) of the Upper Paleolithic of Portugal.

Acknowledgments We would like to acknowledge the editors for inviting us to contribute a chapter to this volume. We have worked for a few years now on the topic of body adornment in the Portuguese Paleolithic, focusing almost exclusively on the site of Vale Boi. This was a great opportunity to provide a general synthesis of the Portuguese Upper Paleolithic rec­ ord that was possible due to the help of various colleagues such as Frederico Tátá, João Cascalheira, and Célia Gonçalves, who have helped respectively with shell and perforation analyses, recovery of artifacts, photographs, and cartography. Through the years, funding to Vale Boi has been provided by the Portuguese National Science Foundation FCT (PTDC/HAR-ARQ/27833/2017) and Fundos FEDER through Programa Operacional Regional do Algarve—CRESC Algarve2020 (project ref. ALG-01–0145-FEDER-27833), the National Geographic Society, and the Wenner-Gren Foundation.

Nuno Bicho was born in Lisbon, Portugal and received his PhD in Anthropology from Southern Methodist University, Dallas Texas, in 1992. He was an Assistant Professor at Drew University in 1993, and at Universidade do Algarve in 1994. He has received funding from the Fundação para a Ciência e Tecnologia, the National Science Foundation, and the Wenner-Gren Foundation. He was the first Portuguese recipient of a National Geographic Society grant (1994). In 2022, he received an ERC Advanced grant for his research in Mozambique. Together with Shannon McPherron, he created the Journal of Paleolithic Archaeology (Springer-Nature Group). He is currently Vice-Rector for Research at Universidade do Algarve.

Beads on the Edge of the World • 155

Lino André was born and lives in Faro, Portugal, where he studied and worked. In 2015 he graduated from University of Algarve with a degree in archaeology and cultural heritage and is now a PhD candidate. He has been involved in several research projects both in Portugal and Mozambique regarding not only the use of shells for the production of personal adornments but also for human consumption. Since 2018 he is Co-PI for the Earthwatch Institute project Discovering Ancient Societies in Portugal, focused on the transition from hunter-gathering to farming in Tagus Valley.

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156 • Nuno Bicho and Lino André Aubry, T., M. Fontugne, and M.-H. Moura. 1997. “Les occupations de la grotte de Buraca Grande depuis le Paléolithique supérieur et les apports de la séquence holocène à l’étude de la transition Mésolithique/Néolithique au Portugal.” Bulletin de la Société préhistorique française 94(2): 182–90. Aubry, T., C. Gameiro, J. Mangado Llach, L. Luís, H. Matias, and T. Pereiro. 2016. “Upper Palaeolithic Lithic Raw Material Sourcing in Central and Northern Portugal as an Aid to Reconstructing Hunter-Gatherer Societies.” Journal of Lithic Studies 3(2). http://journals.ed.ac.uk/lithicstudies/article/view/1436. Bicho, N. 2012. “A Tale of Two Seas: Upper Paleolithic Ecology in Vale Boi, Southwestern Algarve (Portugal) and the Arrival of the First Modern Humans to Southwestern Iberia.” Quaternary International 279–80: 50–51. Bicho, N., J. Cascalheira, J. Marreiros, and T. Pereira. 2017. “Rapid Climatic Events and Long-Term Cultural Change: The Case of the Portuguese Upper Paleolithic.” Quaternary International 428: 3–16. Bicho, N., and J. Haws. 2008. “At the Land’s End: Marine Resources and the Importance of Fluctuations in the Coastline in the Prehistoric Hunter–Gatherer Economy of Portugal.” Quaternary Science Reviews 27: 2166–75. ———. 2012. “The Magdalenian in Central and Southern Portugal: Human Ecology at the End of the Pleistocene.” Quaternary International 272–73: 6–16. Bicho, N., J. Haws, and B. Hockett. 2006. “Two Sides of the Same Coin—Rocks, Bones and Site Function of Picareiro Cave, Central Portugal.” Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 25: 485–99. Bicho, N., J. Haws, B. Hockett, A. Markova, and W. Belcher. 2003. “Paleoecologia e ocupação humana da Lapa do Picareiro: resultados preliminares.” Revista portuguesa de Arqueologia 6: 49–81. Bicho, N., L. Infantini, and J. Marreiros. 2020. “Portugal: Intertidal Archaeology and Submerged Coastal Landscapes.” In The Archaeology of Europe’s Drowned Landscapes, edited by G. Bailey, N. Galanidou, H. Peeters, H. Jöns, and M. Mennenga, 295–305. Cham: Springer International Publishing. Bicho, N., T. Manne, J. Marreiros, J. Cascalheira, T. Pereira, F. Tátá, M. Évora, C. Gonçalves, and L. Infantini. 2013. “The Ecodynamics of the First Modern Humans in Southwestern Iberia: The Case of Vale Boi, Portugal.” Quaternary International 318: 102–16. Bicho, N., J. Marreiros, J. Cascalheira, and M. Raja. 2016. “An Early Gravettian Point Cache from Vale Boi: Implications for the Arrival of Anatomically Modern Humans to Southern Iberia.” 81st Annual Meeting of the Society for American Archaeology, Orlando, FL, 2016. Binford, L. R. 1986. “An Alyawara day: Making Men’s Knives and Beyond.” American Antiquity 51: 547–62. Boyden, C. 1971. “A Note on the Nomenclature of Two European Cockles.” Zoological Journal of the Linnean Society 50: 307–10. Breuil, H., and F. Windels. 1952. Quatre cents siècles d’art pariétal: les cavernes ornées de l’âge du renne. Montignac: Centre d’études et de documentation préhistoriques.

Beads on the Edge of the World • 157 Cascalheira, J., and N. Bicho. 2015. “On the Chronological Structure of the Solutrean in Southern Iberia.” PLoS ONE 10(9): e0137308. https://doi.org/10.1371/ journal.pone.0137308. Cascalheira, J., N. Bicho, T. Manne, and P. Horta. 2017. “Cross-Scale Adaptive Behaviors during the Upper Paleolithic in Iberia: The Example of Vale Boi (Southwestern Portugal).” Quaternary International 446: 17–30. Chauvière, F.-X. 2002. “Industries et parures sur matières dures animales du Paléolithique supérieur de la grotte de Caldeirão.” Revista portuguesa de Arqueologia 5: 5–28. Close, A. E. 2002. “Backed Bladelets Are a Foreign Country.” Archeological Papers of the American Anthropological Association 12: 31–44. Conard, N. J. 2009. “A Female Figurine from the Basal Aurignacian of Hohle Fels Cave in Southwestern Germany.” Nature 459: 248–52. Conkey, M. W. 1990. “Experimenting with Style in Archaeology: Some Historical and Theoretical Issues.” In The Uses of Style in Archaeology, edited by M. Conkey and C. Hastorf, 5–17. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cook, J. 2013. Ice Age Art: The Arrival of the Modern Mind. London: British Museum Press. Dautzenberg, P., and H. Fisher. 1914. “Étude sur le Littorina obtusata et ses variations.” Journal de Conchyliologie 62: 87–130. Earle, T. 1990. “Style and Iconography as Legitimation in Complex Societies.” In The Uses of Style in Archaeology, edited by M. Conkey and C. Hastorf, 73–91. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Fortea Pérez, J., C. Fritz, M. Garcia, J. Sanchidrián Tortí, G. Sauvet, and G. Tosello. 2004. “L’art pariétal paléolithique à l’épreuve du style et du carbone-14.” In La Spiritualité, edited by M. Otte, 163–76. Liége: ERAUL. Glöer, P., and V. Pešić. 2015. “The Morphological Plasticity of Theodoxus Fluviatilis (Linnaeus, 1758) (Mollusca: Gastropoda: Neritidae).” Ecologica Montenegrina 2: 88–92. Glory, A., M. Vaultier, and F. Dos Santos. 1965. “La grotte ornée d’Escoural (Portugal).” Bulletin de la Société préhistorique française 62: 110–17. Gomes, M. V., J. L. Cardoso, and M. F. D. Santos. 1990. “Artefactos do Paleolitico superior da gruta do Escoural (Montemor-o-Novo, Évora).” Almansor 8: 15–36. Graham, A. 1988. Molluscs: Prosobranchs and Pyramidellid Gastropods: Keys and Notes for the Identification of the Species. Leiden: Brill Archive. Haws, J., M. Benedetti, L. Friedl, N. Bicho, and J. Cascalheira. 2018. “The MiddleUpper Paleolithic Transition in Southern Iberia: New Data from Lapa do Picareiro, Portugal.” 8th Annual Meeting of European Society for the study of Human Evolution, Faro, 2018. Haws, J. A., M. M. Benedetti, C. L. Funk, N. F. Bicho, T. Pereira, J. Marreiros, J. M. Daniels, S. L. Forman, T. A. Minckley, and R. F. Denniston. 2020. “Late Pleistocene Landscape and Settlement Dynamics of Portuguese Estremadura.” Journal of Field Archaeology 45: 222–48.

158 • Nuno Bicho and Lino André Kind, C.-J., N. Ebinger-Rist, S. Wolf, T. Beutelspacher, and K. Wehrberger. 2014. “The Smile of the Lion Man: Recent Excavations in Stadel Cave (BadenWürttemberg, Southwestern Germany) and the Restoration of the Famous Upper Palaeolithic Figurine.” Quartär 61: 129–45. Macedo, M. C. C., M. I. C. M. Macedo, J. P. Borges, G. Davies, and A. Sacchetti. 1999. Conchas marinhas de Portugal. Lisbon: Verbo. Manso, C. M. F. D. S. 2015. “Indústrias líticas do plistocénico superior no Vale do Rôto (Bombarral): Lapa do Suão.” Master’s thesis, Universidade do Algarve. Marks, A., J. Shokler, and J. Zilhão. 1991. “Raw Material Usage in the Paleolithic.” In Raw Material Economies among Prehistoric Hunter-Gatherers, edited by A. Montet-Whie and S. Holen, 127–40. Publications in Anthropology, 19. Lawrence: University of Kansas. McCauley, B., D. Maxwell, and M. Collard. 2018. “A Cross-Cultural Perspective on Upper Palaeolithic Hand Images with Missing Phalanges.” Journal of Paleolithic Archaeology 1: 314–33. Mcdermott, L. 1996. “Self-Representation in Upper Paleolithic Female Figurines.” Current Anthropology 37: 227–75. McCoid, C. H., and L. D. McDermott. 1996. “Toward Decolonizing Gender: Female Vision in the Upper Paleolithic.” American Anthropologist 98(2): 319–26. Moreno-García, M., and C. M. Pimenta. 2002. “The Paleofaunal Context.” In Portrait of the Artist as a Child, edited by J. Zilhão and E. Trinkaus, 112–31. Lisbon: Portuguese Institute of Archaeology. Morton, J. 1959. “The Habits and Feeding Organs of Dentalium Entalis.” Journal of the Marine Biological Association of the United Kingdom 38: 225–38. Nobre, A. 1941. “Fauna malacológica de Portugal II. Moluscos terrestres e fluviais.” Memòrias e estudos do Museu Zoológico da Universidade de Coimbra 124: 1–277. Nowell, A., and A. Cooke. 2020. “Culturing the Paleolithic Body: Archaeological Signatures of Adornment and Body Modification.” In Oxford Handbook of Human Symbolic Evolution, edited by Andrew Lock, Chris Sinha, and Nathalie Gontier. Oxford: Oxford University Press. https://doi.org/10.1093/ oxfordhb/9780198813781.013.20. Otte, M., and A. C. Da Silva. 1996. Recherches préhistoriques à la grotte d’Escoural, Portugal. Liége: ERAUL. Pelseneer, P. 1932. “La métamorphose préadulte des Cypraeidae.” Bull. Biol. de la France et de la Belgique 66: 149–63. Pettitt, P. 2003. “Discovery, Nature and Preliminary Thoughts about Britain’s First Cave Art.” Capra 5: 177–79. Pizzola, P. 2005. “Tritia reticulata Netted dog whelk.” In Marine Life Information Network: Biology and Sensitivity Key Information Reviews, edited by H. Tyler-Walters and K. Hiscock. Plymouth: Marine Biological Association of the United Kingdom. https://www.marlin.ac.uk/species/detail/1485. Regala, F. J. T. D. A. 2011. “Os adornos do Paleolítico Superior de Vale Boi (Vila do Bispo-Algarve).” Masters thesis, Universidade do Algarve.

Beads on the Edge of the World • 159 Reid, D. G. 1996. Systematics and Evolution of Littorina. London: The Ray Society. Roche, J. 1964. “Le Paléolithique supérieur portugais. Bilan de nos connaissances et problèmes.” Bulletin de la Société Préhistorique française 61: 11–27. ———. 1974. “État actuel de nos connaissances sur le Solutreéen portugais.” Zephyrvs 25: 81–94. ———. 1982. “A gruta chamada Lapa do Suão (Bombarral).” Arqueologia Porto 5: 5–18. Sackett, J. R. 1982. “Approaches to Style in Lithic Archaeology.” Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 1: 59–112. ———. “Style and Ethnicity in Archaeology: The Case for Isochrestism.” 1992. In The Use of Style in Archaeology, edited by M. W. Conkey and C. Hastorf, 32–43. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Santos, M. F. 1964. “Vestígios de pinturas rupestres descobertas na Gruta do Escoural.” O Arqueólogo Português 2(5): 5–47. Soffer, O., J. M. Adovasio, and D. C. Hyland. 2000. “The ‘Venus’ Figurines: Textiles, Basketry, Gender, and Status in the Upper Paleolithic.” Current Anthropology 41(4), 511–37. Straus, L. G., M. R. González Morales, and D. Cuenca-Solana.2015. “The Magdalenian Human Burial of El Mirón Cave (Ramales De La Victoria, Cantabria, Spain): Introduction, Background, Discovery and Context.” Journal of Archaeological Science 60: 1–9. Tátá, F., J. Cascalheira, J. Marreiros, T. Pereira, and N. Bicho. 2014. “Shell Bead Production in the Upper Paleolithic of Vale Boi (SW Portugal): An Experimental Perspective.” Journal of Archaeological Science 42: 29–41. Vanhaeren, M., and F. d’Errico. 2002. “The Body Ornaments Associated with the Burial.” In Portrait of the Artist as a Child: The Gravettian Human Skeleton from the Abrigo do Lagar Velho and its Archeological Context, edited by J. Zilhão and E. Trinkaus, 154–86. Lisbon: Portuguese Institute of Archaeology (IPA). Veiga Ferreira, O. D., and J. Roche. 1980. “Os elementos de adorno do Paleolítico Superior de Portugal.” Arqueologia 2: 7–11. Watson, D. C., and T. A. Norton. 1987. “The Habitat and Feeding Preferences of Littorina Obtusata (L.) and L. Mariae Sacchi Et Rastelli.” Journal of Experimental Marine Biology and Ecology 112: 61–72. Wiessner, P. 1997. “Seeking Guidelines through an Evolutionary Approach: Style Revisited among the! Kung San (Ju/’Hoansi) of the 1990s.” Archeological Papers of the American Anthropological Association 7: 157–76. Zbyszewski, G., J. Roche, J. Camarate França, and O. Veiga Ferreira. 1962. “Note préliminaire sur les niveaux du Paléolithique supérieur de la grotte de Salemas (Ponte de Lousa).” Com. Serv. Geol. Portugal 155: 197–206. Zilhão, J. 1997. O Paleolítico Superior da Estremadura portuguesa. Lisbon: Colibri. Zilhão, J., and E. Trinkaus. 2002. Portrait of the Artist as a Child: The Gravettian Human Skeleton from the Abrigo do Lagar Velho and its Archeological Context. Lisbon: Instituto Português de Arqueologia.

CHAPTER 7

Constructing Identity Body Decoration and Modification in the Swabian Aurignacian Ewa Dutkiewicz, Sibylle Wolf, Elizabeth C. Velliky, and Nicholas J. Conard

H What a strange creature man is to go to such extremes to shape their appearance according to an aesthetic idea of the mind. —Henrik Hogh-Olesen, The Aesthetic Animal

Introduction The people who inhabited the cave sites of the Swabian Jura in Central Europe about 40,000 years ago were likely anatomically modern humans (AMH), based on the current archaeological evidence, and had the same cognitive abilities that all human beings have today (Trinkaus, Milota, et al. 2003; Conard and Bolus 2003, 2008, 2015). We use this conclusion as a point of reference for our discussion on identity throughout this chapter, as we assume that the people of the Swabian Aurignacian recognized themselves much in the same way as humans do today. What is identity in this sense? Identity is a concept of the self that every human being senses. After Straub (2018), identity is the sum of personal experiences and the reflection and results of these experiences. People need a concept of individuality to find their place in the group, the society, and the world that surrounds them. We call this concept “identity.” Humans are aware of themselves and thus of their own bodies and appearances. The body separates the individual from other human be-

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ings, but it also allows people to turn out their innermost inside, which serves as a membrane between the individual and the community (Gröning 1998). In addition to its biological and obvious functions, the human body is a medium of communication. Health, age, sexual attractiveness, but also individuality, status, wealth, power, and rank within a society can be read from the body. The external appearance is part of the so-called habitus according to Bourdieu (1976) and Elias (1987). Habitus describes the compendium of a way of life: the manners, habits, and preferences; the language and gestures; the personal taste; and the person’s social behavior. The body and its appearance are important means of adopting and displaying the habitus. The body creates a categorization of members of certain social classes in a society, internalized by its members and appropriated, in some cases, for a lifetime, and practiced consciously or unconsciously. The participation of individuals in group events and the decoration and modification of the body reflect the value system, the context, and the state of a community. The individual becomes part of a whole, manifested in the modification of their own natural body. A person can emphasize his or her individuality through body adornment, consciously following or opposing social norms (Gröning 1998; Kuhn and Stiner 2007). The age, sex, gender, and social status of an individual play a decisive role, but no less important is the question of who is decorating whom, how and why, and whether the process is voluntary or enforced. The execution of body modifications may be a personal, intimate practice; however, it is not only the individual deciding whether to apply modifications or what types. Social rules and norms often dictate why and how to decorate the body. Personal preferences are tolerated to a certain extent, but socially consistent rules must be adhered to. The types of ornamentation are embedded in a culture and the patterns and shapes are often repeated in different fields: for example, in secular or religious contexts, on tools and weapons, or in the design of living spaces (e.g., Gröning 1998; Vanhaeren 2005; Kuhn and Stiner 2007; Hogh-Olesen 2019). The decorated body provides information about one’s identity. On the one hand, displaying this kind of information to the closest peer group, like family and close friends is not necessary; on the other hand, communicating through culturally coded signs to strangers who are not familiar with the meaning of these signs is also not the goal. Therefore, displaying information about one’s identity is mainly addressed to “strangers in the middle distance” (Kuhn and Stiner 2007: 47).

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Types of Body Decoration and Modification in Archaeological Context In a nonmanipulated state, the human body naturally displays information about the health and fitness of an individual. A symmetrical face, smooth, flawless skin, and full, shiny hair are some examples. These attributes are considered attractive throughout human societies (e.g., Grammer et al. 2003; Fink and Neave 2005; Hogh-Olesen 2019). The first manipulations of the body can be carried out using this basic equipment. Human hair, which is subject to a wide range of variations (different hair structures, colors and tones, different lengths, etc.), creates identity by being worn in different styles or designs. Fingernails and toenails which, like hair, grow constantly can also be manipulated. The largest organ in the human body is also one that mediates between our inside and outside: the skin. Our skin is the limitation of our body, but it also offers an enormous field of communication. The human species likely used the skin as a canvas for one of the earliest forms of body modification: the application of pigments made from earth minerals. One of the most frequently encountered mineral pigments at archaeological sites is a series of iron-rich rocks, clays, and sediments colloquially referred to as ochre, likely because of the range of possible colors it can create: red, orange, yellow, brown, purple, and black. Though evidence for ochre use extends as far back as ca. 500,000 BP (Watts, Chazan, and Wilkins 2016), there is a marked increase during the Middle Stone Age (MSA) in Africa, from ca. 160,000 BP onwards (McBrearty and Brooks 2000; Watts 2009; Henshilwood 2007). Several theories have been proposed regarding the possible uses of ochre, including functional practices, such as an agent for hafting mixtures (Wadley, Hodgskiss, and Grant 2009; Zipkin et al. 2014), tanning animal hides (Rifkin 2011), as a skin protectant from sun and insects (Rifkin 2015a; Rifkin et al. 2015), medicinal properties (Velo 1984), and symbolic practices more generally (Henshilwood, d’Errico, Yates, et al. 2002; Watts 2002; Wadley 2006; Watts 2009; Watts et al. 2016). Identifying symbolic practices exclusively through the archaeological material poses several challenges as many theories cannot be verified through testable hypotheses, though some have tried (for example, Watts et al. 2016). Though it is a conceptual leap, sources of information regarding the ritualistic use of ochre can be found through modern-day and historical ethnographic accounts, many of which report the use of ochre (as well as other pigments) for body painting (Grosse 1894: 18; Bleek and Lloyd 1911; Rudner 1982; Watts 1998; Reid et al. 2017). In most

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cases, these examples report that the primary purpose of body painting is a symbolic one, whether to convey a certain status in society, following rituals or ceremonies or because of their group identity, as in the case of the Ovahimba people in Namibia (Rifkin 2015a, 2015b). Practical aspects are often noted as secondary benefits, and as d’Errico, Henshilwood, Lawson, et al. (2003: 197) suggest “There is no traditional society in which the production and use of colourant is merely functional.” While painting the skin is superficial and is easily removed, other modifications can be more permanent, such as tattoos and scarifications. For tattoos, the skin is injured, and a dye is introduced into the wound, permanently embedding the images into the skin (Hewitt 1997; Wohlrab, Stahl, and Kappeler 2007; S. Schmid 2013). In the case of scarifications, the skin is injured and the scarring, which is often promoted by the active prevention of rapid healing, results in permanently changed skin structure. The injuries can result from cutting, scratching, or burning (Hewitt 1997; Hogh-Olesen 2019). Direct examples of tattoos from the archaeological record include: the 5,300-year-old “Iceman” Ötzi (Samadelli et al. 2015); Egyptian mummies like the 5,000-year-old Gebelein Man (Friedman et al. 2018); or Scythian ice mummies (Iwe 2013; Shishlina, Belkevich, and Usachuk 2013). For the Magdalenian site of Mas d’Azil (France) researchers suggest that a tattoo-toolkit might have been preserved (Péquart and Péquart 1962; Deter-Wolf 2013). Clothing and masking can also be regarded as an extension of the body and skin. In addition to protecting against environmental influences, covering or deliberately not covering the body has an enormous signal effect. Finding evidence for clothing in Paleolithic contexts is difficult, particularly when no designated tools can be detected. Through genetic analysis, it was possible to trace clothing lice (Pediculus humanus humanus) as far back as 170,000 BP, suggesting that humans were wearing clothing (Kittler, Kayser, and Stoneking 2003; Toups et al. 2011). However, it is unclear if clothing had several functions beyond being a protectant at that time. Beyond this example, the earliest reconstructions of clothing come from the burials of the Gravettian site Sungir, in modern-day Russia (Bader 1967, 1970, 1978). Based on the arrangement of thousands of pieces of personal ornaments, the cut of clothing (pants, shirt, shoes, and headgear) could be retraced. From the same period, a shortening of the metatarsal bones is attested, indicating that from this time on, people were wearing shoes permanently (Trinkaus 2005; Trinkaus and Shang 2008). The clothing probably consisted of animal skins and furs, which may have been tanned or prepared. There are different types of tanning such as chamois tanning, vegetable tanning,

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or mechanical tanning (often combined). In the Geißenklösterle Cave, for example, fat is present in sediment samples, which suggests chamois tanning (Rottländer 1987). From the Gravettian site of Pavlov (Czech Republic), there are indications of fabric and plaiting made from plant fibers (Adovasio, Soffer, and Klíma 1996; Soffer et al. 2000). The processing of fibers made from wild flax is attested from the Dzudzuana Cave (Georgia) from 30,000 BP on (Kvavadze et al. 2009), and 19,000-year-old fragments of charred twisted fibers were found at Ohalo II (Israel) (Nadel et al. 1994). However, it is also possible that these fabrics were used as ropes or nets, or for clothing, bags, mats, or baskets. Needles or awls can be used for freehand braiding; work on a simple loom is conceivable. Another level of veiling the body is masking with costumes that change the silhouette, or with masks that make the wearer appear taller, more dangerous, more beautiful, or embody another identity or persona. Masks are “only one of a variety of semiotic systems that are related through their conventional use in disguising, transforming, or displaying identity, and that masks, therefore ‘work’ by coordinating the iconicity and indexicality of signs of identity, as identity is understood in any particular cultural context” (Pollock 1995: 581–82). Masking might be present in the so-called Lion Men from the Swabian Jura (Kind et al. 2014). Other therianthropic figures are known from rock art in the Franco-Cantabrian region, e.g., in the cave of Les Trois Frères (France) (Bégouën and Breuil 1958), and might well indicate humans in disguise. Direct evidence of masks is known from the early Mesolithic sites of Star Carr (Great Britain), Bedburg-Königshoven, and Berlin-Biesdorf (both Germany), where red deer skulls with antlers were reworked into impressive headgear (Clark 1971; Street and Wild 2015; Wild 2019). Personal ornaments, as understood in the archaeological terminology, are usually ornamental objects such as beads or talismans. For the Paleolithic, these mostly include animal teeth, mollusk shells, objects made of bones, antlers, and ivory, and in rarer cases special stones, fish vertebrae, fossils, or amber (Camps-Fabrer 1991; Taborin 1993, 2004; Vanhaeren 2005, 2010; Vanhaeren and d’Errico 2006; White 1995; Wolf, Kind, and Conard 2013; Wolf 2015). Usually, we speak of beads, pearls, platelets, rings, bands, or the like and these were either composing entire decorative elements like necklaces, bracelets, anklets, earrings, etc., or were decorative parts of clothing, belts, hats, or bags. Some of these objects may also have been worn directly applied to the skin, practices that we call piercing, like earrings or large lip-plates, as known for example from the Mursi people in Ethiopia (Fayers-Kerr 2012). The earliest evidence of personal ornaments is found in the MSA in sites like Blombos

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(South Africa), Grotte des Pigeons (Morocco), or Qafzeh (Israel), and is also reported from some Middle Paleolithic sites in Europe (Henshilwood, d’Errico, Vanhaeren, et al. 2004; d’Errico, Henshilwood, Vanhaeren, et al. 2005; Bar-Yosef Mayer, Vandermeersch, and Bar-Yosef 2009; Bouzouggar et al. 2007; Zilhão et al. 2010; Bar-Yosef Mayer 2015). From the Middle Paleolithic, the use of feathers, claws, and bones from birds of prey for very likely decorative purposes is attested in some sites of southern Europe (Peresani et al. 2011; Finlayson et al. 2012). From the Upper Paleolithic on, personal ornaments are regularly found, sometimes in large quantities and with impressive style and elaboration (White 1995; Vanhaeren and d’Errico 2006; Álvarez-Fernández and Jöris 2008; Wolf and Heckel 2018). Other forms of body modifications, like deformations (Hogh-Olesen 2019; Sharapova and Dmitry 2011; Tiesler 2012; Veeramah et al. 2018), amputations (McCauley, Maxwell, and Collard 2018; Myers 1992), or teeth modifications (Arcini 2005) are known in archaeological contexts, but not present in the assemblage of the Swabian Jura and will not be discussed here.

The Uses of Body Decoration and Modification Besides the enjoyment of the aesthetic stimulus, (body) decoration, art, and music, which are all omnipresent in human societies, must have other, more profound benefits for humans for them to go to such lengths to maintain these behaviors. Researchers like Junker (2010, 2013) or Hogh-Olesen (2019) discuss the evolutionary advantages of such behaviors. They point out that from a biological basis body modification is an “expensive signal” that gives hints about the sexual and biological fitness of an individual. Sexual signals were likely the origin of decorations, but one feature of human behavior is the flexible creativity in adopting objects and actions for new uses (e.g., Mithen 1998). As “narrative beings” (Hogh-Olesen 2019), or “animal symbolicus” (Cassirer 1944), we humans search for and create meaning in almost everything around us, and the display of signs is used as a complex communication system beyond spoken language: Humans are semioticians, are sign interpreters if you will, and there are plenty of signals in the way we dress and the jewelry we wear. There are so many that it is legitimate to consider our body decorations the first form of IT (information technology and information transfer) developed by our species. On a species level, these signs are evidence of human becoming a complex symbolic animal. (Hogh-Olesen 2019: 79)

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The uses of body decorations and modifications are varied and can be roughly divided into two realms: the practical/medical and the social/ religious-ritualistic realm. The practical/medical includes measures for hygiene as well as for protection from the sun, insects, weather, infectious diseases, and sexual stimulation. These measures often show real effects that can be proven scientifically (e.g., Velo 1984; Krutak 2013; Ahlrichs 2015; Dorfer et al. 1998; Samadelli et al. 2015; Rifkin et al. 2015; Rifkin 2015a); additionally, there is a large field of magical beliefs/practices that are included in these processes. Other examples of medical uses that are entangled into symbolic practices are objects with apotropaic function, such as physical talismans that protect from ghosts, demons, and witchcraft, to name a few (e.g., Gröning 1998; Wohlrab, Stahl, and Kappeler 2007; Shishlina et al. 2013; Hogh-Olesen 2019). The social/ritualistic-religious realm serves many functions such as sexual advertising, constructing identity (either as an individual or as a member of a particular group), showing status, and participating in cultural practices and religious transcendental experiences (e.g., Strathern 1979; Sanders 1991; Hewitt 1997; Gröning 1998; Wohlrab et al. 2007; Hogh-Olesen 2019). On the community level, body modifications of any sort can operate as cultural markers, separating the wearer from animals and people outside the fellowship of the given culture/tribe/group. It testifies to the transformation of the raw, purely biological being into a “real” human through a cultural process. Through these means, the individual embodies a personal narrative, affiliations, life events, and memories. The preparation and conduction of body decorations and modifications are often ritualized through the transcendence of pain or accompanying hallucinations. Many of these functions are not mutually exclusive so the various functions cannot always be clearly separated from one another, and multilayered purposes are often present.

The Swabian Aurignacian Evidence The Aurignacian of the Swabian Jura is one of the oldest examples of this techno-complex in Europe. It dates from around 43,000 to 34,000 calBP (Richter et al. 2000; Conard and Bolus 2003, 2008; Higham et al. 2012) and is associated with the immigration of AMH into Europe. The sites are located in two valleys of the eastern Swabian Jura in Southwest Germany. These are the caves Sirgenstein, Geißenklösterle, and Hohle Fels in the Ach Valley and Vogelherd, Hohlenstein-Stadel, and Bockstein in the Lone Valley near Ulm (Figure 7.1). This region has a long history of archaeological research and provides a substantive amount of high-

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Figure 7.1.  Map of the Swabian Jura (Southwest Germany, Ach, Brenz, and Lone Valleys) with sites that yielded prehistoric remains. Six sites provided Aurignacian figurative art, personal ornaments, and ochre: 1) Vogelherd; 2) Hohlenstein-Stadel; 3) Bockstein; 4) Geißenklösterle; 5) Hohle Fels; 6) Sirgenstein. https://zenodo.org/doi/10.5281/zenodo.3460300.

resolution data on the Middle and Upper Paleolithic (see e.g., Conard and Bolus 2008; Wehrberger 2013; Kind et al. 2014; Conard and Bolus 2015; Bolus 2015; Dutkiewicz 2015; Conard, Bolus, et al. 2015). For the Aurignacian, numerous studies in the last few decades provide a rich knowledge of the living conditions of early modern humans in Europe. In addition to analyses of lithic technology (Bataille and Conard 2018) and organic artifacts (Wolf, Münzel, et al. 2016), there are also diverse legacies from so-called symbolic artifacts: personal ornaments (Wolf, Kind, and Conard 2013; Wolf 2015; Wolf and Heckel 2018), figurative art in the form of small statuettes made of mammoth ivory and often bearing geometric markings (Conard 2003, 2009; Dutkiewicz and Conard 2016; Dutkiewicz, Wolf, and Conard 2018; Dutkiewicz, Wolf, Floss, et al. 2018; Dutkiewicz 2021), musical instruments (Conard, Malina, and Münzel 2009; Münzel et al. 2016) and ochre (Wolf, Dapschauskas, et al. 2018; Velliky, Porr, and Conard 2018; Velliky 2019; Velliky, Barbieri, et al. 2019; Velliky, Schmidt, et al. 2021). Regarding the compilation of various body modifications presented above and their verifiability in archaeological material, we infer three

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important groups for the Swabian Aurignacian: 1) remains of personal ornaments in the form of pendants and applications on clothing; 2) pigments that might have been used as paint and perhaps other practices; and 3) figurative art, in the zoomorphic and anthropomorphic figures carved from osseous materials. These three groups are not only individual pillars but often overlap with each other in various contexts and, likely, for different purposes. In the following sections, we introduce these types of finds in more detail and discuss their possible functions for body decoration and modification.

Personal Ornaments Within the Swabian Aurignacian, hundreds of personal ornaments are reported (Hahn 1988; Conard 2009). From the cave sites of Geißenklösterle, Sirgenstein, and Hohle Fels as well as Vogelherd, Hohlenstein-Stadel and the Bockstein-complex with Bockstein-Cave and Bockstein-Törle, personal ornaments made from mammoth ivory and animal teeth are present (Kölbl and Conard 2003; Wolf 2015). Mammoth ivory is the most frequently used material (Figure 7.2).

Figure 7.2.  Examples of double-perforated beads of the Swabian Aurignacian in different production stages. Photo: Y. Mühleis, © Landesamt für Denkmalpflege Baden-Württemberg im Regierungspräsidium Stuttgart.

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The bead assemblage from these sites comprises forms such as the double-perforated bead, single-perforated bead, double-perforated bead with a wedge-shaped appendix, triple-perforated bead, discoid bead, ring-shaped bead, tube-shaped bead, Swabian basket-shaped bead, figure-eight bead, nonperforated constricted beads, cone-shaped bead, bulgy bead as well as unusual forms that are unique or only found from a single site (Table 7.1 and Figure 7.3) (Wolf and Conard 2015; Wolf and Heckel 2018). However, the most frequent type by far is the doubleperforated bead, which is unique to the Swabian Aurignacian.

Figure 7.3.  Different bead types, Swabian Aurignacian: 1) double-perforated bead; 2) double-perforated bead with wedge-shaped appendix; 3) singleperforated bead; 4) discoid bead; 5) ring-shaped bead; 6) basket-shaped bead; 7) eight-shaped bead; 8) nonperforated constricted bead; 9) cone-shaped bead; 10) bulgy bead; 11) single-perforated bead with appendix; 12) tripleperforated bead; 13) raw form of a bead; 14) ivory band. Hohle Fels: 4, 5, 7, 8, 11–14. Vogelherd: 1–3, 6, 9, 10. Photos: S. Wolf: 1–10; Hildegard Jensen, University of Tübingen: 11-14, © S. Wolf.

10

1

 

1

Geißenklösterle

Sirgenstein

Bockstein-Törle

HohlensteinStadel

*1 From the 1931 excavation

219

127

Hohle Fels

Vogelherd (back dirt)

Double Perforated

Site/Bead Type (N°)

Single Perforated

34

 

 

 

2

6

Double Perf. With Wedge-Shaped Appendix

4

 

 

 

 

1

Pendant

39*

1

2

 

1

11

Ring-Shaped

 

 

 

 

 

2

Non-Perforated Constricted

1

 

 

 

 

5

Basket-Shaped

4

 

 

 

 

4

Cone-Shaped

2

 

 

 

 

2

Eight-Shaped

1

 

 

 

 

4

Bead (No Type Detectable)

43

 

 

 

3

52

Discoid

 

 

 

 

 

2

 

 

 

 

 

1

Tripple Perforated

Table 7.1.  Personal ornaments made from mammoth ivory, which are assigned to the Swabian Aurignacian.

Globular

 

2

 

 

 

 

Band

1*

 

 

 

3

3

Total

348

4

2

1

19

220

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Schmidt found one half of a double-perforated bead during the analysis of the sediment samples of layer IV of Sirgenstein (Schmidt 1912). However, due to the lack of assured stratigraphy, it remains uncertain if this piece derives from the Aurignacian, though its typology is consistent with other Aurignacian beads. From Geißenklösterle, personal ornaments were excavated in the Aurignacian layers II and III (Hahn 1988). The personal ornaments from Hohle Fels derive from intact Aurignacian layers III to Vb. These artifacts form a record of all bead production stages, from blanks to recycled pieces. Besides mammoth ivory, beads were also crafted from the teeth of foxes, deer, reindeer, hyenas, and horses. In addition, the excavation teams unearthed some ornaments in layers IId and IIe, documenting the shift from the Aurignacian to the Gravettian (ca. 34,000–30,000 calBP) (Wolf 2015; Taller and Conard 2016). No perforated beads were recovered from the 1931 excavation at Vogelherd. However, between 2005 and 2012 more than four hundred personal ornaments in all stages of their production were recovered, with 346 being analyzed and published (Wolf 2015; Wolf and Conard 2015). The items from the recent excavation come from the back dirt of the 1931 campaign. Due to the similar morphology of personal ornaments from the Ach Valley sites with intact stratigraphies, we are confident that the personal ornaments from Vogelherd date to the Aurignacian. Pendants from animal teeth, such as deer and cave bear, were also recovered at this site. At Hohlenstein-Stadel, Wetzel discovered two ivory beads and six ice fox canines during the excavation in 1939, in direct connection with the fragments of the Lion Man figurine (Wetzel 1954; E. Schmid, Hahn, and Wolf 1989; Hahn 1977, 1986). During the back-dirt excavation between 2008 and 2013, an additional ivory bead with an identical globular shape, like one of the pieces of the old excavation, came to light. Furthermore, seven fox teeth, one wolf tooth, and a decorated deer canine were excavated (Kind 2019; Wolf 2019). From Bockstein-Cave, one bear canine pendant is known (Hahn 1977), as well as personal ornaments made from clay shale and ivory from the Bockstein-Törle excavation (Wetzel 1954; Wolf, Kind, and Conard 2013). It is of special interest that some of the figurative artworks are extraordinary pendants as well. This is true for the mammoth figurine that Riek excavated in Vogelherd Cave in 1931 (Riek 1934). It measures 5 cm in length, and it is nearly completely preserved; only a piece of the trunk is broken apart. Between the hind legs and the forelegs, this object has perforations. Hahn (1986) assumes that the horse figurine might have

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had holes between the legs before they were broken. This idea could be applied to other figurines as well. The most impressive item in this collection is the female figurine from Hohle Fels (Conard 2009). Instead of the head, the carver chose to create a ring to thread a band through. There are several explanations for this. The head of the carrier could have been seen as the head of the female figurine. Another possibility is that the head was made from more ephemeral material than ivory and clipped on the figurine. Another possibility is that there was a head, which either broke or was deliberately removed and the surface was reworked afterward to the state we see now. The fourth option is that the figurine was deliberately designed in the form we see today. The perforations of the Vogelherd mammoth and the female figurine of Hohle Fels are heavily polished, so we assume that these objects were worn for a long time.

Ochre The emergence of new ochre data at early Upper Paleolithic and Aurignacian sites (Hublin et al. 2020; Nivens 2020; Pradeau et al. 2014; Salomon 2009) offers increasing evidence that AMH recognized the properties of ochre and its uses as they migrated into the European continent. In the Swabian Jura, a recent systematic study of the ochre assemblage from Hohle Fels showed around nine hundred individual ochre fragments recovered from the entire Upper Paleolithic sequence at the site, of which twenty-seven showed evidence for anthropogenic modification (Velliky, Porr, and Conard 2018). Ochre materials are also reported from the nearby sites of Geißenklösterle (Gollnisch 1988) and Vogelherd (Figure 7.4) (Velliky, Schmidt, et al. 2021), though no comprehensive analyses have been conducted yet. Furthermore, some 250 artifacts from Hohle Fels bear traces of red colorants, including an ochre grindstone recovered from the Gravettian layers (Velliky, Porr, and Conard 2018). Based on this evidence, we can infer that using ochre was an important behavioral practice for Swabian Jura populations throughout the entire Upper Paleolithic. Outside of what is observable through the physical evidence, inferring specific symbolic behaviors associated with ochre use is problematic. However, red colorants are found on numerous personal ornaments from the Gravettian and Magdalenian. These are primarily reindeer incisors (n=14), which may have served a functional purpose in gum-preservation (Poplin 1972) as well as on shells and shell beads

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Figure 7.4.  Visual examples of ochres from the cave sites of Vogelherd, Geißenklösterle, and Hohle Fels. The ochre pieces are from all time periods (after Velliky, Schmidt, et al. 2021).

from the Magdalenian (Kölbl and Conard 2003). Painted dot-patterns in red ochre are seen on seven limestone fragments from the Magdalenian (Conard and Malina 2010, 2011, 2012), and, along with examples from Klausenhöhle in Bavaria, form a style unique to this region in Germany (Wolf, Dapschauskas, et al. 2018). The anthropogenically modified ochre pieces from the Gravettian (n=7) and Magdalenian (n=17), which bear use-traces associated with grinding, rubbing (or smoothing), and scoring suggest pigment production during these periods (Velliky, Porr, and

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Conard 2018). With this evidence combined, we can infer that ochre was likely used in a multitude of settings for a range of purposes at the site, including as paint for limestones, during the Gravettian and Magdalenian in the Swabian Jura. The ochre evidence from the Swabian Aurignacian is more fragmented, though some details are discernible. From Geißenklösterle, a “painted” limestone fragment from the Aurignacian is described as bearing yellow, red, and black colorants (Figure 7.5), and Hahn (1988) reports an “ochre layer,” or Rötelschicht, from the Aurignacian, which he interprets as a possible decomposed animal skin covered in ochre. Sedimentological studies suggest that this layer may be due to postdeposition iron leaching (Dippon 2003), though no intensive in situ micromorphological studies have been conducted. Additionally, Gollnisch (1988) reports some ninety-four hematite, twenty limonite, and ten ambiguous (Hämatit/Limonit-Gemische) ochre fragments weighing 77 g in total from the Aurignacian horizons at Geißenklösterle. In his early report, he mentions the presence of finely powdered ochre on several limestone fragments from the Aurignacian and suggests that ochre powders were likely mixed with binders and used as paint during the Aurignacian of Geißenklösterle. He furthermore states this is likely as Aurignacian groups could have easily accessed ochre from one of several outcrops of malleable iron oxides found near the cave, which was further confirmed in a recent study (Velliky, MacDonald, et al. 2021).

Figure 7.5.  Limestone fragment from the Geißenklösterle Aurignacian, bearing three different colors of possible pigment: red, yellow, and black (after Velliky 2019).

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The Aurignacian ochre record from Hohle Fels contains 371 individual ochre fragments, of which one is anthropogenically modified. The nonmodified pieces show varying textures and colors, with the most frequent types being red to dark purple sandstones and fine-grained hematic silt- and sandstones. Many of these materials were collected from the nearby Bohnerzlehm formations found within ca. 5–10 km of the site. However, during the Aurignacian, some three pieces of ochre were collected from distant outcrops, some 200 km from the site, offering evidence for long-distance transportation or trade of certain material types during the Aurignacian. This is in contrast to the lithic assemblage during this period, which is predominately focused on locally sourced silcrete called Jurahornstein (Hahn 1987; Scheer 2000). The single-modified ochre fragment is one of the only yellow ochre pieces recovered at Hohle Fels and bears two deep incisions on its surface (Figure 7.6). The exact purpose of this piece is indiscernible. Weathered limestone fragments in the cave are frequently encountered during excavations—these often appear as fine-grained yellow ochre. As such, it is difficult to separate anthropogenically collected yellow ochre versus naturally weathered limestone. Furthermore, of the 110 artifacts from the Aurignacian bearing possible colorants, none of them shows any evidence of yellow pigment (Velliky 2019). Further investigations into the chemical and mineralogical structure of this piece and other ochre residues might offer evidence on the nature of this modified ochre piece. Though the modified ochre assemblage from the Hohle Fels Aurignacian levels is small, there are 110 artifacts bearing possible red colorants that attest to the use of ochre during the Aurignacian at Hohle

Figure 7.6.  Modified ochre from the Hohle Fels Aurignacian layer IIIa. Artifact no. 87/1271 shows two incisions with dots in the middle on a prepared surface (left detail) (after Velliky, Porr, and Conard 2018).

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Fels. Of these artifacts, nineteen are ivory personal ornaments, which were undoubtedly manufactured by humans occupying the site. A recent study analyzed these red colorants and found that they contain the iron-oxide phase hematite, which is alternatively absent from the associated cave sediments at Hohle Fels, offering concrete evidence for the direct application of ochre to personal ornaments during the Aurignacian of Hohle Fels (Velliky, Schmidt, et al. 2021). Additionally, in this study, seventeen beads from Vogelherd were also analyzed, though their stratigraphic provenance is not assured due to the recent excavations of the back dirt at the site. Regardless, the presence of anthropogenically applied ochre pigments to the ivory personal ornaments indicates that Aurignacian groups had intimate knowledge of how to collect and process ochre, and furthermore, used ochre as paint, whether for functional or symbolic reasons, on other materials. If the inhabitants of the Swabian Jura were knowledgeable in how to create useable paint from ochre, it is possible that this paint was also used for body painting as a mechanism of social communication (Kuhn and Stiner 2007).

Figurative Art The Swabian Aurignacian has a unique assemblage of figurative works of art, which is among the earliest evidence of its kind worldwide (Hahn 1986; Conard 2003; Floss 2007; Conard 2009; Floss and Conard 2010; Conard and Floss 2013; Dutkiewicz, Wolf, Floss, et al. 2018; Dutkiewicz 2021). Most of them are small figurines, carved from mammoth ivory, depicting Ice Age animals, such as mammoths, cave lions, horses, and others. The figurines were crafted with extreme care and show an impressive wealth of detail and vibrancy. However, it was not only animals that humans sculpted around 40,000 years ago. There are at least six, and possibly up to eight, human representations from the Swabian Aurignacian: • the so-called Adorant from Geißenklösterle (Hahn 1982; Dutkiewicz 2021), • the anthropomorphic figurine from Vogelherd (Riek 1934; Dutkiewicz 2021), • two therianthropic figurines of Lion Men from Hohlenstein-Stadel (Hahn 1970; Kind et al. 2014) and Hohle Fels (Conard 2003; Conard, Langguth, and Uerpmann 2003),

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• two female figurines from Hohle Fels (Conard and Malina 2009; Conard 2009; Conard and Malina 2015), • as well as another possible part of a female figurine (Conard, Janas, and Rudolf 2017; Dutkiewicz 2021) •  a small, very schematic possible therianthropic depiction that looks like a human/felid head en face (in frontal view), both from Hohle Fels.

Female Depictions In 2008, a female figurine made of mammoth ivory was discovered at the base of the lowest Aurignacian archaeological horizon (AH) Vb at Hohle Fels (Figure 7.7a) (Conard and Malina 2009; Conard 2009; Conard and Wolf 2020). The figurine is almost completely preserved, only the left arm and shoulder are missing. The posture is somewhat asymmetrical, with the right shoulder slightly raised. There is no head; instead, there is a loop above the left shoulder. Below the broad shoulders, the large breasts protrude noticeably forward. Both arms are held close to the body. The carefully designed hands rest below the breasts on the upper abdomen. The oversized vulva is shown with the labia open. The thighs are slim and stand out from each other and the legs end below the knees. The figure bears markings everywhere except for the legs and buttocks (Figure 7.7c). On the front, ten nearly parallel lines that are long and deeply cut run horizontally across the entire abdomen. There are twelve thin radial lines on the lower abdomen, which radiate out roughly from the navel. On the backside of the figure, a long and curved line runs along the shoulder girdle. Along this line, vertical parallel notches are placed, only nine of which are preserved; the sequence could have included one to three additional notches along the missing left shoulder. A few lines are loosely scattered across the entire back with a concentration in the waist area. A pattern of four U-shaped, concentrically arranged long lines runs over the flat upper breast from the tip of one breast to the other. The outside of the right breast bears two sequences of six and four parallel, vertical lines, respectively. There are another four parallel, vertical lines on the outside of the left breast and three on the inside. On both shoulder parts, there are three long parallel lines mirrored on each side. Starting at the shoulder on the right arm is a pattern of a sloping line with two parallel lines directly below it. There are six parallel lines along the upper arm and four more on the forearm. At the wrist, there are two rows of four and two dots. It can be assumed

178 • Ewa Dutkiewicz, Sibylle Wolf, Elizabeth C. Velliky, and Nicholas J. Conard

that the left missing arm was also decorated with markings since the patterns on this figurine are applied symmetrically. In 2014, a fragment of worked ivory in a spherical bulge that is reminiscent of the breast shape of the female representation from AH Vb was discovered (Conard and Malina 2015) (Figure 7.7d). The whole piece is covered with numerous markings. The largest and only completely preserved pattern consists of eight concentric lines. The innermost lines are nearly straight; towards the outside, they become more U-shaped. Another pattern is a series of five parallel lines with two oblique parallel lines. Twelve radial lines on the shaft run toward the center of the bulge. They are not arranged in a row but are offset from one another in at least two rows. The type and arrangement of the markings are strongly reminiscent of the patterns that can be seen on the female figurine 1. Another possible fragment of a female figurine was discovered in Hohle Fels AH Vaa in 2016 (Conard et al. 2017) (Figure 7.7e). The original surface has been completely reworked and is heavily weathered. A slightly curved bead runs over the entire length of the fragment. It is reminiscent of the representation of an arm, similar to that of female figurine 1, which is why we interpret it as the fragment of another possible female figure. On the fragment, twenty-four long, nearly parallel lines that run across the entire surface are preserved. It seems legitimate to address some of the markings as body modifications. In particular, the patterns on the arm, chest, shoulder, and back might represent body decoration—be it painting, tattoos, or scarification (Wadley 2016). We can infer that the patterns are attached to the naked body because the navel is well visible in female figurine 1. They follow the anatomical details of the body and emphasize the abdomen and breasts. In this composition and pattern selection, cultural traditions, as well as personal preferences, are certainly expressed. It can be assumed that the patterns on the individual parts of the body convey a deeper symbolic meaning. The emphasis on the anatomical details of the female body may be related to aspects of fertility. The irregular lines on the back could depict decoration or wrinkles or stretch marks, the lines in the waist area are reminiscent of skin folds such as those found in obese women; it could also be a representation of a belt, but the small lines are not connected to one distinctive form and the continuation on the front is missing. In comparison with the breast fragment of figurine 2 and the third fragment in question, we can assume that the ornamentation of the female body was familiar and followed the anatomical details of the body shape. Both common standards and

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Figure 7.7.  Female figurines from the Swabian Aurignacian: a) Hohle Fels, female figurine 1, size 6 cm (photo by J. Lipták © Universität Tübingen); b) drawing of the fundal height from the Queen Charlotte’s Textbook of Obstetrics, 1970 (after Beazley and Underhill 1970); c) drawing of the markings on female figurine 1 (after Dutkiewicz 2021); d) Hohle Fels, female figurine 2 (left), size 2.5 cm and (right) two possible reconstructions, projected onto the female figurine 1 (after Conard and Malina 2015); e) Hohle Fels, a possible fragment of another female figurine, size 3.3 cm, and drawing of the markings (after Dutkiewicz 2021).

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individual designs seem to have prevailed, as we can see in the slight differences in patterns between the two or three female depictions. The anatomical details are related to pregnancy and childbirth—the large breasts, the open vulva, and the slack stomach, all of which characterize a woman’s body shortly after birth (Conard and Kölbl 2010). Also the markings on female figurine 1 show a connection with pregnancy (Dutkiewicz 2021, 2023). The twelve radial lines emphasize the lower abdomen. Further, the ten horizontal and deeply cut lines across the stomach are striking. Before it was possible to use ultrasounds to determine the course of a pregnancy, the fundal height indicated the position of the uterus in the abdomen and allowed for conclusions to be drawn about the stage of the pregnancy (Beazley and Underhill 1970; Morse, Williams, and Gardosi 2009). In older books and modern instructional drawings, to demonstrate the fundal height, horizontal lines are indicated on the stomach according to the week of pregnancy (Figure 7.7b). At the end of pregnancy, the fundus reaches below the breast. It is possible, in connection with other signs of postpartum that the horizontal lines on the stomach reflect these positions. This is supported by the fact that the ten lines correspond to the ten months of pregnancy according to a lunar calendar (Dutkiewicz 2021, 2023). The markings of the vulva, on the other hand, have a completely different character. In contrast to the clearly set markings on the upper body, the cuts in this area are rather imprecise. They seem to be carried out quickly and almost in a rough manner. They fill the entire area of the pubic triangle, culminating in the vulvar cleft. In contrast to the static markings on the upper body, this gives the impression of action, as if this area has been modified again and again—stronger than would be necessary for the pure design. It is apparent that an activity was being carried out by the continuous incisions, in which the process of cutting was decisive. In summation, there are three zones of markings that stand out on the Hohle Fels female figurines. One is the representation of the body with its specific characteristics, which likely represent body decoration, such as painting, tattoo, or scarification, all of which might have been an integral part of a female’s body in the Swabian Aurignacian society. The second may reflect a numerical, calendric, and medical meaning. This part likely represents the notation of the course of pregnancy over the time of ten lunar months. A third area, the vulva, was worked on repeatedly even after a figure was completed. The notation of the course of pregnancy, the concentration on the abdomen, and the “opening” of the vulva all support the argument that this figure is directly related to

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the topic of fertility—more precisely to pregnancy, childbirth, and midwifery. The fact that it was also a pendant speaks in favor of its usage as a personal amulet or apotropaic object. This suggests that this female figure is not just a representation; it was involved in certain activities and served a specific purpose.

Male/Therianthropic Depictions The largest figurine from the Swabian Aurignacian is the so-called Lion Man from Hohlenstein-Stadel (Figure 7.8a). It was discovered in a fragmented state during the excavations under the direction of Wetzel and Völzing in 1939 but remained unnoticed until 1969 when Hahn and colleagues rediscovered it in the museum at Ulm and conducted a reconstruction (Hahn 1970). Through fortunate circumstances, further fragments were reported (E. Schmid, Hahn, and Wolf 1989; Wehrberger 1994). During the 2008–13 excavations of Hohlenstein-Stadel under the direction of Kind, hitherto missing fragments were rediscovered in the debris of the old excavations, and subsequently, the Lion Man was restored (Kind et al. 2014; Wehrberger 2013). The surface is in most parts heavily degraded by weathering. The posture is upright, the legs are slightly apart. The head is undoubtedly that of a lion, but its position perpendicular to the body axis is typical for humans. The muzzle is wide and two horizontal lines mark the nose and mouth. There is no cleft lip, which would be typical for a felid. The eyes are placed at the side but face forward. The ears have a round shape and are slightly inclined (Pirsig and Wehrberger 2015). The neck is noticeably broad and merges almost seamlessly into the back and shoulders. The arms, which have lion-like paws, are slightly bent, and do not touch the body. The trunk is elongated, and the body proportions appear overstretched. The legs are about shoulder-width apart and have human characteristics, such as knees, curved calves, ankles, and heels. The figure appears to be standing on tiptoe. Although the original surface is largely missing, some areas have been preserved at the head and neck, the collarbones, and in the area of the lower abdomen, bearing the large, deep navel and a loincloth-like extension in the front groin area (Kind et al. 2014). Despite the size of the figure, there are only a few markings (Dutkiewicz 2021), and it is possible that many of the markings are no longer preserved. The most noticeable pattern is on the figure’s upper left arm. There are eight wide and deep notches. The last two notches on the elbow are not completely preserved and the last is only indicated by a few

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cuts. A hatching pattern on the left ear is clearly visible. On the right ear, there are three short notches along the edge that are only faintly visible. Eight parallel incisions have been preserved on the sole of the left foot. There could be dots in the back of the head and on the face; however, these are very difficult to distinguish from the signs of weathering that are present. The so-called little Lion Man was discovered at Hohle Fels in 2002 (Conard 2003; Conard, Langguth, and Uerpmann 2003) (Figure 7.8c). The posture of the figurine is very similar to the Lion Man from Hohlenstein-Stadel, but it is only 2.55 cm tall. Only the left side is preserved. The figure has a relatively large head with a protruding face. A round ear, the eye, muzzle, and mouth are present, albeit only schematically worked. The broad, angular left shoulder starts below the short and thick neck. The arm is short and triangular and detached from the body. The back merges seamlessly with the narrow hips. The legs, which are only partially preserved, start below the buttocks and are separated from each other. The only markings on this miniature-figurine are two notches. One runs on the upper left arm and the other one roughly in the middle of the back. The so-called Adorant from Geißenklösterle was found in 1979 and was initially argued to have a calendar function (Hahn 1982) (Figure 7.8b). It is a rectangular, 3.8 cm long, thin ivory plate. One side bears the depiction of a human figure in relief. Unfortunately, large parts of the surface have flaked off, so that most of it is only preserved as an outline. The figure is shown en face and fills the entire rectangular plate in a symmetrical posture. The arms are slightly bent and stretched upwards. The head protrudes over the upper edge. The legs are slightly bent; the feet are shown pointing outwards and do not quite reach the lower edge of the plate (Hahn 1982, 1986). Between the legs, an elongated appendage hangs down. This mysterious structure is interpreted by various researchers as a representation of birth (Rücklin 1995, he interprets this figure as female), an animal’s tail (Hahn 1986; Müller-Beck 2001), or the representation of a phallus (Hahn 1986; Rappenglück 2003). Since the surface is gone in most parts, little can be said about the body details. Both arms of the figure have the original surface preserved and bear markings: three markings on the right arm and seven on the left. In addition to this, on the top of the head, four lines are visible that might represent the hair of this figure (Dutkiewicz 2021). These markings are directly related to the human figure and probably reflect features such as tattoos, scarification, or painting. The edges of the plate bear notches all around: thirteen on the sides, seven at the top, and six at the

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Figure 7.8.  Male and/or therianthropic depictions from the Swabian Aurignacian (not in scale): a) Hohlenstein-Stadel, the so-called Lion Man, size 31.1 cm (drawing by C. von Elm © Landesamt für Denkmalpflege im Regierungspräsidium Stuttgart und Ulmer Museum); b) Geißenklösterle, the so-called Adorant, size 3.8 cm (after Dutkiewicz 2021); c) Hohle Fels, the so-called little Lion Man, size 2.55 cm (after Dutkiewicz 2021); d) Vogelherd, anthropomorphic figurine, size 6.9 cm (after Dutkiewicz 2021).

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bottom. On the back of the plate, there are four rows of thirteen, ten, twelve, and thirteen dots, respectively. The numbers of the edges and the rows are often seen in connection to the observation and notation of lunar phases (Rücklin 1995; Müller-Beck 2001; Dutkiewicz 2021, 2023). Another anthropomorphic figure was found in layer IV of Vogelherd in 1931 (Riek 1934) (Figure 7.8d). The body is long and cylindrical and shows no anatomical details apart from a drawn-in thinning in the back. The abdomen is shown foreshortened, and the buttocks bulge slightly below the waist. Legs are not shown, but the figure is provided with a button-like, unworked thickening at its lower end. The head is narrow and set off from the body by a notch. The eye, ear, and mouth are schematically indicated by notches. It is noticeable that the top of the head is sunk so that when viewed from the front, the impression of pointed upward protruding animal-ears is created. The neck area is roughly cut, while the body is thoroughly worked. Although the fuselage is smoothed, numerous traces of working can be seen. The interpretation as a human figure is given by the upright, elongated body shape without front and rear legs, by the head sitting perpendicular to the body axis, and by the thinning of the waist in the back. Riek (1934) discusses whether this is a semi-finished product and cites the only partially worked-out head, as well as the coarse and unsmoothed leg/knee area. The rows of dots on the body, however, speak for a careful surface rework. The most noticeable markings are on the fuselage. These are three parallel, vertical rows of dots. The row facing the back consists of seven dots: above the waist, there are four dots, and a further three below. The central row consists of eight dots and the row to the front of the body of nine. A deep, horizontal notch is cut in the chest area, and above, below the neck, there is a V-pattern. In addition, there are numerous thin cuts in the frontal body area. The markings on the male/therianthropic depictions show some common peculiarities. First, there seems to be an emphasis on the left arm. The Lion Men from Hohlenstein-Stadel and Hohle Fels bear decorations there, the Adorant on both arms, and the dots on the anthropomorphic figurine from Vogelherd are also present on the left side. This fact often led to the assumption that there was particular importance of the left side of the body (Hahn 1986; Kind et al. 2014; Müller-Beck 2001; Dutkiewicz 2021). To find out if there is a preference for the left side, the position of all markings on human and animal depictions was recorded, if determinable. The graph shows a strong signal for the left body side (Figure 7.9). Using the mean values for each of the side patterns, an analysis

0

10

20

30

40

50

60

70

dorsal

35

cranial

8

Hohle Fels

caudal

2 left

Geißenklösterle

Hohlenstein-Stadel

Position of markings on the body

ventral

18

70

Vogelherd

right

38

Total

palmar/plantar

6

Figure 7.9.  Positions of markings on the body sides of human and animal representations in the Swabian Aurignacian (after Dutkiewicz 2021).

Quantity

80

hull

1

Constructing Identity • 185

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of variance (ANOVA) test showed statistically significant differences (p < .0001, df = 7, F-ratio = 9.9509) between the means of the sides (means listed in Table 7.2). We explored this result further using post-hoc tests such as a parametric student’s t-test and the non-parametric equivalent, a Wilcoxon test (Table 7.2), comparing each pair of mean values. The results of the student’s t-test showed statistically significant differences between the left side and each of the other sides (p-values < 0.01 for each), indicating that the left values are unique. However, due to the small sample size and non-normal distribution of the data, we opted to explore the means using a non-parametric Wilcoxon test as well. The results are similar in that most sides show a statistically significant difference from the left side (p-values < 0.01), except for the left-to-dorsal (p = 0.08) and left-to-right comparisons (p = 0.11). Further, dots are often present on the therianthropic depictions as well as on felid depictions, particularly those from Vogelherd. One possible interpretation of these dots is that they depict or are derived from fur patterns. Although today’s African adult lions mostly have a monochrome coat, they have a coat pattern that can be seen in young animals (Figure 7.10c). Over the legs and in the lower trunk area, dots that are reminiscent of the patterns of leopards are visible, and there are parallel stripes on the neck and the back, like the patterns of tigers. One figurine from Vogelherd in particular shows a strikingly similar pattern (Figure 7.10a). It might represent a young individual, but another felid figurine, that clearly shows characteristics of an adult specimen, has dots all over the body as well (Figure 7.10b). Table 7.2.  Location and distribution (including mean values and standard deviations) of markings observed on 25 human and animal depictions from four cave sites, Hohle Fels, Geißenklösterle, Hohlenstein-Stadel, and Voglherd. Hohle Fels

Geißenklösterle

HohlensteinStadel

Vogelherd

Total

No. of objects

4

4

1

16

25

caudal

0

7

0

6

13

Mean values

Standard Deviations

 

  0.65

2.007224

cranial

1

24

20

37

82

4.555556

6.740765

dorsal

60

62

0

191

313

14.227273

18.356086

hull

0

0

0

74

74

3.52381

16.148124

palmar/plantar

0

6

0

28

34

3.777778

8.569973

ventral

40

12

0

39

91

4.333333

7.624522

left

46

113

46

415

620

26.956522

28.709324

19.111111

28.165245

right

20

36

4

284

344

total

167

260

70

1074

1571

 

 

Constructing Identity • 187

It is likely that European cave lions (Panthea leo spelea) looked different from present-day African lions (Panthera leo). It has often been stated that cave lions did not have a mane (e.g., von Koenigswald 2002; Braun and Zessin 2017), but following the figurines from the Swabian Aurignacian, we also have to consider a distinctive fur pattern of Ice Age lions in Europe. For present-day African lions, the beige-colored, plain coat pattern is an advantage. They live and hunt in savanna landscapes, where they are well camouflaged with this coat color. Good camouflage is essential for cats that often must stalk close to their prey before attacking it. For European Ice Age lions, patterned fur would be of great advantage, as can be seen in the example of a modern snow leopard (Panthera uncia) in Figure 7.10d, which almost disappears in the rocky landscape it inhabits. However, few other Ice Age felid depictions show fur patterns (e.g., Les Combarelles, Les Trois Frères, or La Vache), and many depictions show none at all (e.g., Grotte Chauvet) (see summarized in Braun and Zessin 2017). Differences in fur patterns may appear for different reasons, either due to the separation of populations, regional variations, or adaptations to the landscape, but also seasonal or chronological changes. Dots appear often on felid and male/therianthropic depictions from the Swabian Jura (Figure 7.11), but the sample

Figure 7.10.  a) Vogelherd, felid figurine, size 6.8 cm (photo by J. Lipták © Universität Tübingen); b) Vogelherd, felid figurine, size 8.7 cm (photo by J. Lipták © Universität Tübingen); c) lioness (Panthera leo) in the Hagenbeck zoo with clearly visible coat pattern; d) hunting snow leopard (Panthera uncia) in a rocky landscape (photo by I. Vandyke, with courtesy).

Figure 7.11.  Pattern types (summarized) used in the Swabian Aurignacian according to the topics. Note the correlation of dot patterns in male/therianthropic depictions and felids (after Dutkiewicz 2021).

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Constructing Identity • 189

size is too small to test if this correlation is statistically significant. However, it is conceivable that the presumed fur patterns of the felids, which are shown in dots, can be directly transferred to humans, and thus a mixture of the two living beings could be represented by this alone. Patterns that are painted, tattooed, or scratched on the human body are often borrowed from the fur patterns of animals, as known from ethnographic examples (Gröning 1998).

Discussion The material from the Swabian Aurignacian offers many hints about different practices and uses of body decoration and modification from 40,000 years ago. We see a range of personal ornaments, but mostly see the typical Swabian Aurignacian double-perforated bead that is common in this context but limited to this region and time, and therefore this tradition of manufacture and use of the double perforated beads provides an argument for a unified, maybe even ethnic marker for this particular Aurignacian group (e.g., Vanhaeren and d’Errico 2006; Wolf 2015). Alternatively, there are also a range of singular, more individualized items, suggesting personal aesthetic preferences, possibly linked to personal status and function in society. Here, the field of tension between group-specific modes of decoration that did not change over time and the inherent space for individualistic choices and creativity is traceable. Many of the personal ornaments from the Swabian Aurignacian were likely sewn on a variety of bands, rags, blankets, and clothes (Figure 7.12). The diameters of the perforations of the double perforated beads are too small to wear them as a single bead on a tear-resistant band like leather string. We expect that the people had characteristic patterns or designs sewn on clothing or other accessories. Personal ornaments with bigger holes could have been used as pendants and colliers. The triple-perforated beads are of special interest as they may have operated as a chain stopper for three strings, forming a complex collier. If we assume that the Aurignacian inhabitants of the Swabian cave sites discarded the personal ornaments or abandoned them during the process of carving, then we are only seeing a small portion of the objects that the people used during the Aurignacian. The question of what personal ornaments meant in connection with identity in prehistory has been explored extensively and is itself quite complex (Kuntzsch 1978; Wiessner 1985; Hauser-Schäublin 1988;

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Figure 7.12.  Possible decoration of Aurignacian clothes or other substrates with personal ornaments of the Swabian Aurignacian. Drawings by C. von Elm in Wolf 2015.

Camps-Fabrer 1990; Morris and Preston-White 1994; Lock and Symes 1999; Kasten 2009; Vanhaeren 2010). The form of the double-perforated bead is not known in other Aurignacian regions, although mammoth ivory was the preferred raw material to carve personal ornaments in the European Aurignacian (e.g., Otte 1979; White 1995; Heckel 2018). One possible explanation for this tradition is that the ivory beads distinguished the Aurignacian people who lived in the Swabian Jura groups using these beads. We can trace the usage of this form for a minimum

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of six millennia (Wolf 2015), which suggests a strong sense of group expression and identity in the Swabian Jura throughout the Aurignacian. In contrast, single, individual pieces, sometimes even in the form of carefully sculpted figurative pendants, speak in favor of individual use, maybe in connection to status and/or rank in society (Vanhaeren and d’Errico 2006; Wolf 2015). As proven by the presence of different ochre remains, ochre likely forms part of the corpus of body decorating material in the Swabian Aurignacian. The Aurignacian ochre assemblage from Hohle Fels shows a range of colors and textures, which were likely used for different purposes. These purposes include as a residue on ivory beads, which may have been a by-product of production techniques, like hide-tanning, or ochre-covered skin or clothing (Velliky, Schmidt, et al. 2021; Nivens 2020; Collins et al. 2020; Vanhaeren, d’Errico, et al. 2013; Rifkin 2011). Because ochre remains are found throughout the entire Aurignacian, as well as the Upper Paleolithic in general, it can be inferred that the use and manipulation of color formed an integral part of the social structures of the people of the Swabian Aurignacian. It is probable that, based on the importance of body painting as a medium for symbolic communication in several modern-day examples, body painting also operated in a similar sphere during the Swabian Aurignacian. Though the specific messages are lost, the overall significance is discernible through the material evidence. Ochre remains are found at other caves in the Swabian Jura, further attesting to the role of coloring as a means of social communication during the Aurignacian, and likely throughout the Upper Paleolithic. Body decoration is further attested in human depictions from the Swabian Aurignacian. In particular, the female figurines suggest complex patterns that were applied to the body, either through scarification, tattooing, or painting. Unfortunately, the depictions do not give enough information about the technique, although a differentiation between permanent and non-permanent body decoration would provide more insight into the meaning of these, as “modes of body alteration such as makeup, hairstyle, and clothing mark transient—and often conflictual— social identities and changes, they are easily modified should they lose their various attractions or communicative significance. Permanent body alterations, on the other hand, tend to carry more weighty symbolic baggage” (Sanders 1991: 147). Different possibilities arise when observing female depictions. First, we note that female representations are nonpersonal, meaning that the goal was not to represent a particular woman. The lack of a head and

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the pronounced fertility features speak in favor of a generalized “fertile female” depiction, particularly in the context of giving birth and the accompanying magical-medical measures, such as the notation of the pregnancy duration and the “opening” of the vulva. The eyelet shows that the female figurine was worn attached to a person, or persons, and probably for a certain amount of time before being discarded in the cave. The patterns in the upper part of the figurine follow the natural contours of the female body and are carefully carved. It is likely that such body decorations accompanied the adult, fertile woman and were maybe even mandatory to be regarded as a fully-grown female member of society. Therefore, it is possible that the decorations were permanent. Another possibility is that the patterns were associated with certain rites and ceremonies accompanying the pregnancy and the birth and were not in use after the process ended. This would speak in favor of nonpermanent decorations, like body painting. The therianthropic (likely male) Lion Men depictions may hint at the use of masks and disguises. There are at least two depictions of these hybrid beings showing a clear mixture of human and felid features. Whether these were depictions of mythological beings, spirits, animal totems, or sculptures of humans in disguise, is not currently clear through this evidence alone. However, one possible scenario is that people masked themselves as Lion Men during specific rites or feasts, as is seen from several ethnographic examples (Pollock 1995; HoghOlesen 2019). Two types of decorations appear on the Lion Men and similar figurines: lines or stripes on the arms and dots. These patterns could be indications of body painting, tattooing, or scarification, but also patterns painted on clothing. It is possible that these were inspired by patterns seen on the fur of felids. Dots often appear on felid depictions as well as on the therianthropic figurines and hint at this connection between felids and Lion Men. It is thus conceivable that the fur patterns of the felids can be directly transferred to humans, and a mixture of the two living beings could be represented by this alone. Although some researchers suggest that the Lion Man was a female depiction (e.g., Rücklin 1995), we assume this to be a figure or persona in the male spectrum (Kind et al. 2014) and therefore conclude that different body decorations and modifications existed in the female and the male living sphere. At least when it comes to the two functions as a fertile adult woman, and a mystical human with animal-like characteristics, these expressions might be intended as exaggerated representations of a specific function or idea. The emphasis on the left side of the body is striking and may indicate

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that this side of the body had a particular meaning during the Swabian Aurignacian. It is seen in the markings on the ear, the upper arm, and possibly the sole of the foot of the Lion Man from Hohlenstein-Stadel, but also in many animal depictions. For the female figurine, the left body side does not appear to receive the same emphasis, though unfortunately, the left arm is not preserved. However, the right arm is intact and heavily decorated, and judging from the overall appearance of the upper body decorations, a symmetrical application seems plausible. In summation, we can infer a lot about the body decorations and modifications in the Swabian Aurignacian. The personal ornaments and pigments support the application of color to humans and objects. There is evidence for clothing, as suggested by the personal ornaments and tools that were likely used for the manufacture of clothing, and indications of masking through the therianthropic figurines. Some of the decorations and modifications might have been part of rituals around pregnancy and may have medical and apotropaic functions, like the female figurine from Hohle Fels. The Lion Men might be humans in disguise, impersonations of spirits or ancestors and reenacted during feasts, dances, and rites (Gröning 1998; Hayden 2001). Astronomical connections, like the lunar aspect in the Adorant figurine, or the counting of the pregnancy on the female figurine, show that these decorations may have been connected to cosmology and a wider view of the world these people lived in, indicating the symbolical meaning of body decorations.

Conclusion Body decoration and modification are widespread in human societies. Documenting the different forms in the archaeological record is difficult, due to the ephemeral nature of the evidence. However, within the Swabian Aurignacian, we can trace certain practices as far back as 40,000 years using three types of archaeological material—personal ornaments, pigments, and figurative depictions. Using this evidence, we demonstrate that people in this early Upper Paleolithic cultural unit likely used different forms of body decoration and modification: clothing, masking, ornaments, body painting, tattooing, and scarification. We interpret this evidence as key for constructing both common and individual identities and that certain decorative forms may have been used in connection with certain functions. Thus, we conclude that Aurignacian people had a thoroughly constructed identity with different meth-

194 • Ewa Dutkiewicz, Sibylle Wolf, Elizabeth C. Velliky, and Nicholas J. Conard

ods to express group coherence, personal status, rituals, and functions in their society.

Ewa Dutkiewicz has a PhD in Archaeology from the University of Tübingen, Germany. Her research focused on the markings on the artwork and tools from the Swabian Aurignacian. Together with Dr. Christian Bentz she developed the research project “SignBase” and continues working on it in the ERC-funded project EVINE (101117111). Parallel to her scientific research, Dr. Dutkiewicz worked as curator of the Archäopark Vogelherd. Currently, she is curator of the Stone Age Department at the Museum für Vor- und Frühgeschichte der Staatlichen Museen zu Berlin. Sibylle Wolf is a scientific coordinator and scientific member of the Senckenberg Centre for Human Evolution and Palaeoenvironment at the University of Tübingen, Germany. She has a PhD in Prehistory. One research focus is the analysis of osseous artfacts of the Upper Palaeolithic of Europe. In 2009/10 she worked in the context of the Great State Exhibition “Ice Age—Art and Culture” in Stuttgart. Since then, she has designed and implemented numerous exhibitions. In 2013 she was part of the refitting team of the Lion Man figurine (Hohlenstein-Stadel Cave) in the State Heritage Office Baden-Württemberg. Elizabeth C. Velliky is a postdoctoral fellow at the University of Bergen SFF Centre for Early Sapiens Behaviour (SapienCE) in Bergen, Norway. She has PhDs in Archaeology from the University of Western Australia in Australia and the University of Tübingen in Germany. Her research combines perspectives from archaeology, anthropology, geology, chemistry, and contemporary art to study mineral pigment use and human cultural evolution. She has applied these perspectives to sites in Canada, Germany, Eswatini, and South Africa. Aside from mineral pigments, she also studies rock art, personal ornaments, raw material acquisition and transportation, and symbolic behaviors more generally. Nicholas J. Conard holds the Chair of Early Prehistory and Quaternary Ecology at the University of Tübingen, Germany. He leads excavations in Africa and Eurasia and conducts research on Quaternary chrono- and cultural stratigraphy, on paleoenvironments, on the lifeways, settlement histories, and on the cultural evolution of archaic and modern humans. He is the scientific director of the Museum of Prehistory in Blaubeuren.

Constructing Identity • 195

Conard received the Order of Merit of the State of Baden-Württemberg in 2010 and is a member of the Heidelberg Academie of the Sciences and Humanities.

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CHAPTER 8

What’s in a Color? Ochre Use in the Middle Stone Age of Southern Africa Tammy Hodgskiss

H Introduction Ochre use in the archaeological past has the potential to relay both social and technological information about the user. Ochre, or coloring materials, are mineral pigments containing primarily iron oxides (hematite, Fe2O3) and iron oxyhydroxides (goethite, FeOOH) (Cornell and Schwertmann 2003; Popelka-Filcoff and Zipkin 2022). The term “ochre” is used to describe a range of minerals and earthy rocks including shale, hematite, ironstone, ferricrete, limonite, mudstone, siltstone, earthy sandstones, and specularite (Figure 8.1). Ochre is used for a range of tasks, in both archaeological and contemporary contexts. The regular collection and processing of ochre from ~100,000 years ago is often argued to reflect innovative and cognitively complex behaviors in early “modern” humans, which included ritual and symbolic applications (Watts 2002; Hovers, Bar-Yosef, and Vandermeersch 2003; Wadley 2006, 2013; Marean et al. 2007; d’Errico 2008; Henshilwood and Dubreuil 2009; Tylén et al. 2020). The South African Middle Stone Age (MSA) spans from roughly 300 ka to 30 ka (McBrearty and Brooks 2000; Jacobs et al. 2008; Wadley 2015) and encompassed a period of significant technological advances and subsistence and behavioral innovations. From ca. 160 ka, but especially after 100 ka, we start to find novel technologies and unique material culture in the archaeology. These include standardized formal stone tools; novel tool technologies; extensive exploitation of plant and ani-

What’s in a Color? • 209

Figure 8.1.  There is a wide range of geological varieties called “ochre” or coloring materials in archaeological assemblages. © Tammy Hodgskiss.

mal resources; polished and shaped bone implements; innovative subsistence strategies; social use of space; perforated marine shells (beads); deliberate engravings on ochre, ostrich eggshell and bone; compound adhesive and possible paint manufacture; and the deliberate heat treatment of geological materials (Henshilwood, Sealy, et al. 2001; Henshilwood, d’Errico, and Watts 2009; Henshilwood, van Niekerk, Wurz, et al. 2014; Wurz 2013; d’Errico, Henshilwood, et al. 2005; d’Errico, Vanhaeren, and Wadley 2008; Bouzzougar et al. 2007; Marean et al. 2007; Soriano, Villa, and Wadley 2009; Brown, Marean, Herries, et al. 2009; Mourre, Villa, and Henshilwood 2010; Texier et al. 2010; Wadley 2010a, 2010b, 2013; Wadley, Sievers, et al. 2011; Wadley, Backwell, et al. 2020; Langejans et al. 2012; Schmidt et al. 2013; Val, Porraz, et al. 2020). Dynamic changes occur especially within the Howiesons Poort (~65 ka–59 ka) and Still Bay (~75 ka–71 ka) phases. These behavioral changes have important cognitive implications, as much of the evidence suggests that the Late Pleistocene MSA user may have had complex cognitive abilities similar to humans living today. Some of the activities that involved ochre during the MSA have been shown to require sophisticated cognitive abilities such as forward planning, mental rotation, fluid thinking, and response inhibition (Wadley, Hodgskiss, and Grant 2009; Wynn 2009; Wynn and Coolidge 2011;

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d’Errico, García Moreno, and Rifkin 2012; Wadley 2006, 2013; Hodgskiss 2014). These cognitive abilities may have included the capacity for symbolically motivated actions including intentionality and social signaling, and likely reflect the presence of syntactic language (Deacon and Wurz 2001; Henshilwood and Marean 2003; Wynn and Coolidge 2009; Henshilwood and Dubreuil 2009; Wadley 2013). Ochre use in the MSA may have played a role in symbolic communication—notational and imagery communication in terms of engravings and deliberate markings, and color symbolism in terms of the preferential use of bright red, often sparkly, varieties. Can we see, through the archaeology, whether (red) ochre played a part in this? Was red ochre preferentially used in the MSA because it was a neuropsychologically significant color? It has been argued to be the first true color represented and named by many language and cultural groups (Berlin and Kay 1969; Kay and Maffi 1999), and it is hypothesized that the same color identification would have been present in humans past if they had similar cognitively complex capabilities and communication strategies (Wreschner 1980; Hovers et al. 2003; Verrelli and Tish­ koff 2004). Further, red is a powerful color that holds strong symbolic signals in modern society. Red, the color of blood, is commonly used as a symbol of life, death, danger, love, power, or fertility. It is impossible to know whether the color red had similar symbolic attachments in the MSA. The evidence of how ochre pieces were used and how ochre powder was applied is not straightforward, and much of the evidence may not have been preserved. There were an enormous range of factors that would have influenced how humans lived, thought, and acted over this long period of time. Subsistence and social behavior would have been dictated by daily needs, environmental pressures as well as group dynamics and personal expression. Certain objects, like ochre, may have played a part in everyday functional activities as well as the transmission and maintenance of social beliefs and identities. This chapter reviews the uses and interpretations of ochre in the MSA—focusing on the southern African evidence, which is one of the most studied regions in Africa in terms of MSA sites. Archaeological, ethnographic, and modern analogies, and experimental research will be discussed in an effort to further understand the role ochre played in innovative technologies and social interaction and identity. Various research strategies and hypotheses have been put forward to understand and interpret past ochre use to inform our understanding of the emergence of the modern human mind. I do not intend to oversimplify

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an archaeological epoch and an intricate debate on the origin of behaviorally “modern” and cognitively complex humans, but rather synthesize the current evidence, focusing on ochre. We may not be able to access the actual meanings behind some of the objects used in ancient contexts, but we can look into the collection, use, and patterns of behavior involving these types of material assemblages. This will help us gain insight into potentially culturally motivated behaviors and the minimum technological and cognitive requirements needed to implement those behaviors.

Ochre in the Middle Stone Age Much of the earliest known evidence of ochre collection and use is in Africa and it appears before the presence of anatomically modern humans. Behavioral complexity is not limited to Homo sapiens and it has been suggested that the cognitive “hardware” required for complex thought was in place in the Homo genus before the Neandertal and modern human split (Zilhão 2007; Shea 2011; Wadley 2013; Chang and Nowell 2020; Rosso 2022). The majority of the evidence for the routine use of ochre comes from Africa, with the earliest evidence showing ochre collection between 300 and 500 ka at sites such as Kathu Pan, Wonderwerk and Canteen Kopje in South Africa (Watts, Chazan, and Wilkins 2016), Twin Rivers in Zambia (Barham 2002), and Gn-Jh15 in Kenya (McBrearty 2001). Not all of the early ochre assemblages show signs of ochre use, but these sites show some of the earliest evidence of ochre pieces being brought back to sites. The majority of the evidence for the early routine use of ochre comes from Africa, but there is evidence of ochre collection around the continent. Evidence from these sites will be discussed in this chapter, but see Rimtautus Dapschauskas and colleagues (2022) and Daniela Rosso (2022) for further discussion and lists of sites with ochre assemblages and evidence of ochre processing. While some MSA sites have ochre collections consisting of thousands of pieces of colored ochre, most MSA sites have at least a few hundred pieces (Watts 1998, 2002), with notable African ochre assemblages at sites such as Blombos Cave from 100 ka (Watts 2009; Henshilwood, d’Errico, and Watts 2009); Pinnacle Point from 164 ka (Watts 2010); Diepkloof Rock Shelter from ~110 ka (Dayet, Texier, et al. 2013); Sibudu from 77 ka (Hodgskiss 2013); and Porc Epic from 41 ka (Rosso, d’Errico, and Zilhão 2014) to name a few.

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Early ochre and pigment use is not limited to Africa with early evidence found, for example, at Maastricht-Belvédère, the Netherlands, at 250–200 ka (Roebroeks et al. 2012) and at Terra Amata, France, at ~380 ka (Wreschner 1980; Marshack 1981). Ochre use prior to ~160 ka is irregular around the world, but thereafter, more time and energy is invested in the collection, processing, and use of ochre and ochre powder. Ochre assemblages are still rare outside of Africa during the late Middle Pleistocene/early Middle Paleolithic. For example, ochre assemblages and ochre use is documented at Es-Skhul, Israel, 100 ka (d’Errico, Salomon, et al. 2010); Qafzeh Cave, Israel, 90 ka (Hovers et al. 2003); Jwalapuram, India, 74 ka (Petraglia et al. 2007); and Madjedbebe, Australia, 65 ka (Clarkson et al. 2017). The use of pigments in the Early and Middle Paleolithic in Europe is mostly in the form of black pigments, such as manganese dioxides; ochre use becomes more frequent in Upper Paleolithic occupations (see Soressi and d’Errico 2007; Zilhão et al. 2010; Velliky, Porr, and Conard 2018). Many of the MSA ochre assemblages contain a large portion of bright or strong reds and often sparkly (micaceous) varieties, especially in the utilized portion of assemblages. Ochre residues on grindstones and other artifacts are also mostly red varieties. This suggests that bright red varieties were preferentially chosen for use relatively consistently through time and across space. Two important practical aspects that need to be considered in the creation of such assemblages are sourcing and heat treatment.

Sourcing Most ochre pieces in MSA assemblages are manuports—collected elsewhere and brought back to the site where further selection of specific ochres was performed. Some of the pieces have been collected from distant sources—sometimes as far as 80 km away (Barham 2002; Watts 2009; d’Errico, Salomon, et al. 2010; Dayet, Texier, et al. 2013; DayetBoulliot, Wurz, and Daniel 2017). Ochre sources probably changed over time due to a range of factors such as the required and desired uses of ochre, environmental conditions, mobility around the landscape, access to (re)sources, and even interpersonal communication. For example, prospective ochre sources for Pinnacle Point 13B, Klasies River, and Blombos Cave are between five to thirty-five kilometers from the sites, with some sources possibly changing over time depending on marine regressions (Henshilwood, d’Errico, and Watts 2009; Henshilwood, van Niekerk, Wurz, et al. 2014; Watts 2009, 2010; d’Errico, García Moreno,

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and Rifkin 2012; Dayet, Texier, et al. 2013; Dayet-Boulliot et al. 2017). Developments in provenance or sourcing studies for ochre materials (e.g., Popelka-Filcoff et al. 2007; MacDonald et al. 2018; Zipkin, Ambrose, et al. 2020; Velliky, MacDonald, et al. 2021) are adding to greater understandings of the geographical and social ranges of communities in the past. Ochre collection and selection preferences show that time and effort was invested in ochre use and that certain types of ochre were valued over others. This suggests that people in the MSA had an understanding of different qualities of ochres and their potential applications. These applications were important enough to travel great distances to collect specific ochres (sometimes when local sources were available). This kind of investment and mobility would likely have involved and encouraged intragroup contacts with high levels of communication and possibly trade and/or gifting networks (Wilkins 2010; Henshilwood and d’Errico 2011; Wadley 2015; Dayet-Boulliot et al. 2017).

Heat Treatment The prevalence of (bright) red ochre at MSA sites, especially when yellow ochre sources appear to have been readily available, has prompted research into the potential intentional heat treatment of ochre (Hovers et al. 2003; Godfrey-Smith and Ilani 2004; Wadley 2009; d’Errico, Salomon, et al. 2010; Wojcieszak, Hodgskiss, and Wadley 2017; Dayet 2021). Although this transformation in ochres is well-established, it is difficult to definitively identify archaeologically intentionally heat-treated ochre because of potential post-depositional heating. In addition, the range of mineralogical variability in ochreous geological forms makes it hard to distinguish between hematite formation and crystallization that results from natural geological processes from that which has been heated (Pomiès, Menu, and Vignaud 1999; de Faria et al. 2007; Dayet-Boulliot et al. 2017; Wojcieszak et al. 2017; Dayet 2021). Whether heat treatment was performed to modify the chemical nature of ochre (to obtain a certain type of ochre) or to create a certain color of ochre, the act of intentional heat treatment indicates that the user had expertise, knowledge of materials, knowledge of the requirements for the desired transformation, forward planning, and abstract thought. These are all indicators of complex cognitive abilities (Wadley 2013) and will be discussed in more detail later. Evidence of heat treatment of silcretes for stone tools is also found at various MSA sites, such as at Pinnacle Point 13B, in layers as old as 164 ka (Schmidt et al. 2013; Brown, Marean, Herries, et al. 2009) and at Blombos Cave in 75 ka layers (Mourre et al. 2010). The heat treatment

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of silcrete alters the material to allow for pressure flaking and results in more efficient and effective tools. It is reasonable to assume, then, that other raw materials—like ochre—may also have been heat treated in the MSA.

Reading the Markings: How Was Ochre Used? Microscopic examination of the use-traces and markings on ochre surfaces can provide information into how ochre pieces were used in the past. However, most of the pieces found at MSA sites do not have signs of use, and the utilized portions constitute only a small portion of most ochre assemblages. Modern experimental use of mineral pigments has helped archaeologists to identify the types and nature of use-traces that form on pieces during different activities (e.g., Soressi and d’Errico 2007; Hodgskiss 2010; Rifkin 2012). Pecking ochre or crushing ochre pieces between a lower and upper grindstone is an effective way of producing powder for softer ochre varieties. These activities may be invisible archaeologically, if the pieces are used in their entirety. Grinding or abrading an ochre piece against a hard, rough grindstone is an efficient way to produce a fine-grained, colored powder directly from ochre pieces. Markings formed during these grinding activities—striated ochre surfaces are produced, sometimes with faceting—are the most common use-trace found on ochre pieces at many MSA sites (Figure 8.2) (Singer and Wymer 1982; Henshilwood, Sealy, et al. 2001; Henshilwood, d’Errico, and Watts 2009; Wadley 2005a; Soressi and d’Errico 2007; Hodgskiss 2010). Some of these intensively ground/abraded ochre pieces are called “crayons” although they were not necessarily used as the name, or shape of the piece, suggests. There is no direct evidence of intentionally-drawn colored lines in the MSA, apart from the red line markings at Blombos Cave that are found on the edge of a 75,000-year-old ground silcrete fragment (Henshilwood, van Niekerk, Dayet, et al. 2018). Ochre powder can be directly transferred from the piece onto soft materials, such as skin or hide, and this results in smoothed, sometimes polished, ochre surfaces (Soressi and d’Errico 2007; Hodgskiss 2010; Rifkin 2012). There is no preserved direct evidence of coloring or preserving of hide or skins in the MSA but rubbed ochre pieces have been identified (Hodgskiss 2013; Hodgskiss and Wadley 2017) suggesting that the direct transferal of these colorful powders onto soft materials was possibly taking place.

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Figure 8.2.  Markings and use-traces on experimentally worked ochre pieces. © Tammy Hodgskiss.

Scored (or cut, incised, scratched, engraved) pieces are rare during the MSA (e.g., Watts 2002; Mackay and Welz 2008; Henshilwood, d’Errico, and Watts 2009; d’Errico, García Moreno, and Rifkin 2012; Hodgskiss 2013; Hodgskiss and Wadley 2017). These markings are formed by using a sharp tool to create an incision on the surface of an ochre piece. Deliberately and carefully made incisions, or engravings, sometimes form a pattern. The best examples are the cross-hatched ochres from Blombos Cave (Henshilwood, d’Errico, and Watts 2009) and Klein Kliphuis (Mackay and Welz 2008), but Klasies Cave (d’Errico, García Moreno, and Rifkin 2012), Pinnacle Point 13B (Watts 2010), Sibudu (Hodgskiss 2013), Rose Cottage Cave (Hodgskiss and Wadley 2017), and Wonderwerk (Bednarik and Beaumont 2010) also have clear examples (Figure 8.3). Scored or engraved ochre is generally more prominent after 100 ka, with their presence being noted at Blombos Cave in layers dated from 100 ka to 75 ka (Still Bay and pre-Still Bay layers) (Henshilwood, d’Errico,

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Figure 8.3.  Engraved ochre: a) cross-hatched engraved Blombos ochre, 75 ka; b) sub-parallel linear engravings on an ochre piece (KRM 13) from Klasies River, 100–85 ka (from d’Errico, García Moreno 2012); c) fan-shaped engraved weathered dolerite (Sb5242) from Sibudu, 77 ka; d) cross-hatched engraved ochre nodule from Klein Kliphuis, 66–58 ka (MacKay and Welz 2008). (a) and (c) © Tammy Hodgskiss; (b) and (d) © Journal of Archaeological Science.

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and Watts 2009), and at Sibudu in the 77 ka to 71 ka layers (pre-Still Bay) layers (Hodgskiss 2013). In addition to ochre engravings, clear designs engraved into ostrich eggshell at Klipdrift and Diepkloof Rock Shelters (Texier et al. 2010; Henshilwood, van Niekerk, Wurz, et al. 2014) probably had significant social or symbolic meaning. These are dated between ca. 110 ka and 60 ka, and are associated with the Howiesons Poort Industry (Tribolo et al. 2009; Jacobs and Roberts 2015). Although there are dating inconsistencies, they appear within the same time frame as the engravings and scoring markings found on ochre at other MSA sites. Deliberately engraved artifacts, including some of the ochre engravings, likely held meaning for the maker. It was possible that these items communicated a message between people or functioned as notational or symbolic devices (Henshilwood and d’Errico 2011; Wynn and Coolidge 2011; d’Errico, García Moreno, and Rifkin 2012; Hodgskiss 2014). The engraved ostrich eggshell from Diepkloof and some of the engraved ochre from Blombos show an evolution over time (Tylén et al. 2020). Specifically, the engravings are argued to be expressive and salient to the human eye and easy to reproduce from memory, implying that the engravings maybe functioned as decorative expressions of social identities or as a form of visual art, and not necessarily denotational symbolic signs (Tylén et al. 2020). Meaning aside, MSA ochre and ostrich eggshell engravings represent innovative human behavior and form some of the earliest evidence of signaling and of storage of information outside of the brain.

Powerful Powders The quantity of utilized ochre pieces and range of processing methods indicates that colorful ochre powders (Figure 8.4) were regularly produced during the MSA. Ochre powder may have had many applications in the past—some of which are no longer visible to us. In the MSA, ochre powder residues are found on various items including grindstones, stone tools, bone tools, and perforated shells (e.g., Gibson, Wadley, and Williamson 2004; d’Errico, Henshilwood, et al. 2005; Soriano et al. 2009; Dayet, Texier, et al. 2013; Rosso, d’Errico, and Zilhão 2014; Rosso, Pitarch Marti, and d’Errico 2016; Villa et al. 2015; Wojcieszak and Wadley 2018). Ochre powder lenses or patches are occasionally found in South African MSA site sediments, notably at Sibudu (Wadley 2010c), Blombos Cave, and Klipdrift Shelter (Magnus Haaland, pers. comm.). These features are probably the result of intensive or repeated ochre processing.

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Ochre powder may have been deliberately placed on perforated shells to color them, or the powder may have transferred accidentally when rubbed against ochre-stained hides or ochre-covered skin (d’Errico, Vanhaeren, and Wadley 2008; d’Errico, Vanhearen, et al. 2015; Vanhaeren et al. 2013; Bouzouggar et al. 2007; d’Errico and Backwell 2016). Ochreous powders found on perforated shell (beads) are usually in shades of red suggesting it was selected over other colors. Notable, are the 49 perforated Nassarius kraussianus shells in 75 ka layers at Blombos, which have clear evidence of use-wear, and some have ochre traces (d’Errico, Henshilwood, et al. 2005). Afrolittorina africana marine shells were found in 70 ka layers at Sibudu, one of which has ochre residues on it (d’Errico, Vanhaeren, and Wadley 2008). Perforated shells with ochre traces are also found at some Middle Paleolithic sites in Europe and the Near East (Bar-Yosef Mayer, Vandermeersch, and Bar-Yosef 2009; d’Errico, Barton, et al. 2009). Stone scrapers at Sibudu have ochre residues on their working edges and appear to have been used to scrape hides with ochre (Gibson et al. 2004; Wadley and Langejans 2014). Experimental hide processing has shown that red ochre (hematite) is more effective to use as a hide preserve than yellow ochre (goethite), clay, or kaolin (Audouin and Plisson 1982; Rifkin 2011) due to the antibacterial and antifungal qualities of the iron-rich powder. There are also ethnographic accounts of the use of red ochres and clays for the treatment of hides (Rudner 1983; Velo 1984; Brandt and Weedman 2002). Ochre residues have been found on the proximal and medial portions of MSA and later Stone Age stone tools, sometimes along with macro-fractures indicating how the tool was used (Lombard 2007), which suggest that ochre powder was sometimes added to hafting adhesives, from about from 65 ka during the Howiesons Poort (Wadley, Hodgskiss, and Grant 2009). There is evidence of compound hafting adhesives in the MSA (Brown, Marean, Jacobs, et al. 2012; Wadley 2006, 2010a; Lombard 2007) and the European Middle Paleolithic (Rots, Van Peer, and Vermeersch 2011); compound hafting has been documented ethnographically in Africa as well (Brandt 1996), but mixtures did not always include ochre. Experimentally manufactured adhesives have had varied results in terms of the effectiveness of ochre as an aggregate (Wadley 2005b; Wadley, Hodgskiss, and Grant 2009; Zipkin, Wagner, et al. 2014; Kozowyk, Langejans, and Poulis 2016) with some experiments finding ochre powder to be a useful aggregate when added to plant resin and wax or fat adhesive mixtures (Allain and Rigaud 1986; Wadley 2005b; Wadley, Hodgskiss, and Grant 2009). Other experiments have

What’s in a Color? • 219

not had the same results and a range of other aggregates of different grain sizes, such as sand, have also been shown to be as effective, if not more effective, loading agents (Zipkin, Wagner, et al. 2014; Kozowyk et al. 2016). So why was ochre added? It is plausible that the addition of (red) ochre powder to adhesives was not only for its potential usefulness in creating a strong adhesive but also for its visual and potentially symbolic properties (Zipkin, Wagner, et al. 2014). There are fascinating early examples of ochre powder used in paint-like, compound mixtures. At Blombos Cave, 100,000-year-old ochre-processing toolkits were discovered that consist of ground ochre nodules, perlemoen (abalone) shells, grindstones, bone, and charcoal (Henshilwood, d’Errico, et al. 2011). The perlemoen shells were used to mix (and store) ochre powder with charcoal and other ingredients, the residues of which are still present in the shells. At Sibudu, a 49,000-yearold stone tool was found with red ochre powder mixed with casein, a milk product obtained from a lactating wild bovid (Villa et al. 2015). This was shown to be used as paint rather than as residues from hafting or from treating hide. Creating compound mixtures is a many-step process, requiring knowledge of materials and forward planning. Both compound adhesive and mixture manufacture require an understanding of how to transform multiple ingredients in a certain way to create something new and irreversible (Wadley 2013). Transformative technologies require advanced cognitive abilities such as: cognitive fluidity (or fluid intelligence), abstract thought, complex reasoning, the ability to multitask, and forward planning (Wynn and Coolidge 2011; Wadley, Hodgskiss, and Grant 2009; Wadley 2013; Hodgskiss 2014; Kozowyk et al. 2016). Although we do not know what the compound mixtures were used for or why ochre was added to the hafting adhesives, we can still gain valuable information about the way people thought—and what they had the mental capability to do. To inform interpretations of MSA ochre use, researchers have looked at present day or more recent applications of ochre and ochre powders. Caution needs to be taken when drawing comparison with the ancient past, and we must be aware of the current social and gender norms that may influence our interpretations. Ethnographic and early traveler accounts document the use of red ochres for cosmetic, hygienic, and ritualistic purposes (Rudner 1983; Velo 1984; Rifkin 2015; Rifkin et al. 2015; Buthelezi-Dube et al. 2022). Ochre powders have also been used as external medication or an antibacterial agent, where it is said to be used to treat small wounds and burns (Peile 1979; Velo 1984) or consumed as a mineral supplement (Duarte 2014; Buthelezi-Dube et

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Figure 8.4.  Experimentally produced ochre powders of various colors. © Tammy Hodgskiss.

al. 2022). Various cultural groups around Africa still use red ochre, often ritualistically, e.g., the Hamar in Southern Ethiopia, the Maasai in Kenya, and the Himba in Namibia and Angola (Rifkin 2015; Rifkin et al. 2015; Rosso 2022). The Himba cover themselves in ochre paste (mixed with clarified butter) for ritual purposes while fulfilling the role of protecting the skin from the sun and insects (Rifkin 2015; Rifkin et al. 2015). Experimental and ethnographic studies show that ochre powder mixed with various substances, such as animal fat, have been used as a sunscreen; with red ochre mixtures having higher SPF values than yellow ochres (Rifkin et al. 2015; Havenga et al. 2022). Red ochre pastes (mixed with animal fat, water, or glycerine) are still used as a sunscreen in Namibia and South Africa by, for example, Himba, Zulu, and Xhosa communities (Rifkin et al. 2015; Buthelezi-Dube et al. 2022). These studies indicate that various potential uses of ochre should be considered when interpreting past ochre use.

Interpreting Ochre Use The preference to use fine-grained, bright red, often sparkly (micaceous) ochres during the MSA, clearly shows what type of powder was desired.

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When considered together with the range of artifacts found with ochre residues on them and the use-traces on the ochre itself, it is clear that ochre was processed in numerous ways, likely for a range of applications and reasons. Various models and theories have been put forward to explain and understand why ochre was used relatively consistently, spatially and temporally, in southern Africa from 100 ka. Cognitive and social theories must be considered in order to understand why ochre was used in the past—and what it tells us. By establishing cognitive potential and the minimum cognitive requirements needed to create the artifact, we can separate the artifact from behaviors that are influenced by natural and social pressures (Haidle 2011). Cognitive capability would have influenced subsistence strategies as well as social behaviors and interactions (Shennan 2001; Haidle 2011). Cognitive developments, as seen through material culture, would have appeared and disappeared as a result of environmental pressures, demographics, social structures, and actual and perceived (social) needs (Shennan 2001; Hovers and Belfer-Cohen 2006; Powell, Shennan, and Thomas 2009; d’Errico and Stringer 2011; Haidle 2011; Shea 2011; Wadley 2013). Cognitive, physical, and social processes go hand-in-hand; as one developed and changed, it is likely to have affected the others in some way (Hovers and Belfer-Cohen 2006; Wadley 2013; Garofoli 2019), even though it may not be possible to identify whether changes were technologically and socially driven. Cognitive abilities may be seen through archaeological artifacts and sites, so understanding the chaîne opératoire and manufacturing processes as well as use of material culture offers a way for us to detect the cognitive requirements behind their creation (Wynn and Coolidge 2009; Haidle 2010). By recreating the steps in the manufacturing process one can construct thought-and-action sequences and inferential cognitive sequences to establish the problem-solution distance and active steps required, which will inform the complexity of tasks and the required cognitive abilities (Wynn 2009; Haidle 2010; Lombard and Haidle 2012; Hodgskiss 2014). Experimental studies have been important in establishing these processes. Numerous activities in the MSA, and some activities that involved ochre, have been shown to require sophisticated cognitive abilities, often referred to as executive functions—such as attention-switching, response inhibition, unique problem-solving and strategizing abilities, analogical reasoning, and abstract thought (Coolidge and Wynn 2005; Haidle 2010; Wadley 2013; Wynn and Coolidge 2011). The ochre-related activities that have been shown to require these abilities include the manufacture of compound hafting

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adhesives (Wadley, Hodgskiss, and Grant 2009; Wynn 2009), compound “paint” manufacture (Henshilwood, d’Errico, et al. 2011; Villa et al. 2015), deliberate engraving of designs (d’Errico, García Moreno, and Rifkin 2012) (Figure 8.3), and intentional heat treatment (Dayet-Boulliot et al. 2017; Wojcieszak et al. 2017). Collecting ochre, grinding ochre to create powder, regardless of the color, or haphazardly scoring ochre with a sharp tool (see Figure 8.2) does not in itself require any complex cognitive abilities or necessarily show that ochre was a symbol of something else. Ochre powder used to color objects, such as objects of personal ornamentation (d’Errico, Barton, et al. 2009; d’Errico, Vanhaeren, 2015; Bouzouggar et al. 2007; Vanhaeren et al. 2013; d’Errico and Backwell 2016), however, does imply the storage of information outside the brain; it indicates a symbolic, visual or artistic use of color. Ritual behavior also stimulates working memory and inhibition and suggests enhanced cognitive functioning (Wadley 2013). Demographic and environmental pressures likely played a significant role in the innovative behaviors that we see in the MSA, forcing the exploitation of diverse and difficult environments—and challenging humans to adapt and innovate (Powell et al. 2009; Roberts et al. 2016). Periods of increased resource stress may have resulted in increased subsistence ranges, need for better tools, and increased social interactions (Kuhn and Stiner 2007; Powell et al. 2009; Ambrose 2010; Roberts et al. 2016; Reynard 2022). Increasing population sizes, demographic pressure, or changing environments would also have changed the social landscape. As people were put in more frequent contact with other groups there would be an increasing awareness of group boundaries and identities, and the need to display them (Shennan 2001; Kuhn and Stiner 2007; Mendoza Straffon 2019). These extended social structures required cooperation and would have, in turn, placed further demands on the brain. Understanding potentially culturally motivated behaviors during the MSA could also be informed by looking at human behavioral ecology and the use of costly signaling (Bird and O’Connell 2006). Ochre may have functioned as a “cheap but honest” form of signaling or a form of costly signaling depending on how and why it was used (Watts 2002; Kuhn 2014). If ochre is collected from a distant source, heat treated, and then used, or if the ochre was used for purely ritualized display, it implies an investment was placed in that social signifier. A pilot study at Pinnacle Point 5–6 (PP5–6), South Africa, suggests that ochre played a part in costly signaling because it was more intensively processed during periods of reduced resources, predicted increased territorial be-

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havior, small territorial ranges, and larger populations (McGrath 2017). A preliminary study of the Blombos Cave and Klipdrift Shelter ochre assemblages shows increased ochre use and ochre engravings at times of resource stress that are coupled with cool, dry conditions (Hodgskiss, Henshilwood, and van Niekerk 2017). The regular use of (blood) red ochre may have formed part of a habitual collective ritual (Knight, Power, and Watts 1995; Watts 2002; Watts et al 2016). Collective rituals are expected to be eye-catching, repeated, and have time invested in them. Human ocular physiology makes bright red materials well-suited to be used as a signal (Watts 2002). Ritual behavior would have been regular and repeated, but the ritual behavior itself is likely to be largely invisible in the archaeological record. In the case of ochre, it is also ambiguous. Even if we could prove that ochre was used as body paint it does not necessarily imply that it was used for ceremonial or ritual purposes (Mendoza Straffon 2019). There is ample archaeological evidence in the MSA for the collection of bright/blood red ochre pieces, and the manufacturing of red ochre powders, but the evidence of mixing red ochre paint is rare. As with evidence of ochre use in hide tanning and as sunscreen and insect repellent—there is no direct evidence to support these interpretations of ochre use in the MSA. Based on the archaeological evidence, ochre was likely to have played a role in both technological innovations as well as social networks during the MSA. Additionally, the MSA in the interior of southern Africa and across Africa is not as well studied as southern African coastal areas (e.g., Cooke 1963; Mercader et al. 2009; Vogelsang et al. 2010; Wilkins 2010; Porraz et al. 2018; Dayet-Boulliot et al. 2017; de la Peña et al. 2019; Val et al. 2021; Wilkins et al. 2020). Further research into this will help reconstruct clearer pictures of landscape use, population sizes, and social networks during the MSA—and the role ochre may have played in that.

Conclusion: Is It All about Red? The archaeological record preserves only a small portion of social and behavioral actions, and there are likely to be many other uses of ochre that are no longer visible to us now. Time and energy were invested in the collection, processing, and use of ochre and ochre powder in the MSA—from the collection of specific ochre types, often far distances from the site, to the range of processing techniques and possible heat treatment. The MSA ochre assemblages all show variation through time

224 • Tammy Hodgskiss

and space in the intensity of use, quantities of ochre collected and used, geological variety, and processing techniques. The consistent preference to use bright-red pieces throughout the MSA is likely to have had specific visual implications and meaning to MSA ochre users. The regular use of ochre appearing around the same time as other possible social signalers, such as shell beads, engraved ostrich eggshell and symmetrical bifacial points suggests there was a need, and ability, to communicate and reinforce social behaviors—probably linguistically as well as symbolically. The MSA archaeological evidence suggests that ochre played a role in cultural and social interactions and had a role in innovative technologies. The MSA evidence for ochre use is diverse: long distances were traveled to procure certain types of ochre; ochre was probably heat treated to change its color and chemical nature; bright red ochres were preferentially chosen for use; designs were engraved on ochre pieces; ochre was used to color shell beads; and compound mixtures were created with ochre for hafting or for paint. Ethnographic and experimental evidence also suggests that ochre was possibly used in the past for tanning hides, to protect from sun or insects, as an internal or external medicine, and for ritual display. Perhaps color was an important reason for collecting and processing ochre, but ochre was not used only for its color. The range of ways ochre was processed and used suggest that specific quality ochres would be desired for certain applications, and it is likely that ochre was used for both its chemical and physical properties. Interpretations need to be considered within the context-specific strategies and costs that may have been in place and this would be specific to each site and the environmental and social factors at play at the time. Importantly, many of the activities involving ochre require complex cognitive processes and show capabilities for complex communication systems and some of the earliest signs of expressions of cultural and individual identities. The range of potential uses of ochre and ochre powder make it difficult to interpret why it was used by early humans in the past, but its color—red—would have played a large role in its collection and use.

Acknowledgments I would like to thank April Nowell and Ben Collins for inviting me both to present in the session at SAA2019 and to contribute to this volume. Thank you also to the reviewers of the chapter. I am grateful to the or-

What’s in a Color? • 225

ganizations who have funded my ochre research endeavors over the years, including GENUS, the Palaeontological Scientific Trust (PAST), The National Research Foundation (NRF), and Mellon. I am grateful for the work, knowledge, and insights of all the ochre and natural pigment researchers, users, and artists around the world.

Dr. Tammy Hodgskiss (married surname Reynard) is a South African archaeologist, and the curator at the Origins Centre museum at the University of the Witwatersrand, South Africa. As an ochre researcher she is involved with various Middle and Later Stone Age research projects around southern Africa. She is driven by a passion to learn about people, our pasts and our cultural knowledge systems, through crossdisciplinary research, collaboration, and honest conversations. As curator she manages permanent and temporary exhibitions, organizes lectures and public programming, and runs interactive ochre workshops.

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What’s in a Color? • 233 Stone Age Deposits at Olieboomspoort in the Waterberg Mountains of the South African Savanna Biome.” Archaeological and Anthropological Sciences 13: 116–47. Val, A., G. Porraz, P. J. Texier, J. W. Fisher, and J. Parkington. 2020. “Human Exploitation of Nocturnal Felines at Diepkloof Rock Shelter Provides Further Evidence for Symbolic Behaviours during the Middle Stone Age.” Nature Scientific Reports 10: 6426. Vanhaeren, M., F. d’Errico, K. L. van Niekerk, C. S. Henshilwood, and R. M. Erasmus. 2013. “Thinking Strings: Additional Evidence for Personal Ornament Use in the Middle Stone Age at Blombos Cave, South Africa.” Journal of Human Evolution 64(6): 500–17. Velliky, E. C., B. L. MacDonald, M. Porr, and N. J. Conard. 2021. “First Large-Scale Provenance Study of Pigments Reveals New Complex Behavioural Patterns during the Upper Palaeolithic of Southwestern Germany.” Archaeometry 61: 173–93. Velliky, E. C., M. Porr, and N. J. Conard. 2018. “Ochre and Pigment Use at Hohle Fels Cave: Results of the First Systematic Review of Ochre and OchreRelated Artefacts from the Upper Palaeolithic in Germany.” PLOS One 13: e0209874. Velo, J. 1984. “Ochre as Medicine: A Suggestion for the Interpretation of the Archaeological Record.” Current Anthropology 25: 674. Verrelli, B. B., and S. A. Tishkoff. “Signatures of Selection and Gene Conversion Associated with Human Color Vision Variation.” American Journal of Human Genetics 75: 363–75. Villa, P., L. Pollarolo, I. Degano, L. Birolo, M. Pasero, C. Biagioni, K. Doukas, R. Vinciguerra, J. Lucejko, and J. J. Wadley. 2015. “A Milk and Ochre Paint Mixture Used 49,000 Years Ago at Sibudu, South Africa.” PLOS ONE 10(6): e0131273. Vogelsang, R., J. Richter, Z. Jacobs, B. Eichhorn, V. Linseele, and R. G. Roberts. 2010. “New Excavations of Middle Stone Age Deposits at Apollo 11 Rockshelter, Namibia: Stratigraphy, Archaeology, Chronology, and Past Environments.” Journal of African Archaeology 8(2): 185–218. Wadley, L. 2005a. “Ochre Crayons or Waste Products? Replications Compared with MSA ‘Crayons’ from Sibudu Cave, South Africa.” Before Farming 2005(3): 1–12. ———. 2005b. “Putting Ochre to the Test: Replication Studies of Adhesives That May Have Been Used for Hafting Tools in the Middle Stone Age.” Journal of Human Evolution 49: 587–601. ———. 2006. “Revisiting Cultural Modernity and the Role of Ochre in the Middle Stone Age.” In The Prehistory of Africa: Tracing the Lineage of Modern Man, edited by H. Soodyall, 60–77. Johannesburg: Jonathan Ball. ———. 2009. “Post-Depositional Heating May Cause Over-Representation of Red-Coloured Ochre in Stone Age Sites.” South African Archaeological Bulletin 64(190): 166–71.

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What’s in a Color? • 235 Wojcieszak, M., T. Hodgskiss, and L. Wadley. 2017. “Finding Chemical and Physical Evidence of Heat Treatment of Ochre by Using Non-Destructive Methods: A Preliminary Study.” In The Exploitation of Raw Materials in Prehistory: Sourcing, Processing and Distribution, edited by T. Pereira, X. Terradas, and N. Bichu, 587–600. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Wojcieszak, M., and L. Wadley. 2018. “Raman Spectroscopy and Scanning Electron Microscopy Confirm Ochre Residues on 71,000-Year-Old Bifacial Tools from Sibudu, South Africa.” Archaeometry 60(5): 1062–76. Wreschner, E. 1980. “Red Ochre and Human Evolution: A Case for Discussion.” Current Anthropology 21(5): 631–44. Wurz, S. 2013. “Technological Trends in the Middle Stone Age of South Africa between MIS 7 and MIS 3.” Current Anthropology 54(S8): S305–S319. Wynn, T. 2009. “Hafted Spears and the Archaeology of Mind.” Proceedings of the National Academy of Science 106(24): 9544–45. Wynn, T., and F. L. Coolidge. 2009. “Implications of a Strict Standard for Recognizing Modern Cognition in Prehistory.” In Cognitive Archaeology and Human Evolution, edited by S. A. de Beaune, F. L. Coolidge, and T. Wynn, 117−27. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2011. “The Implications of the Working Memory Model for the Evolution of Modern Cognition.” International Journal of Evolutionary Biology 2011: 1–12. Zilhão, J. 2007. “The Emergence of Ornaments and Art: An Archaeological Perspective on the Origins of ‘Behavioral Modernity.’” Journal of Archaeological Research 15: 1–54. Zilhão, J., D. E. Angelucci, E. Badal-García, F. d’Errico, F. Daniel, L. Dayet, K. Douka, et al. 2010. “Symbolic Use of Marine Shells and Mineral Pigments by Iberian Neandertals.” Proceedings of the National Academy of Science 107: 1023–28. Zipkin, Aaron M., S. H. Ambrose, C. C. Lundstrom, G. Bartov, A. Dwyer, and A. H. Taylor. 2020. “Red Earth, Green Glass and Compositional Data: A New Procedure for Solid-State Elemental Characterization, Source Discrimination and Provenance Analysis of Ochres.” Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 27: 930–70. Zipkin, A. M., M. Wagner, K. McGrath, A. S. Brooks, and P. W. Lucas. 2014. “An Experimental Study of Hafting Adhesives and the Implications for Compound Tool Technology.” PLOS ONE 9(11): e112560.

CHAPTER 9

The Best Dressed Hominin Clothing, Tanning, and Textile Production in the Paleolithic April Nowell and Aurora Skala

H Introduction It is estimated that more than 90 percent of the material culture associated with forager groups is made of perishable materials and thus unlikely to survive in the archaeological record. This fact has led to a focus on stone tool production and hunting at the expense of tasks such as gathering and textile production as well as the knowledge base and social relationships related to these endeavors—part of what Hurcombe (2014: 2) refers to as the “missing majority” in the archaeological record. To address this gap in our knowledge, the focus of this chapter is garment production, which includes both textiles and hide working. Following Adovasio (1996: 709), “textile” is used here to mean “not only flexible cloth with continuous-plane surfaces produced on frames or heddle looms (i.e., textiles proper), but also products as diverse as basketry, matting, bags, nettings, cordage, sandals, and related so-called perishable fiber artifacts.” The loss of body hair in hominins, probably around 2.0 mya (Dávid-Barrett and Dunbar 2016), presented a problem of how to stay warm at night and during colder times of year (see Wales 2012; Creanza, Fogarty, and Feldman 2013; see also Kowalczyk, Chikina, and Clark 2022). Keeping warm would also have been a concern as hominins migrated into cooler climates. Researchers such as Gilligan (2010, 2017) suggest that clothing was one of the solutions to that problem. Natural fibers trap pockets of warm air near the skin, maintaining warmth

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while allowing perspiration to dissipate. A study of head and body lice deviation suggests that the regular wearing of clothing likely began at least 200,000 years ago. There are two subspecies of the human louse (Pediculus humanus)—the head louse (Pediculus humanus capitis) and the body louse (Pediculus humanus humanus). They are distinguishable from each other by how they look, how they behave, and where they live. Hairlessness confined P. humanus capitis to the head, but sometime between 83,000–170,000 years ago, body lice evolved to live in clothing and bedding, most often laying their eggs in the seams of clothes (Toups et al. 2011; Brown 2021). The regular wearing of clothing must have predated the divergence of the subspecies in order for there to be an open niche for P. humanus humanus to inhabit. In addition to providing warmth, clothing also offered hominins protection from the dangers of the sun, insect and snake bites, and cuts and blisters (and potential infections) from walking on rough terrain. Textiles could also be made into bags and infant carriers (e.g., GravelMiguel et al. 2022). Furthermore, garments are a way of culturing the body through communicating social status, group affiliation, and individual identity (Nowell and Cooke 2021). They are stylistically flexible in a way that other material culture such as stone tools are not. While garment production likely was planned well in advance in relation to seasonally available resources (see “Forethought, Decision-Making, and Time Management” below), ornaments could be added or removed, and colors could be changed relatively easily making clothing the ideal platform to simultaneously signal information about the wearer and shape the wearer’s experience of moving through the world. In this chapter, we review the archaeological evidence for clothing in the Paleolithic and explore the implications of garment production for understanding planning, forethought, seasonality, multitasking, communities of practice, gendered labor, intergenerational knowledge transmission, the creation of taskscapes and human-animal relationships.

Archaeological Evidence of Clothing and Textile Production Fibers Fiber is the basic unit of raw material of suitable length, pliability, and strength for conversion into thread, string, cordage, and eventually yarns and fabrics. As Hardy et al. (2020: 1; see also Barber 1994) note: “twisted fibres provide the basis for clothing, rope, bags, nets, mats, boats, etc. which, once discovered, would have become an indispensable part of

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daily life.” The difference between thread, string, and cordage is primarily one of diameter with thread having the smallest diameter. Fibers may be plied (twisted together) or unplied. Tensile strength increases by plying fibers together and plied fibers are less likely to unravel, break, or degrade. Thread is used for sewing1 or stitching, whereas string and cordage can be used for sewing but can also be employed for hafting or other non-sewing activities. Retting,2 that is, freeing plant fibers from the woody material in which they grow, is a relatively straightforward process, particularly in the winter. Winter conditions slowly rot away plant material leaving fibers that can be easily collected and twisted into string (Barber 1994). The earliest secure evidence for fiber technology in the Paleolithic is from Abri du Maras in France. At this Neandertal site, dating to 41,000–52,000 years ago, a 6.2 mm fragment of 3-ply bast fiber was found adhering to a Levallois flake (Hardy et al. 2020). Bast fiber is fiber that grows just inside the bark of a tree or the outer stem of plants like flax, jute, nettle, and hemp (Postrel 2020). At Border Cave (South Africa), an artifact dating to 42,600 BP made from woven monocotyledon leaf blades was recovered from Member 1 BS Lower C. (Sievers et al. 2022). It is possible that the presence of shell (Nassarius kraussianus) and ostrich eggshell beads at Border Cave may be indirect evidence of the use of plant fibers for cordage in conjunction with weaving by 40,000 years ago, although it is possible that the shells and beads were strung on sinew (Sievers et al. 2022). At Hohle Fels Cave in southern Germany, dating to approximately 40,000 BP, archaeologists discovered a 20 cm strip of mammoth ivory with four holes drilled into it, which was used for making rope (Conard and Malina 2016; Aura Tortosa et al. 2019; McKie 2020). Early modern humans would have threaded plant fibers through the holes, twisting them into strong ropes (McKie 2020). Other evidence of fiber technology includes 30,0000-year-old wild flax fibers uncovered in the Republic of Georgia. It is likely that these fibers were used to make clothing or blankets rather than cordage/rope given that they were spun, dyed, and knotted (Kvavadze et al. 2009). At Ohalo II, a waterlogged site in Israel, three fragments of fiber dating to 19,000 years ago were uncovered, while at Lascaux researchers found remnants of 17,000-year-old 6-ply cordage (Bahn 2016). According to Barber (1994: 52–53), the Lascaux cord was “twisted from three two-ply cords . . . . The plied cords . . . had each been formed by twisting their component strands in the other direction from that in which they had originally been spun. Such opposite twisting keeps the cord from

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coming apart once finished . . . an important principle that craftworkers had discovered even at this early date” and presumably much earlier. In Spain at Santa Maira Cave, archaeologists recovered multiple fragments of cordage made from esparto3 (Stipa tenacissima) or a similar grass (Aura Tortosa et al. 2019). Three fragments of this cordage that is composed of multiple interlaced or braided fibers date to 12,730–12,710 BP rendering them “the oldest directly dated evidence of the use of braided plant fibres in Europe” (Aura Tortosa et al. 2019: 6). Younger examples of fiber technology include two woven mats and one net from Chertovy Vorota Cave (Russia) made from untwisted or hand-twisted blades of sedge grass (likely Carex sordida) dating to 8400–9400 BP (Kuzmin et al. 2012) and a similarly aged net from Finland that has been directly dated to 9310 +/- 120 BP (Miettinen et al. 2008).

Cutmarks, Use-Wear, Residue, and Notching A skilled individual or group needs very little to survive in terms of paraphernalia for creating complex clothing. For example, even long hair can be used expediently as thread to stitch up a wound or as a tying device. Nonetheless, there are specialized tools associated with hide processing and textile production that have been identified/inferred in the archaeological record of the Paleolithic.

Hide Processing There are multiple sites with evidence of use-wear on stone tools related to hide scraping that significantly predate the divergence of the lice subspecies (d’Errico, Doyon, et al. 2018). For example, between 300,000 and 400,000 years ago, hide processing, possibly for the manufacture of clothing, is known throughout Eurasia and the Levant at sites such as Hoxne (UK) (Keeley 1980); Qesem Cave (Israel) (Lemorini, Venditti, et al. 2015); Byki 1 and 7 (Akhmetgaleeva 2017); and Schöningen (Germany) (Rots et al. 2015). At Fumane Cave, an early Upper Paleolithic site in Italy, a detailed use-wear analysis of a large assemblage of endscrapers revealed that these artifacts were used exclusively to scrape hides (Aleo et al. 2021). Another tool specialized for working hides is the awl. Bone awls used to pierce hides have been uncovered at Blombos and Sibudu, South African sites dating to the Middle Stone Age (Henshilwood, d’Errico, Marean, et al. 2001; d’Errico, Backwell, and Wadley 2012). In Europe, awls are associated with Neandertals in Châtelperronian layers (ca.

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54,000–42,000 BP) and with Denisovans in Initial Upper Paleolithic layers (48,000–37,000 BP), but this tool becomes much more common in the Late Stone Age/Upper Paleolithic (Yanevich 2014; d’Errico, Doyon, et al. 2018). This pattern could be the result of taphonomy or reflect a shift toward more tailored clothing. Ribs and long bone fragments with evidence of polish known as bone “smoothers” or “lissoirs” have been uncovered at Lower and Middle Paleolithic sites such as Schöningen (Germany), Pech de l’Azé (France), Abri Peyrony (France), La Quina (France), and Castel di Guido (Italy) (Soressi et al. 2013; Julien et al. 2015; Martisius et al. 2020; Villa et al. 2021) (Figure 9.1). They are also very common in the Upper Paleolithic. Hominins made lissoirs from ungulate ribs by splitting the ribs in half

Figure 9.1.  Examples of lissoirs from (a) Pech-de-l’Azé I (PA I) and (b–e) Abri Peyrony (AP) in France. © Abri Peyrony and Pech-de-l’Azé I Projects, courtesy of N. Martisius, M. Soressi, and S. McPherron (Martisius et al. 2020).

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and then shaping them through grinding and scraping (Villa et al. 2021). Lissoirs exhibit a highly polished end with wear facets and striations that, based on experimental archaeology and ethnographic analogy, suggest they were used to process soft organic material, particularly dry hides (d’Errico, Doyon, et al. 2018; Villa et al. 2021). Martisius and colleagues (2020) applied minimally destructive ZooMS to five Middle Paleolithic lissoirs to test whether Neandertals preferentially selected the ribs of larger ungulate species for making these tools or if they randomly chose any available rib. Their results demonstrated that in an archaeological layer dominated by reindeer (Rangifer tarandus), Neandertals consistently chose larger ungulates (Bos) from which to manufacture their lissoirs. Spatulate-shaped bones are also known to have been used to prepare hides in the process of making leather (Hallett et al. 2021). Spatulas from Contrabandiers Cave (Morocco) suggest leather-making was taking place here by at least 120,000–90,000 BP. According to Hallett et al. (2021: 5), “Spatulate-shaped tools are ideal for scraping and thus removing internal connective tissues from leathers and pelts during the hide or fur-working process, as they do not pierce the skin or pelt.” Supporting evidence of leather-working based on comparisons with modern fur removal techniques comes from an analysis of the faunal remains at the site (Crezzini et al. 2014). Zooarchaeological analyses documented cutmarks consistent with skinning for fur removal on sand fox (Vulpes rueppellii), golden jackal (Canis aureus), and wildcat (Felis silvestris) skeletal remains (Hallett et al. 2021). Specifically, “initial incisions are made on the forelimbs and the hind limbs to detach the skin from the paws. The skin is then pulled towards the head in one piece, and to finally detach the skin from the animal’s head, incisions are made near the lips, resulting in cut marks on the mandible” (Hallett et al. 2021). These diagnostic marks are easy to distinguish from cutmarks produced during meat removal. During butchering, cutmarks are concentrated on middle and proximal shafts in order to detach muscle masses (Shipman 1986; Hallett et al. 2021). While both types of cutmarks are found on the faunal assemblage at Contrabandiers, there is a clear preference for skinning carnivores for their pelts and no evidence to suggest they were also butchered for their meat. In addition to clothing, leather can be used to produce containers, wind breaks, and shelters (Hallett et al. 2021). Similarly, a cutmarked bear metatarsal and phalanx (bones with very little meat on them) from Schöningen 12 dating to 320,000 years ago attest to the early processing of bear skins. Evidence of this behavior

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is known from only two other Lower Paleolithic sites—Boxgrove in the UK and Bilzingsleben in Germany. Researchers note that “the very thin cutmarks found on the Schöningen specimens indicate delicate butchering and show similarities in butchery patterns to bears from other Paleolithic sites” (Verheijen et al. 2022). Interestingly, only in the European Middle Paleolithic do bears appear to be hunted for their meat (Verheijen et al. 2022). Based on a study of cutmarks and skeletal elements present at Pié Lombard (France), archaeologists argue that Neandertals were roasting rabbits (Oryctolagus cuniculus) on site and processing their pelts to be tanned at another location. While the return rate (time and energy expended for caloric return) for rabbits is low, making use of the entire animal (meat, bones, pelts) increases their value (Pelletier et al. 2019: 13) and certainly the use of nets would have decreased capture time. In the German Aurignacian site Geißenklösterle Cave, chamois fat is present in sediment samples suggesting that chamois tanning may have taken place inside the cave to create leather for future usage. At Qesem Cave, a Lower Paleolithic site in Israel, researchers infer that cold ash was used to preserve hides for later tanning based on ethnographic analogy, experimental archaeology and use-wear and residue analysis on stone tools (Lemorini, Cristiani, et al. 2020). Similarly, many archaeologists have suggested that one purpose of ochre was for tanning hides—again, a hypothesis that is supported through ethnographic analogy and experimental archaeology (Rifkin 2011). Finally, a 39,600-year-old bone artifact from Canyars, a Spanish Aurignacian site, is described as the earliest-known leather work punch board. A punch board is an object that is used as a backing when punching through leather. It provides stability, can protect the tips of tools used to punch the leather and can prevent injury (i.e., it is preferable to use a punch board than one’s leg when punching leather). It is particularly useful if the leather is thick and you want even spaces between stiches (e.g., for the sole of a shoe)—it allows you to keep the leather taught and flat and to see the “big picture” of the required pattern or design. Through experimental work, Doyon et al. (2023) demonstrated that marks on the bone artifact are consistent with piercing soft material, most likely hide. Furthermore, they were able to identify six episodes of hide pricking including one they argue was the result of producing a linear seam. Based on this evidence, Donyon et al. (2023) suggest that tailored leather products (e.g., clothing, shoes, tents) predate the introduction of bone eyed-needles into Europe approximately 15,000 years later.

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Textiles Beginning in the early nineteenth century, researchers speculated that various objects made from antler and stone functioned as crochet hooks for making nets and shuttles or as spindles and spindle weights for weaving and that a zigzag decoration on a reindeer antler point from Le Placard (France) might depict basketry (Bahn 2001). While not all of these suggestions have stood the test of time, there is growing evidence of tools associated with textile production throughout the Upper Paleolithic. For example, the function(s) of tools often called a bâton de commandement or a bâton percé have long been debated with suggestions ranging from a spear shaft straightener to a ceremonial object belonging to a group’s leader. These artifacts are constructed from antler with one or two circular holes drilled at a jointed end and are usually decorated with engraved horses or other animals. Bâtons from Gönnersdorf (Germany) dating to 13,000 BP exhibit fine striations associated with processing plant-based material, and ethnographic research demonstrates the use of reindeer antler for spinning cordage (Soffer 2004). Similarly, at Gravettian sites in the Czech Republic and Russia, including Dolní Věstonice and Kostenki IV, and Aurignacian sites in Germany, such as Vogelherd, Soffer (2004) used ethnographic analogy, use-wear data, and tool morphology to identify battens (a weaving tool used to push weft fibers into place), hackles (combs), and possible spindles made from mammoth ribs and ivory. She also identified weaving or loom sticks manufactured from bird bone (including swan) and a cave lion tibia. Similar artifacts have been identified in France in “assemblages from the Aurignacian onward at such sites as Abri Castenet and Blanchard, where some show very heavy use” and in Solutrean collections from Laugerie-Haute and in assemblages from Brassempouy, La Ferrassie, and Pair-non-Pair (Soffer 2004: 410). They are particularly numerous in Magdalenian assemblages from Gourdan, Arudy, and Isturitz (Soffer 2004).

Rondelles as Spindle Whorls In order to create a stronger weaving material with which to weave a cloth, individual fibers must be twisted together to make a strong thread. This can be done simply by holding one end of the fibers while rolling the other end on your thigh or a flat surface. Flax fibers such as the ones found in the Republic of Georgia are long enough (~1.2 m) to be useable as they are. Other fibers (wool, cotton etc.) are much shorter and multiple ones must be combined to extend the length of the thread.

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If new fibers are added to the ends of previous ones by twisting them together this results in bunches or lumps in the thread in some places and much thinner thread in others (Barber 1994). To solve this problem, twisted fiber that is still attached to a mass of fiber (e.g., flax or wool) is attached to a stick (spindle shaft) with a disk (a spindle whorl) that typically is at one end of the shaft (though some techniques have the weight or whorl in the middle). It is possible to spin fibers by using a drop spindle technique, but spinning with whorls and spindles can also be accomplished without dropping the whorl. When using a drop spindle technique, as the spindle is dropped straight down toward the ground, it is set in a rotating motion (Postrel 2020). The spinner uses one hand to hold the twisted fiber and the other hand to continuously feed new fibers into the twist while the spindle rotates in one direction in a constant motion (Barber 1994). The twist runs straight up from the spindle shaft towards the fibers with the spinner’s fingers controlling the twist. When the thread is long enough that the spindle touches the ground, the spindle is stopped, the thread is wound around the spindle, and then the spindle is set in motion once again (Barber 1994). The addition of the whorl is an important innovation in that it improves the consistency and duration of the rotating motion. Different weights of whorls are used for different fibers meaning it is possible to infer something about the fiber from the weight of the whorl used even if the fiber has decomposed (Barber 1994). If sticks were used as spindles they would not have preserved or would not be recognized as spindles. It is also possible to spin with no spindle at all using a rock with crossed sticks attached to the bottom, but this type of spinning yields uneven results and was likely a precursor to spinning with a spindle and whorl. Similarly, it is probable that stone weights used like whorls existed in the Upper Paleolithic but have remained unrecognized in lithic collections. While spindle whorls can be made from stone, clay, or perishable items (as long as the spindle shaft goes through the center of it) (Barber 1994), the best evidence for possible spindle whorls in the Upper Paleolithic are rondelles (Figure 9.2). Rondelles are circular disks often cut from mammoth ivory, bone (usually a scapula because of its thin, flat surface), or from stones such as slate (Bahn 2016). They are often engraved with animals, humans, or abstract designs on either face. Many rondelles have perforations in the center, while others have perforations all around the circumference. It is clear that some of these objects functioned as an optical toy known as a thaumatrope (Azéma and Rivière 2012; and Nowell 2015, 2021). When a cord is threaded through a perforation in the center and tugged back and forth the images on each side appear to blend giving a sense of motion, e.g., a doe engraved on

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Figure 9.2.  A bone rondelle or “Paleolithic thaumatrope” from LaugerieBasse. Both faces depict a doe or chamois whose movement is in split-action; diameter is 31 mm. Drawing by H. Cecil.

both sides of a thaumatrope from Laugerie-Basse appears to be springing playfully (Nowell 2015, 2021). Other rondelles, however, may have functioned as spindle whorls (Soffer et al. 2002; Soffer 2004; Riede et al. 2018). Indeed, these two technologies may be related by introducing whimsy into the work of weaving (Riede et al. 2018; Nowell 2021). There are other examples in the Upper Paleolithic of visual play and the playful incorporation of imagery into otherwise mundane tools such as the depiction of a young ibex defecating on the end of spear throwers from the sites of Le Mas d’Azil and Bédeilhac (France) (Nowell 2021).

Imprints on Clay and Bone Fibers and other plant parts can become imprinted on clay intentionally as a form of decoration, accidentally when someone kneels on or otherwise presses up against wet clay that is subsequently fired, or when plants are used as temper to prevent cracking and shrinkage during the process of drying and firing clay. According to Soffer (2004), wet clay was used for a variety of purposes during the Upper Paleolithic including as cement and possibly to cover baskets to make a mold or to make them more watertight. While it is often difficult to discern the plant species, ethnographic data and pollen analysis can be used to identify possible candidates (Soffer 2004). There are roughly one hundred imprints of textiles on clay dating to the Upper Paleolithic from Dolní Věstonice I and II and Pavlov in the Czech Republic; Kostenki I and II, Zaraisk, Gasya, in Russia; Gönners­ dorf in Germany; as well as a textile imprint on bone from France

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(Cheynier 1967; Adovasio et al., 1996; Soffer et al. 2000a, 2000b, 2002; Soffer and Adovasio 2010; Nowell and Cooke 2021). These imprints record the loom weaving of cloth including plain weave (warp and weft threads cross at right angles, aligned so they form a simple crisscross pattern) and twill (weave with a pattern of diagonal parallel ribs), singleply and multi-ply braided cordage, the looping and knotting of nets and the plaiting of baskets or mats (Adovasio et al. 1996; Soffer 2004; Soffer et al. 2000a, 2000b, 2002). The narrow gauge (stiches per inch) of the finest examples of weaving are equivalent to thin cotton or linen (Soffer et al. 2000b; Soffer and Adovasio 2010). Soffer and her colleagues (2000b) further identified seams created with a whip stitch, which suggests that sewing was done to produce complex items such as mats, blankets, skirts, and other garments and bags. In Santa Maira Cave, an Upper Paleolithic site in Spain, archaeologists documented clay impressions from contact with mats, simple textiles, or flexible containers (Aura Tortosa et al. 2019). They also identified the use of plants as temper.

Needles In a detailed study of the morphometric and stylistic characteristics of bone and ivory needles from 355 archaeological layers across 271 sites, archaeologists argue that this technology “represent[s] an original cultural innovation that emerged in Eurasia between 45–40 ka BP. Size differences between the earliest known specimens, found in Siberia and China, indicate needles may have been invented independently in these two regions” (d’Errico, Doyon, et al. 2018: 71) (Figure 9.3). Some of the needles are wide and flat, and were perhaps used to sew thick hides, while others are narrow and circular. Based on ethnographic analogies, it is likely that finer needles were used for sewing and embroidering clothing, attaching beads, and for making bags, nets, and even tents (d’Errico, Doyon, et al. 2018). At the Early Upper Paleolithic site Mezmaiskaya in Russia, archaeologists uncovered fourteen needles that document a transition from flat bases to fully rounded cross-sections similar to thin awls from ca. 40,000 BP to 35,000 BP (Golovanova, Doronichev, and Cleghorn 2009). They also discovered an object dating to approximately 36,000 BP that they suggest is a needle case. The artifact is made from a small, long bone (48 x 10 x 10 mm) that is broken on one end (Golovanova et al. 2009). The bone was carved to produce a series of raised bands encircling the bone at regular intervals along its length. These bands were then finely engraved with hatch marks.

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Figure 9.3.  Needles found at (a) Xiaogushan, (b) Zhoukoudian Upper Cave, China, and (c) Strashnaya Cave, Siberia. Scale = 1 cm. © Francesco d’Errico.

Shells and Beads There is archaeological evidence of shells and beads being used as personal ornaments by at least 100,000 BP (Chang and Nowell 2020; Nowell and Cooke 2021). While these early ornaments undoubtedly played an important role in the social, economic, spiritual, and political lives of Pleistocene peoples, they appear to have been strung as items of personal adornment rather than sewn to cloth garments and bags. The oldest beads come from Bizmoune Cave in Morocco (>142,000 BP) (Sehasseh et al., 2021), the sites of Oued Djebbana (ca. 100,000 BP) in Algeria, and Qafzeh (92,000 BP) and Es-Skhul (110,000 BP) in Israel (Vanhaeren, d’Errico, Stringer, et al. 2006; Bar-Yosef Mayer, Vandermeersch, and Bar-Yosef 2009). At the Israeli sites, researchers have uncovered a small number of shell beads in association with modern humans. There is some disagreement about the designation of the ten Glycymeris shells at Qafzeh as beads, however, because the perfora-

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tions are agreed to be natural (Taborin 2003; Zilhão 2007; Bar-Yosef Mayer et al. 2009). Nevertheless, a study of use-wear on the shells suggests they may have been strung (Bar-Yosef Mayer et al. 2009). In South Africa, dating to 77,000 BP, at the Middle Stone Age site of Blombos, researchers uncovered sixty-eight perforated tick shell beads (Nassarius gibbosulus) that appear to have been strung, some covered with ochre (Henshilwood, d’Errico, Vanhaeren, et al. 2004; d’Errico, Henshilwood, et al. 2005; Vanhaeren, d’Errico, van Niekerk, et al. 2013). By 35,000–44,000 BP during the Initial Upper Paleolithic (IUP), evidence of personal adornment increases dramatically at sites such as Ksar ‘Akil and Üçağızlı (Kuhn et al. 2001; Stiner, Kuhn, and Gülec 2013). There are hundreds of shell beads at Üçağızlı alone and 90 percent of them are of the Nassarius gibbosulus species (Zilhão 2007). The oldest shell beads from Australia date to between 40,000 BP and 30,000 BP at the sites of Riwi and Mandu Mandu in Western Australia and between 25,000 and 17,000 BP at Carpenter’s Gap (Brumm and Moore 2005; see also Balme and Morse 2006). At African sites, beginning in the Middle Stone Age but continuing through the Holocene, researchers have uncovered copious amounts of ostrich eggshell (OES) beads associated with modern humans (e.g., Kandel 2004; Kandel and Conard 2005; Orton 2008; Miller and Willoughby 2014; Dayet et al. 2017). There are multiple archaeological and ethnographic examples of OES beads being sewn onto cloth. For example, at the early Holocene site Grassridge Rockshelter (South Africa), researchers note “two OES beads demonstrate depressions on their faces, which may indicate that they were sewn into place as part of decorations for clothing or bags, or potentially in the alternating ‘brickwork’ pattern that has been noted in some San head bands” (Collins et al. 2020). Similarly, Nassarius beads from this site demonstrate use-wear patterns that are consistent with the use of “these beads as decorations sewn into clothing and/or bags” (Collins et al. 2020). In Europe, the earliest evidence for sewing beads onto cloth comes from the Upper Paleolithic. At some European Aurignacian (ca. 45,000– 35,000 BP) sites, there are hundreds of tiny, standardized mammoth ivory beads that were likely sewn on to clothing (Kvavadze et al. 2009; Taborin 2004; White 2007; see also Wolf 2015 for a discussion of beads as identity markers in the Swabian Jura). This interpretation is supported by the recovery of approximately 15,000 highly standardized mammoth ivory beads at the Gravettian site Sunghir (Russia). According to Soffer and colleagues (2000b), the sheer number of the beads and their placement allowed researchers to reconstruct that the interred individuals

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were wearing sewn hooded garments, pants with attached footwear, capes, and caps or hats. At the 10,000-year-old site La Madeleine (France), a young child of three to seven years of age was laid to rest on their back in an extended position with their head oriented south and their arms laid out straight along their body (Bahn 2015). The only drawing made by archaeologists during the excavation shows hundreds of Dentalium shell beads at the child’s head, elbows, wrists, knees, ankles, and around their neck, but the exact location of each individual bead is unknown (Vanhaeren and d’Errico 2003; Nowell 2021) (Figure 9.4). These highly standardized beads were between 6 and 7 mm in length. Based on the size of unbroken Dentalium shells, each shell could have produced two to a maximum of three beads. Therefore, it is estimated that it would have taken fifteen to twenty hours to collect a sufficient number of shells to manufacture all of the beads found in the burial. Some beads were

Figure 9.4.  a) A portion of the shell beads found in the La Madeleine child burial. Each bead was sawed to between 6 and 7 mm in length and was likely embroidered onto clothing worn by the child. The beads are heavily worn suggesting they were not made specifically for the burial (© Francesco d’Errico); b) artist’s reconstruction of child from La Madeleine dressed in clothing embroidered with beads found in burial (drawing: © Marina Lezcano).

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snapped while others were sawed to the right size. The natural pointed end of each shell was removed to create a larger aperture so a thread could be passed through each tiny tube-shaped bead (Vanhaeren and d’Errico 2003). Based on wear patterns, it is clear that the beads were embroidered onto the child’s clothing rather than having been strung together. In total, there were 9 m of beads requiring at least that much thread to attach them to the garment with needles as thin as 1.5 mm, corresponding to the smallest diameter of the beads. To attach all of the beads would have required 2,400 holes in either very soft leather or textile. Depending on the skill of the garment maker, this clothing would have required thirty to fifty hours to complete (Vanhaeren and d’Errico 2003). Beads have also been used to infer the existence of infant carriers or blankets manufactured from cloth, hide, or fur at the early Mesolithic site Arma Veirana in Italy (Gravel-Miguel et al. 2022) and the Upper Paleolithic site Abri Labattut in France (Henry-Gambier, Rocher, and Drucker 2019). At each of these sites shell pendants were uncovered in association with infant remains. The shells (Glycymeris and cowrie, respectively) were too big to have functioned as jewelry or to have been worn on clothing by such small infants (Gravel-Miguel et al. 2022). Use-wear suggests they were attached to fixed objects such as a carrier or blanket.

Ochre In addition to its likely use in tanning starting in the Lower Paleolithic (Keeley 1980; Audouin and Plisson 1982; Velo 1986; Roper 1991; Wadley 2005; Rifkin 2011), like beads, the distribution of ochre in funerary contexts can be an indirect proxy for textiles that have long since decomposed. Burial 2 from the Gravettian site Krems-Watchberg (Austria) contains the remains of a three-month-old male infant. The boy was covered in ochre and because the pigment is highly delimited in space, researchers have argued that the infant was wrapped in a shroud. A mammoth ivory pin was found above his head, suggesting that the shroud was closed at the top (Einwögerer, Friesinger, et al. 2006; Einwögerer, Händel, et al. 2009; Nowell 2021). Similarly, in Gravettian adolescent burials, French and Nowell (2022: 9) write, “in most cases, it is not clear whether the ochre was applied directly to the teens’ bodies or to any (now deteriorated) clothing. In cases where the ochre is limited to one part of the body such as the head and face, it is possible that we are seeing the outline of an organic hat, mask, or other type of covering that has long since disintegrated.”

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Imagery Evidence of clothing and the technologies used to produce them also derive from Upper Paleolithic figurines. Garments on female figurines from European sites include bandeaux, belts, bracelets, and necklaces of plant fiber, and string skirts (Soffer and Adovasio 2010). The “Dressed Venus” from Kostenki, for example, is wearing a bandeau-style garment with woven or braided straps above the breasts and across the shoulders and back. The straps are sewn to the body of the bandeau (Soffer and Adovasio 2010). One figurine from Kostenki I has similar straps across its abdomen and what looks to be woven cuffs around its wrists. The straps and bandeau have weft selvages (a finished edge to keep the fabric from unraveling) (Soffer et al. 2000b). In a study of the well-known figurine from Willendorf (Figure 9.5a, b), researchers describe the statuette as wearing on her head a “spirally or radially hand-woven item which may be initiated by a knotted center in the manner of some varieties of coiled baskets” (Soffer et al. 2000b: 41). They are further able to identify warp and weft elements and stitching. This woven object could have functioned as a multipurpose garment, that is, a hat that doubles as a basket. The distinction between woven textile and basketry is arbitrary in some contexts such as when

Figure 9.5.  a) Ventral and b) dorsal views of ivory figurine from Willendorf (Austria) dating to ca. 25,000 BP wearing a woven head covering. © April Nowell.

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investigating the twined impressions at Dolní Věstonice (Adovasio et al. 1996: 529). Even today, clothing can double as a basket or other container when one has to carry something unexpectedly and undoubtedly that was the case in the past as well. The Gravettian female figurine from Lespugue in France is depicted wearing a string skirt making it one of the best lines of evidence that we have for the spinning of string by the Upper Paleolithic (Figure 9.6a–b). According to Barber (1994: 44–45): “Her skirt consists of long strings hanging down the back from a hip band, and the ancient sculptor has taken the trouble to engrave the twists in each string. Furthermore . . . the sculptor has shown the strings fraying out at the bottom into a mass of untwisted fibers. These cannot be thongs of sinew or hide; they can only be true twisted-fiber thread.” Similarly, the female figurine from Gagarino in Russia also dating to the Gravettian is shown wearing a string skirt that is shorter than that of the Lespugue figurine and hangs in the front (Figure 9.6c). Based on ethnographic analogy and archaeological data from later periods in the same region, Barber (1994) has argued that these string skirts were not meant as protection from the elements but rather to broadcast a woman’s marital status or ability to bear children. There are regional differences in what garments are depicted and how they are worn (Nowell and Cooke 2021). In Eastern Europe, belts are worn on the waist while in Central and Western Europe they are worn low on the hips and in the case of the Lespugue figurine, the belt is attached to her string skirt (Soffer et al. 2000b; Figures 9.6a and b). By contrast, in Siberia, at the roughly contemporaneous sites of Malt’a and Buret’, fully dressed figurines of women, men, and children have recently been reanalyzed (Lbova and Volkov 2015). According to researchers, they are wearing hooded, full-length garments sewn from animal fur, hide (leather), and seal or fish guts (Lbova and Volkov 2015). Many of the garments are similar to clothing worn by present-day Indigenous people in Siberia. Altogether, Lbova and Volkov (2015, 2017) have identified different types of hats and hoods, fur overalls, hooded parkas, bracelets, bags, and even one backpack with two straps. Other details include leather braided straps, shells, and fabric. Other examples of clothing in Paleolithic art include engravings from the 14,000-year-old Magdalenian French site La Marche of male figures who appear to be wearing headbands or caps (Bahn 2016: Figures 10.4a–k). Similarly at the Magdalenian site Angles-de-L’Anglin (France), a figure of a bearded man that has been sculpted, engraved, and painted is interpreted as wearing a shirt or cloak of some kind with a fur collar (Saint Mathurin 1973, 1975, but see Fuentes 2017).

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Figure 9.6.  a) Ventral and b) dorsal views of ivory figurine from Lespugue (France) dating to ca. 25,000 BP. The figurine is wearing a fiber-based belt and string skirt and is also notable for the depiction of long, straight hair down its back. CC0 1.0 Universal (CC0 1.0), Public Domain Dedication. (c) Figurine from Gagarino (Russia) dating to ca. 25,000 BP, wearing a string skirt that is shorter than that of the Lespugue figurine and that hangs in the front. © Andreas Franzkowiak, taken in the Archäologisches Museum Hamburg und Stadtmuseum Harburg, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index .php?curid=58260830.

Footprints and Skeletal Remains Footwear protects feet from the cold and the ground surface and like other elements of clothing can be an indicator of status or other social distinctions (Ledoux et al. 2021). While there is no direct evidence of footwear in the Paleolithic (the oldest known example of footwear is a Holocene sandal dating to approximately 8,300 BP from Arnold Research Cave in Missouri in the US [Kuttruff, Dehartand, and O’Brien 1998]), evidence of footwear can be gleaned indirectly from the placement of beads as well as footprints (ichnofossils) and skeletal remains. Over the years, archaeologists have recorded literally thousands of footprints dating to the Paleolithic (e.g., Lockley, Roberts, and Yul Kim

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2008; Bahn 2015; Hatala, Roach, et al. 2016; Hatala, Harcourt-Smith, et al. 2020; Altamura et al. 2018; Duveau et al. 2019). They are an important source of information on an individual’s age, sex, height, weight, and speed and mode of transportation (i.e., running, walking, or crawling— see, for example, Romano et al. 2019) as well as an indicator of social relationships (i.e., was an individual traveling alone or in the company of others?). While the overwhelming majority of Paleolithic hominin footprints were made by bare feet, one print from the 15,000-year-old Magdalenian site Fontanet Cave (France) (Clottes 1975 but see Pastoors et al. 2015; Ledoux 2019) and one print belonging to a Neandertal or modern human from the Middle Paleolithic site Theopetra Cave (Greece) are suggested to have been made by hominins with shod feet (KyparissiApostolika and Manolis 2021). Another seven footprints found in clay from the 31,000–28,000-yearold Gravettian site Cussac Cave (France) are also suggested to have been made by hominins wearing footwear (Ledoux et al. 2021). Bipedal walking is normally divided into three stages—the swing phase, the heel strike, and the toeing off phase as walkers propel themselves forward. The latter two phases result in a footprint with diagnostic characteristics—deep heel and toe prints and a definable arch. While the substrate in which the prints are made can impact how discernable the individual elements are, all things being equal, when covered with footwear, the distal portion of the foot becomes simpler and more homogeneous (compared to the complex shape formed by the separated toes of a bare foot) and, consequently, the toes are less visible. Similarly, the use of footwear increases the medium width and simplifies the shape of the print by modifying the impression of the plantar arch. This simplification of morphology also impacts the depth of the footwear prints being shallower than barefoot prints. (Ledoux et al. 2021)

Based on their comparative and experimental work, Ledoux and colleagues (2021) concluded that the footprints at Cussac Cave were most similar to tracks made by hominins walking in mud while wearing leather shoes. Finally, Trinkaus and colleagues have argued for the wearing of footwear based on skeletal evidence (Trinkaus 2005; Trinkaus and Shang 2008). Based on a comparative study of the proximal pedal phalanges of a sample of Middle and Upper Paleolithic populations, these researchers argue that humans wore supportive footwear by at least the Gravettian in Europe and perhaps closer to 40,000 BP in China at the site of Tianyuan 1.

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Implications of Textiles for Technical Knowledge and Intangible Culture Tasks and Communities of Practice Based on location of cutmarks on faunal remains, and use-wear and residue on stone tools, archaeologists argue that Neandertals (and possibly earlier hominins) wore clothing. However, disagreement remains over the exact nature and design of these items of apparel, whether or not they were tailored and their role in Neandertal survival/extinction (Aiello and Wheeler 2003; Trinkaus 2005; Wales 2012; Collard et al. 2016; Hosfield 2016, 2020). At a minimum, we can say that Neandertals were involved in the processing of animal skins into leather likely for making clothing and footwear and that Homo sapiens additionally worked fibers into garments. By the Upper Paleolithic in Europe, Homo sapiens are associated with a rich textile industry that may have included spinning, sewing, embroidery, dyeing, and weaving/knotting.

Tanning Clothing in the Paleolithic almost certainly included raw hide and skin garments as well as tanned hides. Tanning is the process of treating the skins and hides of animals (including nonmammals such as fish) to produce leather. For example, thick bison hides are ideal for shelters and thicker garments while thin fish skins can be manufactured into lightweight parkas, shoes, handbags, and belts (Rahme and Hartman 2012; Duraisamy, Shamena, and Berekute 2017). In addition to the complementary skills of hunting, butchery, and skinning, a deep knowledge of materials and alternate techniques is needed for tanning depending on the time of year and the abundance and variety of resources available. This would include an understanding of an animal’s habits and health in order to procure a quality skin as well as the trade off to personal safety and group wellbeing for both the hominin group and the prey species. For example, according to Boucherat (2012: 20), “young [bison] adults . . . [are] the most profitable in terms of food and hide surface area but more dangerous to kill . . . calves themselves provide less meat, but it is more tender and the hide is softer and easier to work.” In a 2012 publication, Boucherat details experiences working with colleagues to track, hunt, skin, and tan a European bison. While this exercise in experimental archaeology may not be directly applicable to all tanning situations in the Paleolithic, which will vary based on animal, region, time of year etc., it serves as an excellent model of the most important steps in the process. Once the bison was killed and its

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skin removed, the skin was soaked in a river to keep insects from infesting it and to avoid attracting scavengers and predators to the area4 (Boucherat 2012). A wooden frame was then built, upon which the skin was stretched. Incisions were made along its flank and cordage was passed through the incisions in order to lash the skin to the frame. Flint tools were used to remove remaining flesh and tendons. The skin was then rubbed with a thick enough layer of ochre to fully penetrate it to stretch the fibers and mobilize the collagen to maintain fiber adhesion. This process also rendered the skin less attractive to insects (Boucherat 2012). Modern tanners replicating ancestral techniques often use the brain of the animal, or alternatively eggs, to provide the protein required to tan a mammal hide. A mammal’s brain usually provides the correct amount of protein to tan that animal; for example, a deer brain provides enough protein-rich material to tan the deer’s own hide. As noted above, through experimentation it has been documented that ochre (and red ochre, in particular) is a useful tanning agent, but it is probable that brain tanning without ochre (or some combination of the two) was equally or more common in the Upper Paleolithic. Next, Boucherat and his colleagues alternated between further drying, scraping, and sanding to allow for further penetration of the ochre (Boucherat 2012). The hide was then smoked and rubbed with fat to fill in the space between dermal fibers to the keep the skin supple.5 Finally, the skin was folded and then beat to allow the fat to fully penetrate the dermis for softening (Boucherat 2012). In experimental replications of these processes, researchers emphasized the importance of coordinating people and tasks (creating cordage, building the frame, obtaining ochre etc.) to achieve success (Boucherat 2012).

Dyeing Choices for coloration can be made at every stage of garment production. For example, one can either dye bundles of combed or carded fibers in advance of spinning (rovings), or one can dye the spun string/ thread and/or the finished garment. It is also possible to treat the surface of the garment with painting or embroidery, etc. When dyeing, mordants (a substance that combines with a dye and fixes it to a material) may be used to treat the material in advance or in some cases during or after the dyeing process. Urine and some plants such as lichens contain mordant properties like acids while tannin-rich plants such as walnut shells can also act as a mordant.

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Parietal art in the Upper Paleolithic is comprised of a fairly limited palette of colors based on naturally occurring pigments in the vicinity of a painted cave: red hematite; red, yellow, and brown ochre (sometimes heat treated to extend the range of hues); black charcoal;6 and manganese and white kaolinite and calcite. Purple, a mix of red ochre and manganese, is found at only one painted cave, Tito Bustillo in Spain (Bahn 2016). There is evidence, however, to suggest that this palette was significantly expanded when it came to dyeing garments (Nowell 2021). The spun, flax fibers from the Republic of Georgia discussed above were dyed black, gray, turquoise, and pink (Kvavadze et al. 2009) while a Gravettian figurine of an adolescent from Malt’a (Siberia) has remnants of vermillion and other figurines from this same site evince traces of green and dark blue coloring. These finds are significant because blue and green dyes are notoriously difficult to produce even in a modern context (Cardon 2007; Bahn 2016). Postrel (2020: 110) writes, “Reds and blues are complicated and scarce, and greens are all but impossible. Chlorophyll doesn’t work as a dye.” Lbova and Volkov (2017: 173) note that the adolescent “appears to be dressed in a one-piece garment with hood, which covers the entire body and head. The front and back show long engraved triangles, probably representing the tails of furs from which the clothing was made. The presence of scarlet pigment has been detected in the area under the tail, on the right thigh and on the right arm.” Preliminary analyses show that the red pigment is composed of iron (Fe), strontium (Sr), zinc (Zn), and zirconium (Zr) while the blue is a blend of strontium (Sr), calcium (Ca), iron (Fe), zinc (Zn), and bromine (Br). The green is similar to the blue but with the addition of chromium (Cr) (Lbova and Volkov 2017; Lbova et al. 2017). Postrel (2020: 111) notes, “Dyes bear witness to the universal human quest to imbue artifacts with beauty and meaning—and to the chemical ingenuity and economic enterprise that desire calls forth. The history of dyes is the history of chemistry, revealing the power, and the limits, of trial-and-error experimentation without fundamental understanding.” It is clear that Upper Paleolithic artists were experimenting with colors and with the properties of paint. At the Magdalenian site of Lascaux (France), artisans created paint by mixing different minerals in powder form. One sample contained calcium phosphate, which is produced by heating animal bone to 400° C. It was then combined with calcite and heated to 1,000° C transforming it into tetracalcite phosphate (Bahn 2016). Another sample of white pigment was found to be made of powdered calcite (70 percent), powdered quartz (20 percent), and porcelain clay (10 percent) (Bahn 2016). A study of paint recipes from ten sites lo-

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cated in the Midi Pyrénées region of France dating to 12,000–14,000 BP demonstrated that at 13,000 BP, artisans altered their recipes to include feldspar as a binder while the style of the images remained the same (Chalmin, Menu, and Vignaud 2003). This is an important innovation as binders are directly related to the performance of a paint including how well it adheres and how long it lasts. It appears that this same level of experimentation was taking place in textile dyeing as well.

Weaving/Knotting Weaving is a method of textile production in which two sets of threads are interlaced at right angles to form a fabric or cloth. Because the threads are soft and pliable, one set, the warp, has to be held taught. The frame that holds the warp tight is the loom. The second set of threads running horizontally—the weft—is then woven into the warp (Barber 1994). Elaborate, efficient, beautiful weaving is done with finger weaving techniques to this day and as Soffer (2004: 408) notes, “crosscultural ethnographic evidence indicates that most of the textile items we have documented for the Upper Paleolithic could have been made by simply using fingers and perhaps shuttles, spacers, and awls. The only exception is plain-weave fabrics, whose production required not only a loom but also the use of battens or weaving sticks to tamp down the weft rows.” A loom in the Upper Paleolithic could have been a backstrap loom where the person’s body creates the tension needed for the warp threads. The loom consists of a frame, a strap, and spacers. Spacers can be made from wood, bone, or other materials that is threaded in and out of the warp on both edges to give structure to the cloth. They can also be used to tie the ends of the newly woven cloth. Backstrap looms have been used for thousands of years and were very portable (Barber 1994). Wooden looms could have existed as well but easily could have decomposed.

Communities of Practice Tanning, dyeing, weaving, and sewing would have depended on intergenerational knowledge passed down through passive observation, hands-on learning, and direct teaching through storytelling (see Nowell 2023) and within communities of practice (Nowell 2021). While the exact composition of the communities of practice are unknown, Barber (1994) argues that fiber arts were likely associated with women. While it is clear from ethnographic analogies that women hunt and make tools

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(e.g., Weedman 2005, 2006a, 2006b), globally textile work is associated with women. Barber suggests this is because women had children with them and this type of work can be interrupted, returned to easily, and is not dangerous for children to be around.

Forethought, Decision-Making, and Time Management We do not know how extensive a “wardrobe” Upper Paleolithic hominins would have had to adapt to changing weather patterns throughout the year, but it is likely to have been fairly limited. Postrel (2020) estimates that 10 km of spun yarn are required to manufacture a pair of trousers. Comparing the length of time it would take to spin a specific length of yarn given a particular technology, she argues that it would have taken the Vikings twenty-five days (200 hours) to spin enough wool to make a pair of trousers, Romans twenty-eight days (227 hours), and Bronze Age craftspeople thirty-seven days (294 hours). Given these estimates, it can be surmised that clothes in the Paleolithic would have been carefully constructed and highly valued. A garment is likely to have been worn to absolute exhaustion, inherited by another member of the community, or buried with its owner (thus taking a valuable resource out of circulation). For that reason, in preparing fibers and cordage for what would be an individual’s main garment, people would have used the best quality materials they could obtain, collected at the right time of year, and dyed carefully to produce a lasting color for camouflage, status, or some other aesthetic choice. Due to the seasonality of resources, manufacturing a garment requires forethought and planning, often months in advance, with choices being made at every step of the process. As argued in Nowell (2021), Ingold’s (1993) concept of the “taskscape” is relevant to a discussion of textile production. Ingold (1993: 158) writes, “every task takes its meaning from its position within an ensemble of tasks, performed in series or in parallel, and usually by many people working together.” To create an item of clothing, for example, one has to harvest and process plants at the right time of year for both the garment and the dye and mordant. Even maintaining a prized garment and keeping it safe from getting damaged by fire, insects, and moisture while living an active, outdoor lifestyle could be considered part of a fiber’s taskscape. A finished textile is only as “good” as the skills-based knowledge of the maker and the materials they had to work with. For example, if one does not gather high quality bast fibers, processing them in a careful calculated way, using skills and knowledge for processing them, one will

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not end up with strong thread, no matter how skilled they are at making cordage. Thus, garment makers would have drawn on intergenerational knowledge for an item of clothing’s physical and even aesthetic design and execution. Postrel observes, Before a single weft thread can cross the warp, the weaver must establish the fabric’s structure and pattern. Even plain weave demands forethought: Will it alternate single threads or more? Will there be [a pattern] created with different colors or textures? . . . Will the warp and weft threads be equally prominent or will one dominate the other? Such questions determine what materials you use . . . how you space the warp . . . how tightly you pack the weft. (Postrel 2020: 76)

She notes that with twill (of which there are examples in the Upper Paleolithic) the options are even more numerous (Postrel 2020). For fiber-based clothing, choosing long, strong fibers, which required minimal splicing and splicing rarely and alternatingly so there are no weaknesses in the plied thread or cordage used are key in garment-making (Skala, pers. obs.). If a garment was made from leather, one might select long leg sinew as “thread” and insure it was not cut or heat damaged, moistened properly, and threaded into a needle with no sharp edges on the eye (Skala, pers. obs.). It is likely that collecting plants for garment making would have been integrated with other tasks throughout the year such as gathering plants for medicine or food or when out hunting. Similarly, using a spindle whorl for spinning thread for weaving is a portable activity (Barber 1994) that can be done while walking, breastfeeding, or in the evening while sitting around a campfire. Upper Paleolithic peoples required deep knowledge of the craft to be undertaken, the shifting availability of resources, the affordances of materials, and the symbolic importance of each of their choices. They would have spent their lives observing skilled weavers, carvers, hunters, trackers, painters, cordage makers, dyers, plant harvesters, bead makers, ceramicists, and tool makers. Individuals were likely not experts in all of the tasks, but they would have had a general knowledge of these topics and an ability to troubleshoot and transfer these skills because of that knowledge base. This knowledge extended beyond technology that they were taught or observed and involved how to think and how to approach the world. Perhaps flax was not available for clothing manufacture that year, so instead they used tree bark or leather, because they knew or could imagine making clothes from that material. They might have been successful with finding and collecting flax that year,

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but the frost was early or late, and that in itself could have affected the integrity of the materials. An individual thought they would dye a garment green or brown with onions or tansy, but they had to dye it yellow with a lichen because they had to eat the onions that year or make medicine with the tansy. Perhaps a particular plant was not available in abundance that year or was not available at all (e.g., some flowers do not bloom every year), or perhaps the plant which was wanted was available, but someone else in their group needed it for food or medicine. Skills such as adaptability, resilience, confidence, and relationship maintenance with group members are arguably the most important aspects of a robust textile practice.

Human-Animal Relationships There is a long history in Paleolithic studies of describing the relationship between humans and animals as largely unidirectional—that is, in what ways did humans exploit animals for food, clothing, tools, or shelter? This is because much of the defining method and theory in this field was developed within a functionalist/processualist paradigm, namely the application of cultural ecology (Steward 1955) and cultural materialism (Harris 1968, 1979) to the archaeological record. Within this paradigm, archaeologists approached animals by developing utility indices (Binford 1978) and optimal foraging models (Smith 1979), accounting for the “schlepp effect” (Daly 1969) and undertaking risk assessment and site catchment analysis (Roper 1979). All of these approaches were based largely on ethnoarchaeology and aided by the rise of archaeological science including methods for paleoenvironmental reconstruction (Johnson 2020). Cultures were seen as partially or fully adapted to an external environment of which animals were a large part and evaluated on their ability to satisfy the needs of their society as measured in energy output and calorie intake. By contrast, Paleolithic archaeology has been less influenced by materialism and ontology—the study of the being or essence of things (but see Conneller 2011), particularly when it comes to the relationships between humans and animals. Gittens (2013) argues that this is because we routinely engage with the remnants of dead of animals (rather than living ones) and because the human origin story has always been one of evolving away from animals. In Clark’s (1954) study of antler frontlets from the Mesolithic site of Star Carr (England), he interpreted these objects as either a hunting aid (i.e., a way of concealing a human from animals) or as a mask (i.e., a way of concealing a human from other

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humans). Whether the mask was worn for hunting or ritual, the person was not altered biologically. Conneller (2004: 42) writes, “Clark’s vision of the antler frontlets as a disguise rested on a number of more general dichotomies of Western thought: the division between humans and animals, the separateness of humans and things and the stability and immutability of bodies as a biological given. Working within this tradition the frontlets could have no effect on the human body, other than concealing it from an animal or human audience.” But as Conneller (2004, 2011) emphasizes, this very particular way of seeing the world is not applicable everywhere and every when. For many Indigenous people, humans, spirits, some or all animals, and even certain objects have a common inner essence (Conneller 2004: 43) and “in contrast to this stable, inner part, the outer form, the body of both humans and animals, is seen as both mutable and relational; both humans and animal bodies can transform.” In this context, when people take on animal bodies, they are not disguising themselves but taking on the animal’s effects (its perspective7) and its affects (its embodied experiences). Viveiros de Castro argues, To put on mask-clothing is not so much to conceal a human essence beneath an animal appearance, but rather to activate the powers of a different body. The animal clothes that shamans use to travel the cosmos are not fantasies but instruments: they are akin to diving equipment, or space suits, and not to carnival masks. The intention when donning a wet suit is to be able to function like a fish, to breathe underwater, not to conceal oneself under a strange covering. In the same way, the “clothing” which, amongst animals, covers an internal “essence” of a human type, is not a mere disguise but their distinctive equipment, endowed with the affects and capacities which define each animal. (1998: 482)

This applies not only to shamans but to the everyday experience of ordinary people as well. As animals are broken into parts and conjoined with new materials, they become artifacts imbued with the agency, effects, and affects of the original animal. When humans wear leather, eat meat, adorn themselves with pierced teeth or bone beads, the animals become essential parts of the human body, creating “ambiguity about where human bodies end and animal bodies start. Parts of humans transform animals, who in turn extend human bodies” (Conneller 2004: 47; see also Ingold 2000). Returning to the antler frontlets from Star Carr, Conneller (2004, 2011) reasons that donning them would be one way of taking on the embodied experiences and perspectives of that particular animal.

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While the applicability of perspectivism and ontology to the Paleolithic record needs to be tested rather than assumed (Conneller 2004, 2011), they provide an important means of breaking free from or at least stretching a traditional processualist paradigm. For example, at Star Carr, people hunted young red deer of either sex for their meat, but they chose older males from which to harvest (shed or unshed) antlers. But within this category, antlers from relatively younger males were chosen for manufacture into frontlets and the antlers were often truncated to give the impression of an even younger animal while antlers chosen to be made into barbed points were from larger, more aggressive animals. However, frontlets, bone beads, and tools made from animals were deposited together suggesting they retained their animal affect despite their transformation (Conneller 2011). Similarly, in the Paleolithic the extent to which animals, plants, water, fire, and rocks are animate could inform the significance of both the process and product of clothing manufacture and how the wearer experienced donning a garment. Other factors include the time it took to make the garment, the people involved in its manufacture, the affordance of the material, season, and rarity of the animal. In this way, it is possible to analyze the archaeological evidence of the context of acquisition/selection, manufacture, use of, and deposition of materials within a perspectivist and ontological framework to be able to develop testable hypotheses around the use clothing as a means of understanding a people’s worldview.

Conclusion In this chapter, we reviewed the extensive archaeological evidence supporting garment production in the Paleolithic with an emphasis on the richly developed textile industry of the Upper Paleolithic. Clothing is one of the cultural adaptations that allowed hominins to migrate into regions far outside what would be the natural habitat of “hairless” primates and to communicate information to those around them—easily changing that message as needed. As Hurcombe (2014: 1) observes, “To rethink not the value of individual studies of pottery, stone and metal, but rather the way in which the agendas arising from these artifacts have dominated material culture studies discourse is not to negate what has been achieved, but rather to augment and integrate perishable material culture as a fundamental act of enrichment.” In Paleolithic studies, textiles serve as an important vehicle for exploring questions related to planning, forethought, flexibility, seasonality, communities of practice,

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gendered labor, intergenerational knowledge transmission, the creation of taskscapes, and new ways of moving through the world.

April Nowell is a Paleolithic archaeologist and Professor of Anthropology at the University of Victoria in Canada. She directs an international team of researchers in the study of Paleolithic sites in Jordan and collaborates with colleagues on the study of cave art in Australia. She is known for her publications on cognitive archaeology, Paleolithic art, the archaeology of children, and the relationship between science, pop culture, and the media. She is the author of Growing Up in the Ice Age (2021). Aurora Skala is an archaeologist and anthropologist who received her MA while working with the Heiltsuk and Wuikinuxv Nations in British Columbia, Canada, to document their rock art. In addition to specializing in documenting rock art sites, she has examined submerged rock art sites and excavated underwater to record shipwrecks. Her practice of ancestral skills, including textile techniques and flintknapping, has informed her understanding of the archaeological record. She currently works in the field of Indigenous language revitalization and serves as an instructor in Continuing Studies at the University of Victoria, British Columbia.

Notes   1. It should be noted that sinew and other animal parts can also be used for sewing.   2. Retting means “to make something rot.” Sun, rain, and winter weather all contribute to a natural retting process which can be simulated by soaking plants until the cellular tissue surrounding bast-fibers rots away.   3. Esparto is used to make the popular shoes known as “espadrilles.”   4. See Richards (2004) for a step-by-step guide to tanning deerskin.   5. Oak galls, sumac branches and leaves, or acorn shells can be used as a tanning solution for fish (Skala, unpublished data).   6. For example, samples taken from parietal art at Altamira cave (Spain) revealed that in addition to manganese, plant-based (pine or juniper) and animal-based (teeth, bone and horn) charcoal had been used (Bahn 2016).   7. For example, Conneller (2004) argues that for a prey species like the tapir, other tapirs are humans and humans are jaguars, while for the jaguar humans are tapirs.

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CONCLUSION

Culturing Bodies in the Past Similarities across Diversity Benjamin Collins and April Nowell

H Introduction This volume brought together a diverse range of approaches to better understand the importance of culturing the body in the past. Of specific note are the variety of mediums discussed for culturing the body, as well as the diversity of contexts, both in time and across space. In this respect, each contribution to the volume presented a unique vantage point that contributes to our understanding about how past peoples engaged their bodies through material culture to create meaning. The diversity of contexts in which these activities took place underscores this practice as something that was critical to all peoples, past and present (Abadía and Nowell 2015).

Ostrich Eggshell, Ostrich Eggshell Bead, and Ostriches The first three chapters focused on ostrich eggshell (OES) beads and their importance for past peoples from ~50 ka onward throughout Africa. Stewart and Mitchell center chapter 1 on the importance of the ostrich and OES for past foragers in southern Africa, and specifically the potency which an individual wearing OES beads may have been able to access. This argument is then used to contextualize the archaeological record of southeastern Africa to provide further insight into the importance of OES beads for past peoples, using the movement of OES beads across the landscape as a proxy. As the authors noted, OES beads are “things of consequence” among San groups, with ethnographic research

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describing the importance of ostriches in San ontology. Ostriches figure prominently in San folklore, one of the few birds to do so, and play key roles within narratives of creation, rebirth, and resurrection. Moreover, OES beads are believed to contain healing properties (Low 2009, 2011). Following San traditions of gaining an animal’s potency through interaction with a facet of that animal, it is not surprising that ostriches and OES beads contribute so significantly to San material culture. Stewart and Mitchell make a strong argument for considering the importance of OES, the cultural and ontological contexts in which OES was desired for bead manufacture, and the intimate connection between OES beads and those wearing them. The authors then discussed the distribution of OES beads across southeastern southern Africa through time, noting their earliest (and rather isolated) occurrence at Sehonghong in the Drakensberg ~33 ka and then increasing in terms of both number of beads and sites where they are present in the region through time. This increase, and especially in regions that were not likely to support ostrich-favoring habitats, is combined with other evidence, including ornaments made of exotic materials (for example marine gastropod shell), evidence of fauna that are similarly in nonlocal habitats, regional similarities in stone tool technology, and rock art depicting “exotic” species, to argue for the development of increasingly complex, social networks through time. Stewart and Mitchell conclude their chapter reiterating the importance of OES beads for the wearer, who is enmeshed in complex cultural contexts that extend from interpersonal to intergroup to other areas beyond familiarity. In Chapter 2, Collins and colleagues describe the importance of OES and marine shell beads from Marine Isotope Stage (MIS) 1 at Grassridge Rockshelter, South Africa. Their chapter specifically focused on two facets of the bead assemblage, the presence of nonlocal materials present as beads and the evidence for the manufacture of beads from local OES. The presence of marine shell beads at Grassridge, which is over 200 km from the coast, is a strong indicator for social connections, in that those beads are not local and must have travelled to the site through intentional human behavior. Moreover, the beads were deliberately perforated to be threaded, as either decoration for clothing or jewelry, indicative of their role in culturing the body. These beads have also been recovered from MIS 1 occupations in the Drakensberg Mountains, over 300 km away from the coast, which emphasizes their importance and value in the past.

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Collins and colleagues also discussed the prevalence of OES beads during MIS 1 at Grassridge. Specifically, they noted that OES beads are present in all stages of manufacture including many preforms, or unfinished beads, as well as a large assemblage of unmodified OES fragments. Based on the large number of preforms, the ratio of preforms to complete beads, and the presence and local availability of ostrich eggs and OES in the local area, the authors argued that Grassridge was a site for the manufacture of OES beads during the mid-Holocene. This finding is important, in that Grassridge is one of the first sites dating to the mid-Holocene to be explicitly connected to the practice of largescale bead manufacture. OES beads would have been manufactured at Grassridge to make jewelry and for the decoration of clothing, and likely provided salient visual symbols of social and cultural relevance for past peoples. Moreover, Grassridge is at the intersection of several biogeoclimatic zones and sits within and nearby the catchments of both the Kei and Orange-Senqu rivers, which lead to the coast, the interior, and the Drakensberg, thus situating the site at potentially important environmental and social nexus in the region. Finally, these authors described the importance of marine shell and OES beads for both personal decoration and style, and they discussed how these symbolic materials contributed to greater social connection across the region. Miller (chapter 3) further elaborated on this theme through a detailed discussion of OES beads, and specifically use-wear traits, present on beads that inform archaeologists on how the bead itself was used. This approach is crucial for better understanding the roles beads played in daily life in the past, for reconstructing patterns and styles of OES bead decoration and jewelry, and for tracing and tracking those stylistic changes across space and through time to inform past social networks and connections. Miller compiled an extensive list of the many different uses for OES beads from ethnographic sources and drew on these data as a basis to connect to use-wear patterns on OES beads to specific bead configurations and practices. For this chapter, Miller focused on the use-wear trait termed “pinching,” which is when the bead exhibits matching indentations on the cuticle and mammillary surfaces. These indentations are typically smoothed and may be patinated. This form of use-wear was noted as only occurring on completed beads. Miller then discussed the presence of pinched OES beads across Africa through time and identified them in eastern and southern Africa from the Late Pleistocene through to historic contexts. Miller suggested that pinching may be related to its use as a decoration where a bead is

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sewn or tied into clothing or a bag, perhaps at the end of the decoration where it could dangle freely. However, Miller noted the need for further experimental research in order to directly link pinching to this type of bead fashioning, as well as associating recurrent and common usewear patterns to stylistic configurations more broadly. One of the key contributions of Miller’s chapter was the emphasis on greater rigor and standards in the analysis of OES beads beyond mere counts of complete beads and preforms. Combining detailed ethnographic and archival research with experimental and actualistic approaches to develop behavioral and taphonomic frameworks that can link use-wear patterns to bead configurations contributes to accessing the wealth of information that OES beads have the potential to provide in terms of stylistic preferences. In turn, these preferences inform our understanding of social connections and networks at multiple scales through time. Of note in these three chapters is the absence of a discussion of OES beads beyond Africa (see, for example Pitarch Martí et al. 2017 for an analysis of OES beads in China). Critical questions going forward are to consider whether OES beads were independently invented in Asia, the degree to which we can extend analogies and inferences from (mostly southern) African contexts to interpret OES beads from nonAfrican contexts, and to try and gain better resolution for understanding the distribution and occurrence of OES beads both inside and outside of Africa. Recent work in OES bead research (summarized in Collins 2021) highlights their potential for understanding social networks and regional connections, but as discussed in Mitchell and Stewart (chapter 1) and Miller (chapter 3), OES beads also clearly provide insight into past cultural practices, decoration, and symbolism at a much more intimate and personal level. Further research focusing on these practices is also clearly needed.

Mollusk and Gastropod Beads and Ornaments Chapters 4 through 6 in this volume focus on the presence and cultural contexts of beads and ornaments in different parts of the world made of a diversity of materials. These chapters highlighted the presence of personal ornaments through time and across space and further the argument for the importance of ornaments for culturing the body and the symbolic information with which they are imbued. Walshe (chapter 4) contributes to this discussion with an overview of the evidence for shell ornaments in Australia and a detailed exploration of a single shell bead from South Australia. It is interesting to note that the earliest ornaments

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presently recovered from Australia date to ~30 ka, which is much more recent than the earliest archaeological evidence of human settlement in Australia, which dates to ~65 ka (Clarkson et al. 2017). There are relatively few beads recovered from Australian contexts, roughly two hundred from all contexts, and only seventy-two from contexts that date to >10 ka. Within this context, Walshe focused on a single abalone shell bead from Allen’s Cave that dates to sometime during the LGM, most likely ~15 ka. Walshe described the analyses used to identify the perforation as anthropogenic and intentional and argued that the bead is currently thought to represent a single ornament, and it is unlikely to have been part of a composite jewelry design. Of note is the rarity of abalone as a raw material for bead manufacture; only three abalone beads including the one discussed by Walshe have been described, with the other two dating to the Holocene and were recovered from burial contexts. Walshe challenges current approaches to the significance of the Allen’s Cave bead within the context of Australian heritage policy. This is an important facet of the conversation surrounding beads and ornaments, especially those recovered from unclear contexts, where they are rare, and where it is challenging to discern the cultural and social context for the artifact. Walshe critiqued the current Eurocentric, colonial, and biased approaches for ascribing significance. Instead, building on Descola (2013) and Harrison (2012, 2015), she suggests creating heritage ontologies that combine natural and cultural variables, with a greater focus on the voices of descendant communities for how to understand significance. In this respect, the abalone bead is argued to be of significance because it demonstrates the movement of material and people across a cultural landscape that entwines people with place and connects people to other people. André (chapter 5) continues the discussion of ornaments and beads through his study of raw material sources and production and their relationship to understanding social networks during the Mesolithic in western Iberia. The Mesolithic in this region reflects a distinctive shift in the raw materials used for the manufacture of beads and ornaments, specifically a change in preference for marine gastropod species. André explores this change through studying the personal ornaments from five shell middens, located in the Muge Valley along the Tagus river, and six shell middens, located in the Sado Valley along the Sado river. The sample comprised 5,109 ornaments predominantly made from marine and riverine shells, with other materials, such as shark vertebrae, cervid bone, teeth, and with antler, minerals, and ceramics also being utilized.

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André provides a detailed discussion of the personal ornaments present at each of the sites studied, illustrating the diversity of raw materials used for the manufacture of personal ornaments and emphasizing the importance of this facet of material culture to the Mesolithic peoples of western Iberia. Of note are the differences in raw material selection for the two areas under consideration, with the ornaments from the Sado shell middens made only from shells, while those from the Muge shell middens being made from a greater variety of raw material types. Similarities emerge in the shell species selected, with a riverine gastropod, Theodoxus fluviatilis, being the most common at both sites. Moreover, this species is associated with human remains and may reflect social status, or a connection to burial practices. With regard to the marine gastropods, Trivia sp. is the most common at both Muge and Sado, although André notes greater diversity in marine species that are closer to the coast. Of particular interest is the presence of a marine species in several Sado sites that originates in northeast Iberia and is also found in assemblages along the Mediterranean. André contextualizes the raw material diversity in terms of social connections and suggests rarer raw materials may be linked to identity. Specifically, the presence of several key marine and riverine species may reflect a shared cultural preference, especially with the persistent presence of marine species at sites located further inland. These preferences likely speak to cultural continuity at a regional level in western Iberia during the Mesolithic. The presence of ornaments made from rare or infrequent raw materials may suggest that they were of symbolic importance for identifying or distinguishing certain members of the group, perhaps based on role, gender, age, prestige, or some combination thereof. In this respect, André’s study demonstrates the importance and potential that ornaments have for exploring social connections at different levels ranging from intragroup to within the broader region. Bicho and André (chapter 6) build on these themes through their discussion of bead manufacture and use during the Upper Paleolithic in western Iberia. The authors note that personal ornaments are rare in this region during the Upper Paleolithic, with only 372 ornaments being recovered from fourteen different sites. The ornaments themselves range in raw material from marine shell to cervid tooth and are most commonly recovered from the Portuguese Estremadura. The authors observed that of the 372 recovered ornaments, eightyseven did not demonstrate any evidence of perforation or anthropogenic use-wear. These specimens were considered ornamental by previous researchers as they are not considered edible and therefore

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lacked value in terms of foraging gains and consumption. However, Bicho and André argue against inferring anthropogenic intentionality, as they correctly note that these specimens may have been accidentally brought to the site with other resources collected from aquatic environments. The authors also recorded the presence of thirty-one perforated ornaments made from cervid and carnivore teeth, as well as other animal bones. These are not included in their analysis, as they have yet to undergo a thorough taphonomic analysis to better understand the nature of the perforations. The authors are to be commended for their cautious approach, as it emphasizes the importance of taphonomy and thorough analysis of prospective pendants prior to their identification as being of anthropogenic origin. Bicho and André then contextualize the mollusks used for the manufacture of shell ornaments and pendants. This is an important component of ornament-related research, especially when considering an assemblage with a diverse raw material source, as this information provides a background for understanding the social context in which these mollusks are collected, transformed into ornaments, and exchanged across cultural landscapes. Specifically, the authors compare the raw materials used for ornaments with those used for making stone tools at inland sites and noted the preference for local sources for the latter in contrast to distances of 50–100 km for the former. This is argued to reflect the important social nature of the ornaments, as they typically would have been outside of the settlement and local mobility range. Bicho and André suggest that this distance may have reflected an exchange network with marine mollusk ornaments flowing from coast to inland and potentially high quality chert moving from inland to the now submerged coast. Moreover, Bicho and André note the persistent use of selected species through time, which they argue reflects a continued cultural habit through the Upper Paleolithic and aligns with the other aspects of the Upper Paleolithic archaeology in Portugal (Cascalheira et al. 2017).

Other Facets of Culturing the Body The preceding three chapters contributed to our understanding of the temporal and geographic presence of ornaments, and specifically those made from mollusks. When considered with the three chapters discussing OES beads, the significance and importance of ornaments and beads is stark. Past peoples in all parts of the world have been making ornaments and beads from a variety of raw materials. The symbolic and

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social connotations of this persistent practice reflect socially and culturally constructed landscapes with past groups initiating, negotiating, and maintaining social connections and networks, as well as differentiating identities at multiple levels (Kuhn and Stiner 2007). However, beads and ornaments are not the only decorative material culture employed in these ways by past peoples, with the last three chapters (7 through 9) describing different, and often complementary approaches, to culturing the body. Dutkiewicz and colleagues (chapter 7) move the discussion beyond beads to include other forms of culturing the body such as the decorative application of ochre, and body modification, such as tattooing and scarification. The authors focused specifically on six cave sites from the Swabian Aurignacian in southern Germany dating to ~43–33 ka. The authors not only draw on traditional artifacts and ochre assemblages but also study anthropomorphic and therianthropic figurines to explore and inform past identities, and how these identities were created and transmitted through cultured bodies. The authors ground their chapter in an extensive discussion of the ontology of identity, as well as in depth discussions of the diversity and variety of ways in which bodies are decorated, modified, and cultured. Specifically, the authors focus on the application of ochre to skin and noted that in every described ethnographic example, this practice is never solely functional (d’Errico 2003). They also discuss scarification and tattoos, as permanent means for decorating the skin. The authors continue their comprehensive discussion by describing clothing and masking, personal ornaments, hairstyles, physical training, and deformation. This discussion is then contextualized through a detailed description of the archaeology related to identity from their study sites. These sites are incredibly rich and provide a variety of artifacts, such as beads made on a variety of materials and consisting of single and double perforations in a variety of shapes, as well as beads that are also figurative art. The ochre assemblage is also rich, with evidence of anthropogenic modification and ochred artifacts. Furthermore, there are several detailed examples of figurative art, which are among some of the earliest recorded in Europe. These artifacts include females, males, and therianthropes and provide potentially some of the most interesting evidence for scarification, hairstyles, and tattooing. Dutkiewicz and colleagues summarize their evidence and note the challenges associated with the lack of organic preservation. Interestingly, the authors also comment on the potential for lithics with

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ochreous residue to potentially have been used for scarification and/ or tattooing, with further use-wear specific research required. With regard to the Swabian Aurignacian, Dutkiewicz and colleagues describe the uniqueness of double-perforated beads to the region and highlight their potential as a marker of regional identity. The authors also suggest the range and diversity in ornaments further indicated individualism and aesthetic preferences within this cultural region, and touch on an important and potentially overlooked tension within the archaeology surrounding how to infer and distinguish between personal and group preferences. Dutkiewicz and colleagues argue for multiple, interlinked, and complementary forms through which identity was expressed during the Swabian Aurignacian and the shifting nature of these identities across social and cultural contexts. Hodgskiss (chapter 8) builds on this discussion by exploring ochre use during the Middle Stone Age (MSA) in southern Africa. This topic is of interest as the MSA is generally considered to be the period where we see the earliest anatomically modern humans, as well as archaeological evidence of complex behaviors that reflect cognitive abilities similar to those we recognize among humans today (McBrearty and Brooks 2000; Wadley 2015). Moreover, and as Hodgskiss discusses, this period is also when we start to see habitual ochre use in the archaeological record, as well as a preference for ochres that are bright red. Hodgskiss grounds her discussion in the archaeological data, providing a detailed description of the ochre assemblages from African sites during the MSA that indicates a high frequency of bright and strong red ochres. She elaborates on two practical components of ochre assemblages that bear further consideration, sourcing and heat-treatment. Hodgskiss notes that most ochres are manuports and brought to the site, and that the presence of specific kinds of ochre therefore reflect conscious selection and choice. Ochre preferences are connected to other resource preferences and indicate detailed knowledge of the landscape, as well as potential exchanges across a social landscape with other groups. Heat-treatment is also an important facet of ochre use, as it can alter the properties and color of the ochre being heated, changing yellow ochres to red. However, as Hodgskiss notes, distinguishing between post-depositional and unintentional heating from deliberate and intentional heating is challenging (Wadley 2009). Hodgskiss then discusses the approaches used to analyze use-wear on ochre pieces and links it to a variety of behavioral actions. The author notes the rare presence of deliberately engraved ochre pieces that

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likely had significance to the individual, as well as expressing symbolic meaning more broadly. However, the most common use-wear traces are striations with occasional facets that reflect grinding against a coarse material and may be related to grinding ochre nodules into ochre powder. Hodgskiss observes that ochre powder was regularly produced during the MSA, as reflected by ochre powder lenses and patches as identified at several sites in southern Africa and would have had a variety of uses, as evidenced by ochreous residues on grindstone, stone tools, and perforated shells. Ochre uses may have included the coloration of ornaments (either deliberately or through accidental contact with ochred surfaces), hide preparation, manufacture of adhesives, and the manufacture of paints. So why red? Hodgskiss summarized functional advantages to using red ochre but stresses that this does not discount symbolic potency. The importance of coloration, the saliency of red across cultures today, the significance of ochre for technologies and material culture that were embedded within daily life, and the potential for diverse and unique decoration across one’s body, one’s clothing, and one’s jewelry all speak to the fundamental role of ochre during the MSA. Hodgskiss touches on a key theme here, which is not separating the “functional” from the “symbolic,” but rather acknowledging that they are entangled and manifest the cultured bodies that move across socially constructed landscapes. Nowell and Skala (chapter 9) expand the discussion to focus on clothing during the Paleolithic. Studying clothing presents challenges for archaeologists due to the organic nature of the materials and their generally poor preservation across large spans of time (Hurcombe 2014). Within this context, this chapter focuses on direct and indirect evidence for clothing made from a variety of materials during the Paleolithic and situates the evidence within social contexts. The latter refocuses the manufacture and wearing of clothing away from purely technical considerations to include their social and cultural significance, as well as the social environments and connections that were made, and re-made, through communities of practice centered on garment production. Nowell and Skala begin their discussion by outlining the evidence for textile production, and specifically for fibers. They note that the earliest evidence of fiber production comes from a Neandertal site in France dating 52–41 ka (Hardy et al. 2020). This discovery demonstrates that fiber-based technology was not restricted to modern humans and potentially independently invented by multiple hominins at different times and places throughout human evolution. Their review of fibers and

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textiles strongly argues for the importance of this technology and the adaptive advantages it confers. This summary is further strengthened through the discussion of artifacts and objects that directly link to textile and fiber manufacture, such as rondelles being used as spindle whorls, needles, and the presence of shell beads that demonstrate evidence of being strung or sewn onto cloth. Artifacts also provide crucial evidence for hide processing and use. Nowell and Skala succinctly summarize a large body of evidence from throughout the Paleolithic that identifies hide processing and use behaviors, including the nature and placement of cutmarks on animal bones, the presence of specialized tools, such as awls and smoothers or lissoirs, and bone “spatulas.” Further evidence related specifically to the treatment and tanning of hides comes from residues recovered from archaeological sediments. These residues include animal fat, cold ash, and ochre, all of which are used in hide tanning. A further line of evidence Nowell and Skala included in their chapter comes from imprints and imagery. Imprints, specifically footprints that reflect footwear, as well as imprints of textiles on clay further demonstrate the ubiquity and diversity of textiles and clothing during the Paleolithic. These findings are complemented by images from the Upper Paleolithic of figurines wearing clothing. This imagery provides perhaps the closest and most intimate link that we have to envisioning how peoples dressed and presented themselves in the past. Nowell and Skala summarize this body of evidence within the context of taskscapes (Ingold 1993) and communities of practice (Nowell 2015). Garments and clothing are by nature multicomponent technologies, with components coming from diverse materials and resources and therefore requiring coordination, forethought, planning, and management. These components may include, for example, hide, cordage or fibers, materials for dyeing, beads and other ornaments for decoration, and objects and tools to make the individual elements and then put them together. Moreover, the knowledge required for clothing to be made must have been consciously passed down from generation to generation through a combination of passive and active strategies. This social component, therefore, is as critical as the technological component—without it, the reproduction of this technology across generations would not happen. In this respect, and in continuing with the theme of the preceding chapters, Nowell and Skala further illustrate the entwined technological and social contexts in which culturing bodies took place in the past and in which it takes place today.

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Conclusion The chapters in this volume explore many of the diverse ways in which past peoples cultured their bodies. The variety of materials used to make beads, pendants, art, and for coloration further demonstrates that culturing the body was an embedded practice for past peoples and speaks to the importance of the body as a vehicle for mediating and (re)creating relationships between people, places, and objects. This importance should not be overlooked, even though evidence for culturing the body is less frequent than for other activities, such as making stone tools and hunting. These activities do not happen in isolation but rather within rich and complex cultural and social contexts. Navigating and embodying these contexts requires a language or grammar, which is fluid, translatable, and understandable (Abadía and Nowell 2015). In this respect, rich, varied, and diverse traditions of culturing the body should be expected and should be considered as a formative context within which other activities that feature more prominently in the archaeological record take place. Further research should continue to acknowledge this entanglement, and not shy from away from it to produce simple and reductive narratives of the past. As today, life in the past was messy. Exploring how past peoples cultured their bodies provides insight into those complications, specifically the cultural and social contexts in which past peoples lived and engaged with each other and therefore contributes to a “thicker” (Geertz 1973) understanding of the past.

Benjamin Collins is affiliated with the Department of Anthropology, University of Manitoba, and the Department of Archaeology, University of Cape Town. His research explores social networks and connections among past forager societies. April Nowell is a Paleolithic archaeologist and Professor of Anthropology at the University of Victoria in Canada. She directs an international team of researchers in the study of Paleolithic sites in Jordan and collaborates with colleagues on the study of cave art in Australia. She is known for her publications on cognitive archaeology, Paleolithic art, the archaeology of children, and the relationship between science, pop culture, and the media. She is the author of Growing Up in the Ice Age (2021).

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References Abadía, O. M., and A. Nowell. 2015. “Palaeolithic Personal Ornaments: Historical Development and Epistemological Challenges.” Journal of Archaeological Method Theory 22: 952–79. Cascalheira, J., N. Bicho, T. Manne, and P. Horta. 2017. “Cross-Scale Adaptive Behaviors During the Upper Paleolithic in Iberia: The Example of Vale Boi (Southwestern Portugal).” Quaternary International 446: 17–30. Clarkson, C., Z. Jacobs, B. Marwick, R. Fullagar, L. Wallis, M. Smith, R. G. Roberts, E. Hayes, K. Lowe, and X. Carah. 2017. “Human Occupation of Northern Australia by 65,000 Years Ago.” Nature 547: 306–10. Collins, B. 2021. “Ostrich Eggshell Beads in Later Stone Age Contexts.” Oxford Research Encyclopedias (Anthropology). https://doi.org/10.1093/acre fore/9780190854584.013.259 d’Errico, F. 2003. “The Invisible Frontier: A Multiple Species Model for the Origin of Behavioral Modernity.” Evolutionary Anthropology 12: 188–202. Descola, P. 2013. The Ecology of Others. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Geertz, C. 1973. “Thick Description: Toward an Interpretive Theory of Culture.” In The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays, 3–30. New York: Basic Books. Hardy, B. L., M.-H. Moncel, C. Kerfant, M. Lebon, L. Bellot-Gurlet, and N. Mélard. 2020. “Direct Evidence of Neanderthal Fiber Technology and Its Cognitive and Behavioral Implications.” Scientific Reports 10: 4889. https://doi .org/10.1038/s41598-020-61839-w. Harrison, R. 2012. Heritage: Critical Approaches. London: Routledge. ———. 2015. “Beyond ‘Natural’ and ‘Cultural’ Heritage: Toward an Ontological Politics of Heritage in the Age of Anthropocene.” Heritage & Society 8: 24–42. Hurcombe, L. M. 2014. Perishable Material Culture in Prehistory: Investigating the Missing Majority. New York: Routledge. Ingold, T. 1993. “The Temporality of the Landscape.” World Archaeology 25(2): 152–74. https://doi.10.1080/00438243.1993.9980235. Kuhn, S. L., and M. C. Stiner. 2007. “Paleolithic Ornaments: Implications for Cognition, Demography, and Identity.” Diogenes 54: 40–48. Low, C. 2009. “Birds in the Life of KhoeSan with Particular Reference to Healing and Ostriches.” Alternation 16: 64–90. ———. 2011. “Birds and KhoeSān: Linking Spirits and Healing with Day-to-Day Life.” Africa 81: 295–313. McBrearty, S., and A. Brooks. 2000. “The Revolution That Wasn’t: A New Interpretation of the Origin of Modern Human Behavior.” Journal of Human Evolution 39: 453–563. Nowell, A. 2015. “Learning to See and Seeing to Learn: Children, Communities of Practice and Pleistocene Visual Cultures.” Cambridge Archaeology Journal 25(4): 889–99.

288 • Benjamin Collins and April Nowell Pitarch Martí, A., Y. Wei, X. Gao, F. Chen, and F. d’Errico. 2017. “The Earliest Evidence of Colored Ornaments in China: The Ochred Ostrich Eggshell Beads from Shuidonggou Locality 2.” Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 48: 102–13. Wadley, L. 2009. “Post-Depositional Heating May Cause Over-Representation of Red-Colored Ochre in Stone Age Sites.” South African Archaeological Bulletin 64: 166–71. ———. 2015. “Those Marvelous Millennia: The Middle Stone Age of Southern Africa.” Azania: Archaeological Research in Africa 50: 155–226.

Index

H Note: Page numbers followed by f or t indicate a figure or table, respectively abalone (perlemoen): green lipped abalone (Haliotis laevigata), xvii, 89, 91, 92, 93, 100–102t; Haliotis sp., 61, 95–96, 99t, 104; shell beads of, 89, 91, 94, 95–96, 99t, 100–101. See also gastropods; mollusks Abri du Maras (France), 238 Abri Labattut (France), 250 Abri Peyrony (France), 240 adornments. See ornaments Africa: agropastoralists in, 21; archaeology in, generally, 11f, 68; coast-interior connections in, 22, 23–24, 25, 27, 61; eastern Africa, 71, 72, 77; foragers in, 17, 58, 60; herders/pastoralists in, 17, 59, 72; historic period in, 76t; huntergatherers in, 17, 19, 21–22, 30; Kalahari Desert, 9, 10, 17, 43; Karoo Supergroup, 15f, 20; northern Africa, 70; Oakhurst technocomplex, 51t–52t, 58–59; ochre collection/use in recent times in, 220; southern Africa, 9–10, 30, 42, 72; southern Africa archaeology, 11, 13f, 14t, 16, 19–25, 42, 44–56t, 59, 71, 211; southern Africa geology, 11, 14, 22; Wilton technocomplex, 51t–52t, 58–59. See also Angola; Botswana; Ju/’hoãnsi (!Kung) San people; Kenya; Late Stone Age; Malawi; Middle Stone Age; Namibia; San people; South Africa; Tanzania; under ethnoarchaeology; and specific sites age, of humans, 4, 161 agential realism, xviii

agropastoralists, 21, 25 Allen’s Cave (Australia): archaeology of, 89–90; chronology, 90–91; coastinterior connections and, 91, 101–2t; description, 89; Gillman Mound shell bead, 95–96; shell bead chronology, 91–92, 99t, 102t; shell bead description, 92–93; shell bead natural values, 100–103; shell bead significance assessment, 97–100 AMH. See under hominins Anecrial (Portugal), 134, 135f, 136, 142t, 146t, 150, 151f Angles-de-L’Anglin (France), 252 Angola, 220 animals, 90, 95, 96: affect of, 262, 263; animal-human relationships, in Paleolithic period, 261–63; archaeological understanding of, 261; bears/cave bears, 137, 171, 241–42; birds, 243; birds of prey, 17, 165; bison/ musk ox, 188f, 255–56; Bos sp., 119, 241; brains of, 256; carnivores, 136, 140, 241; cervids/deer, 116, 118–19, 120, 121, 138, 139t, 140t, 143t, 144t, 145, 146t, 171, 244, 256; chamois, 163, 164, 242, 245f; claws of, 165; dingos, 95, 104; duikers, 24; echidnas, 104; eggs of, 256; ethnographic collections and, 94–95; “exotic fauna” archaeological evidence, 23–26, 27; fat of, 164, 220, 242, 256; faunal remains, 136, 241–42, 255; feathers of, 165; felids, 181, 186–87, 188f, 189, 192; fish, 114, 116, 118–19, 120, 152, 164, 252, 255; foxes/sand foxes, 171, 241; golden jackals, 241; herbivores, 120, 136; horses, 171, 188f;

290 • Index hyenas, 171; ibex, 245; Indigenous peoples’ understanding of, 262; lagomorphs, 136; leopards, 186–87; lions (cave/African), 176, 181, 186–87, 243; mammoths, 167, 168, 170t, 171–72, 176, 177, 188f, 190, 238, 243, 244; marine mammals, 118t, 120, 125, 152; marine species, xvii, 24–25, 43, 88, 94; as nonhuman, xv; red deer, 133, 137, 164, 263; reindeer, 171, 172, 241, 243; as resources for humans, 208; San people and, 16; seals, 252; sinews of, 238, 260; the supernatural and, 16, 19, 30; swans, 243; ungulates, 240, 241; wildcats, 241; wolves, 171. See also abalone; bivalves; bone; gastropods; mollusks; ostriches; scaphopods; therianthropes and under artifacts; portable art objects; rock art; social networks animals, skins/hides/furs of, 96, 174, 214, 218, 242, 246: bags made from, 16, 255; blankets made from, 250; braiding of, 252; clothing made from, xiv, 16, 252; coloration patterns of, 186–87, 189, 192; footwear made from, 254, 255; leather from, 241, 242, 250, 252, 255, 260; processing of, for clothing, 162, 163–64, 239–42, 255–56, 258; products other than clothing of, 241; wool, 243–44, 259 anthropology, xii: posthumanist theory, xv; San peoples and, 9. See also ethnoarchaeology Apollo 11 Cave (Namibia), 76t, 77, 78f Arapouco (Portugal), 114, 115, 122, 125 archaeology: bias in, 97; and body/culture boundary, xii; of clothing, 237–43, 248–50; experimental archaeology, 214, 215f, 218–19, 220, 241, 242, 254, 255, 278; and extended and embedded cognition, 2; functionalist/processualist paradigm, 261, 263; of identity, 4; limitations of archaeological record, xiv, 10, 26, 97, 223, 236; of the Paleolithic period, 4–6, 238, 261; pollen analysis, 245; research value and, 97, 98; significance assessment and, 97–98, 103; with small datasets, 88–89, 103; strontium isotope analysis, 11, 15f, 19,

22, 23f, 27, 28, 29, 60; style, concept of, 132; symbolic practices and, 162–63; taphonomic analysis, 140–41, 148, 152, 281; taphonomic processes and, 5, 81, 97, 104; zooarchaeology, 241. See also Muge shell middens; Sado shell middens; Swabian Jura cave sites and under Africa; Allen’s Cave; Australia; ethnoarchaeology; Grassridge Rockshelter; ochre; ostrich eggshell beads; ornaments; museums; Portugal Arma Veirana (Italy), 250 Arnold Research Cave (US), 253 artifacts, 6: animal parts as, 262; cognitive developments and, 221; for “culturing the body,” 5, 43; as evidence of between-group relationships, 29; extended cognition and, 2; faunal artifacts, 23–26, 27, 43; functional variation of, 69; incisions in, 69, 87, 96, 99t, 120, 121, 175, 180, 182, 184, 209, 217; misidentification of, 97; object biography, 100; organic artifacts, 167; provenance, 99t, 103; stylistic variation of, 69–70; symbolic artifacts, 167; weathering of, 119, 175, 178, 181, 182, 216f. See also bone; clothing; lithics; ornaments; ostrich eggshell beads; shell beads; teeth; tools and under ochre; personal adornment Arudy (France), 243 Asia: baler shell trade in, 95; bone bead finds in, 94; Eurasia, 239, 246; ostrich eggshell bead finds in, 71; ostriches in, 71; shell bead finds in, 88, 94. See also Siberia and specific sites assemblage: of human bodies, xvii; of human bodies and nonhuman things, xviii; human identity as, xix; theory, xiii–xiv, xviii Australia: Adelaide Plain, 95; archaeological significance assessment in, 97–98; Australia ICOMOS Burra Charter, 2013, 98, 100; human populating of, 87–88, 279; huntergatherers in, 104; Indigenous/ Aboriginal peoples of, 88, 96, 98–99, 100, 101, 102t–4; middens in, 95;

Index • 291 northern Australia, 103; Nullarbor Plain, 89–91, 99t, 101, 102t–3; ornament record, 87, 97–98; Pleistocene shell bead finds, 88, 94–96, 99t, 103, 248; postcontact period, 103–4; South Australia, 89, 90f, 95, 104; Western Australia, 95, 248; Western Desert culture, 99t. See also specific sites Barad, Karen, xiii Barrada das Vieiras (Portugal), 114 Barrada do Grilo (Portugal), 114 Barranco da Moura (Portugal), 114 beads, 41, 138, 246: of antler, 116, 133; of the Australian Pleistocene, 94–96, 99t; of bone, 87, 88, 94t, 104, 116, 118–19, 120, 125, 133, 262; chronology of, globally, 70–71; cordage/sinew and, 91, 93, 94, 95, 96, 238; double perforated, 168f, 169, 170t, 171, 189, 190; function of, 70; as innovation, in Middle Stone Age, 209; of ivory, 164, 191; of ivory of mammoths, 169f, 170t, 171, 190, 248–49; manufacture of, 71, 95, 101, 171, 260, 281–82; method of display of, 247; placement of, 248–49, 253; sewn onto clothing, 72, 189, 248–50; of the Swabian Aurignacian, 168f–71, 172, 176, 189–90; triple perforated, 169, 189; 133, 139t, 140t, 142t–44t, 146t, 169f. See also ornaments; ostrich eggshell beads; shell beads and under teeth Bedburg-Königshoven (Germany), 164 Bédeilhac (France), 245 behavior, of humans, 57, 70, 165, 208: archaeology of, 5, 97, 98; cognition and, 1, 209–10, 221, 283; costly signaling, 222–23; cultural (symbolic) behavior, 80, 87, 88, 98, 110, 172, 193, 210, 222; innovations in, in Middle Stone Age, 209, 217; ritual behavior, 222, 223; social behavior, 110, 161, 210, 224. See also subsistence Berlin-Biesdorf (Germany), 164 Bilzingsleben (Germany), 242 bivalves, 116, 117, 118t, 119, 153: Acanthocardia tuberculata, 142t, 143t, 144t, 146t, 152, 153t; Anadara

diluvii, 143t, 144t, 146t, 148, 152, 153t; Cerastoderma edule (cockle), 117, 118t, 119, 120f, 121, 122, 123, 124, 143t, 144t, 146t, 148–49, 152; clams, 138; cockles, generally, 138, 148; freshwater mussels, 61–62; Glycymeris sp., 247–48, 250; marine mussels, 138; Ostrea edulis, 117, 118t, 119, 120f, 121, 122t, 123, 124; oysters (“pearl”), 94, 95; Scrobicularia plana, 118t, 119, 121. See also gastropods; mollusks; scaphopods Bizmoune Cave (Morocco), 247 blankets, 189, 238, 246, 250 Blombos Cave (South Africa): heat treatment evidence at, 213; incised artifacts in, 87, 215–16f, 217; ochre use and, 211, 212, 214, 215–16f, 217, 218, 219, 223; ornaments found at, 164, 248; tools found at, 239 Bockstein-Cave (Germany), 166, 167f, 168, 171 Bockstein-Törle (Germany), 168, 170t, 171 body, the: able-bodiedness, 2, 180; age and, 161; animal artifacts and, 262; anthropomorphic body, xii; assemblage theory and, xiv; as biological entity, xii; “body schema,” 3–4; “body world,” 3; bones of, 5, 163; boundaries of, xii, xiii; brain, 1, 217; branding of, 3, 4; cultural productivity of, xii, 286; “culturing” of, xii, 2, 4, 43, 237; definition of, 1; discursivity of, xiii, 161, 286; elaboration of, xviii; extension of, xv; fundal height, 179f, 180; habitus and, 161; hair, 3, 4, 96, 133, 162, 182, 253f; health of, 161, 162, 165, 219–20; hybrid body, xii, xviii; ichnofossils/footprints, 253–54; individual/group relationship and, 160– 61; as material culture, 4; mind/body relationship, 2; mummified bodies, 163; mutability of, 262; Paleolithic body, 4–5; Paleolithic figurines, 133, 167, 171–72, 176–89, 191, 257; performativity of, 4; pregnancy/childbirth and, 180, 192; sexual attractiveness/fitness and, 161, 165, 166; skeletal analysis, 254; skin, xii, 1, 3, 164; social status and, 161; spatial extension of, xviii; urine, 256

292 • Index body decoration/modification, 2–3, 4, 133, 161, 162, 165–66: able-bodiness and, 180; animal artifacts and, 262; body painting, 5, 133, 153, 162–63, 176, 189, 191, 192, 223; cosmetics, 3, 219; dots, 182, 184, 189; evolutionary advantages of, 165; figurines and, 177–82, 184, 191; foot-binding, 5; genital modification, 3; ochre and, 191, 250; pain and, 166; piercing, 4, 164; purposes of, 163, 282; practical/medical, 166, 192, 193; scarification, 3, 4, 153, 163, 189, 191, 192; social/religious-ritualistic, 166, 223; symbolic meaning of, 193; of women, 177–81. See also tattooing bone (of animals), 24, 90, 136, 138, 219: antler frontlets, 261–62, 263; antlers, 116, 121, 133, 164, 243, 263; beads of, 87, 88, 94t, 104, 116, 118–19, 120, 125, 133, 140, 164, 262, 263; of bears, 241–42; of birds, 243; cutmarks and, 241–42, 255; of fish, 164; incising of, 209, 243; ivory, 164, 246, 253f; ivory from mammoths, 167, 168, 169f, 171, 176, 177, 190, 238, 243, 244, 250; of mammoths, 243; and paint, 257; of rabbits, 242; textile imprints on, 245–46; tools made of, 43, 100, 113, 209, 239–41, 242, 243, 246–47f, 263 Boodie (Australia), 94 Border Cave (South Africa), 71, 76t, 77f, 238 Botswana, 12f, 73, 76t boundaries: between the body and the nonhuman world, xii, xiii; between categories of entities, xvii; social boundaries, 69 Boxgrove (United Kingdom), 242 Brassempouy (France), 243 Bronze Age, 136, 137, 259 Bugalheira. See Lapa dos Coelhos Buraca Escura (Portugal), 134–36, 140t, 146t, 151f Buraca Grande (Portugal), 134–36, 142t, 146t, 151f Buret’ (Siberia), 252 burials, 90, 138, 250: of adolescents, 250; funerary rituals, 114; grave goods,

95, 104, 113, 123, 125, 259; of infants, 250; at Lagar Velho, 139t, 145; at La Madeleine, 249; Muge shell midden sites and, 118, 122; “Red Lady of El Miron,” 133; Sado shell midden sites and, 115, 116; at Sunghir, 248–49 Byki (Russia): Byki 1, 239; Byki 7, 239 Cabeço da Amoreira (Portugal), 112–14, 119–21 Cabeço da Arruda (Portugal), 112–14, 119 Cabeço das Amoreiras (Portugal), 114, 115–16, 119, 122t, 123, 125 Cabeço do Pez (Portugal), 114, 115f, 116, 122t, 124 Cabeço do Rebolador (Portugal), 114, 115, 122t, 123 Caldeirão (Portugal), 134, 135f, 150, 151f: beads/shells at, 139t, 140t, 142t, 143t, 148, 149, 152; ornaments, generally, 146t, 153t; site description, 136 Canteen Kopje (South Africa), 211 Canyars (Spain), 242 Carpenter’s Gap (Australia), 3, 94, 248 Casa da Moura (Portugal), 134, 135f, 137, 143t, 146t, 150, 151f Castel di Guido (Italy), 240 cave art, 99t, 133, 252, 257. See also rock art cave sites, 133: in Australia, 94; in Portugal, 134–38, 140t–43t, 145–53. See also open-air sites; rock shelters and specific sites ceramics/ceramicists, 69, 245, 246, 260. See also clay Chalcolithic period, 138 charcoal, 50t, 134, 136: as pigment, 219 Chertovy Vorota Cave (Russia), 239 children, 17, 18, 19, 72, 94, 97, 123, 136, 249–50, 259: adolescents, 250, 257; figurines of, 252, 257; infants/babies, 17, 73t, 237, 250; infants/babies, breastfeeding of, 260 clay: baskets and, 245–46; hide processing and, 218; ornaments of, 116, 120–21; porcelain clay, 257; for spindle whorls, 244. See also ceramics/ ceramicists

Index • 293 clothing, xv, 190f, 238, 247, 262: animal skin/hide processing/tanning/ leather making for, 162–64, 191, 223, 239–42, 255–56, 258; animate nature of materials for, in Paleolithic, 263; bandeaux, 251; bands, 172, 189; belts, 22, 73t, 164, 178, 251, 252, 253f, 255; butchering of animals for, 241–42, 255; as “culturing the body,” 237; dyeing of, 256–58; embroidering of, 246, 249f–50, 255, 256; as extension/“second skin” of bodies, 3, 163; footwear, 163, 249, 253–54, 255; as grave good, 259; headgear, 163, 249, 251, 252; hide clothing, xiv, xviii, xix, 252; hominin migration and, 236–37; imprints of on clay/bone, 246; of Indigenous people in Siberia, 252; lice in association with, 163, 237, 239; limited Paleolithic record of, 133, 163; manufacture of/“taskscape,” xviii, 164, 246, 251, 259; manufacture of and communities of practice, 258–61; masking/costumes, 164, 192, 193, 261–62; Neandertals and, 255; pants, 249; perishability of, xiv; as protective, 163, 237; as providing warmth, 236; sewing of, xviii, 238, 246, 249, 251, 252, 258; skirts, 246, 251, 252; social communicative function of, 237, 252, 253, 263. See also fiber; textiles and under tools cognition, 160: brain and, 1; cognitive development and archaeology, 221; embodied cognition, 2, 6; experience and, 1; extended cognition, 2, 6; manufacture of compounds and, 219; manufacture of tools and, 2; ochre processing/use and, 208, 209–10, 211, 213, 221–22; subsistence and, 221, 260–61; working of objects and, 87 colonialism, 25, 43, 279 color: xvi, 3, 191, 193, 210: of beads, 153–54; cave art and, 257; of clothing, 237; dyeing, 256–58; red, 210, 223; use of to store information, 217, 222 containers, 246, 252: bags, 16, 246, 247, 255; baskets, 97, 164, 243, 245–46, 251; box, 73; of leather, 241; ostrich

eggshells as, 18, 53t–54t. See also textiles Contrabandiers Cave (Morocco), 241 cordage/rope, 91, 93, 94, 95, 237, 246, 255: manufacture of, 96–97, 238–39, 243, 259–60; string for skirts, 252 culture: body modification as expression of, 3; communities of practice and, 258–61; resilience of, as expressed through material record, 152; working of objects and, 87 Cussac Cave (France), 254 DeLanda, Miguel, xiii–xiv Descartes, René, 2 Devil’s Lair (Australia), 94 Diepkloof Rock Shelter (South Africa), 211, 217 Dikbosch Rockshelter (South Africa), 76t, 79 Dolní Věstonice (Czech Republic), 243, 252: Dolní Věstonice I, 245; Dolní Věstonice II, 245 dwellings, 113: tents, 242, 246, 255 Dzudzuana Cave (Georgia), 164 embodiment, xii: embodied person, xiii, xv; embodied self, xvii; exotic materials and, xv, 32 Enkapune ya Muto Rockshelter (Kenya), 75 Escoural (Portugal), 134, 135f, 138, 143t, 146t, 151f Es-Skhul Cave (Israel), 212, 247 Ethiopia, 164, 211, 220 ethnicity, 4, 114: visual markers of, 189, 190 ethnoarchaeology, 110, 189, 192, 261: ethnographic analogy, xiv, 95–97, 99t, 162–63, 218, 219, 241, 242, 246, 252, 258–59: ostrich eggshell beads and, 72–74, 248; of Africa, 42–43, 72–74 Eurocentrism, 279 Europe, 252: Eurasia, 239, 246; Gravettian technocomplex in, 163, 164, 248, 250, 252; Holocene in, 111–12; Middle Paleolithic sites in, 218; ochre use at sites in, 212, 218; pigment use at

294 • Index sites in, 212; southwestern Europe archaeological record, 111–12; Upper Paleolithic period in, 68, 133, 167, 172, 212, 239, 250, 254; Upper Paleolithic, in southwestern Europe, 111, 125, 134–54. See also Swabian Jura and selected countries experience: sensorial experience, xv–xvi, 2, 3–4 extension: of the human body, xv; spatial extension, xviii. See also under body fibers, 237–38, 255: of animal origin, 243–44, 259; archaeology of fiber technology, 238–39; bast fibers, 238, 259; dyeing of/dyers, 256, 260; imprints of on clay, 245–46; length of, 243–44, 260; of plant origin, 96, 163–64, 238, 239, 243–44, 251; retting of, 238; spinning of, to make textiles, 244–45, 252, 256, 259; tools for spinning fiber, 244–45. See also clothing; textiles Finland, 239 fishing, 26 food, 152: avoidance, 19; butchering of animals for, 241–42, 255; gathering of, 103, 148; meat, 262; ostriches as, 18; shellfish as, 94, 102t, 138, 140, 148, 149. See also subsistence Fontanet Cave (France), 254 Fonte da Mina (Portugal), 114 Fonte da Moça (Portugal): Fonte da Moça I, 112, 113f, 114, 121; Fonte da Moça II, 112, 113f, 114, 121 foragers, 6, 17, 58, 60, 103, 148, 236, 281. See also hunter-gatherers fossils, 148, 164: ichnofossils, 253–54 France, 245: Midi Pyrénées, 258 Fumane Cave (Italy), 239 Gagarino (Russia), 252, 253f gastropods, 117, 118t: Achatina sp., 48–49; Afrolittorina africana, 218; balers, 94, 95; beads of shells of, 42, 45–46, 116, 117, 118t, 119, 121, 122–23, 139t, 152, 153, 218; Bithynia tentaculata, 118t, 119, 122t, 123; Bolma rugosa, 122t, 123, 124; Cerithium vulgatum, 117, 118t, 120f,

122, 123f; Columbella rustica, 122, 123, 125; freshwater, generally, 117, 118t, 119; limpets, 61, 138; Littorina sp. (flat periwinkle), 122, 123, 139t, 140t, 141f, 142t, 143t, 144t, 145, 146t, 147, 149, 152, 153t; Nassarius gibbosulus, 248; Nassarius kraussianus, 43, 45–46, 61, 238; Theodoxus fluviatilis, 117, 118t, 119, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 139t, 140t, 141f, 142t, 143t, 144t, 146t, 147–48, 149, 152; Tritia reticulata, 117, 118t, 119, 120f, 121, 122, 123, 124, 139t, 143t, 146t, 147, 152, 153t; Tritia sp., 144t; Trivia sp. (cowrie), 117, 118t, 119, 121, 122, 123, 124, 139t, 141f, 142t, 143t, 144t, 146t, 147, 152, 153t, 250; Zonaria pyrum, 122. See also abalone; bivalves; mollusks; scaphopods Gasya (Russia), 245 Geißenklösterle Cave (Germany), 166, 167f, 185f: Adorant, 182, 183f; ochre and, 172, 173f, 174; ornaments found at, 168, 170t, 171; tanning evidence in, 164, 242 gender, 4: differentiation and body decoration, 192; differentiation and personal adornment, 73 Georgia, Republic of, 238, 243, 257 gift-exchange system, 9, 26, 43, 213: exchange cycles, xiv; of huntergatherers, 10, 150; hxaro, 9–10, 27, 30, 42, 60; over long distances, 9–10. See also trade Gillman Mound (Australia), 95–96, 104 Gn-Jh15 (Kenya), 211 Gönnersdorf (Germany), 243, 245 Gourdan (France), 243 grasslands/savanna, 10, 11, 21, 23, 24, 30, 43, 58, 62, 187: Grassland Biome, 21 Grassridge Archaeological and Palaeoenvironmental Project (GAPP), 43–49, 57, 61 Grassridge Rockshelter (South Africa): archaeological methods, 46; archaeology of, generally, 43; cultural change and, 59–60; gastropod shell beads, 42, 45–46, 48–49, 61–62; landscape around, 58; lithics and,

Index • 295 59–60; ostrich eggshell (OES) beads, 42, 45, 46–48, 51t, 57–60; stratigraphy of, 44–45 Great Britain. See United Kingdom Grotte Chauvet (France), 187 Grotte des Pigeons (Morocco), 165

humanness, xviii. See also hominins; therianthropes hunter-gatherers, 10; in Africa, 17, 19, 21–22; in Australia, 104; archaeology of, 11; in Portugal, 124, 149, 150; social networks and, 19, 30. See also foragers

habitat (for humans). See dwellings habitus, 161 Ha Makotoko (Lesotho), 24, 53t Hamar people, 220 herders/pastoralists, 17, 59, 72 Himba people, 220 Hohle Fels Cave (Germany), 166, 167f, 185f: little Lion Man, 182, 183f, 184; ochre and, 173f, 175–76, 191; ornaments found at, 168, 169f, 170t, 171; ropemaking evidence, 238; Venus figurines of, 133, 172, 177–79f, 193 Hohlenstein-Stadel Cave (Germany), 166, 167f, 185f: Lion Man, 182, 183f, 184, 193; ornaments found at, 168, 170t, 171 Holocene period: in Africa, generally, 69, 71, 76t, 248; in Australia, 88, 95, 104; Middle Holocene, 14t, 21, 43–45, 47t–48, 57, 60, 61; in southern Africa, 14t, 21, 24, 80; in southwestern Europe, 111–12; in the US, 253 hominins, 237, 240, 255, 259, 284: anatomically modern humans (AMH), 110, 160, 166, 172, 211, 254, 283, 284; bipedalism of, 254; Denisovans, 5, 88, 240; Homo erectus, 6, 7n4; Homo sapiens, 5, 211, 255; Homo sp., 211; ichnofossils/footprints of, 253–54; loss of body hair by, 236–37; migration of, 236; Neandertals, 5, 88, 238, 239, 241, 242, 254 Hora-1 (Malawi), 76t, 77f, 78f Hoxne (United Kingdom), 239 humans: animal effects/affects and, 262, 263; body self-awareness of, 160; “culturing the body” and, xii–xiii, 166, 275; decentering of, xvii; human-animal relationships, in Paleolithic period, 261–63; as “narrative beings”/“animal symbolicus,” 165; origin story of, 216; technologies of the body and

Iceman Ötzi, 163 identity: archaeology of, 4, 132; betweengroup interaction and, 161, 166; clothing and, 237; construction of as assemblage, xix; definition of, 160; distinctiveness of, xiv, xvii; group identity, xvi, 132, 166, 189, 191, 222, 237, 283; individuality and, 160–61, 166, 189, 191–92, 283; masking/costumes and, 164; ostrich eggshell beads and, 72–73; performativity and, 4; personal adornment and, xvii, 41, 42, 68, 110, 160–61, 189–91, 222, 248, 282 imagery/images, xii, 210, 244–45: on the body, 163; of clothing, 251–53; in parietal art, 16, 26, 29, 258 Indigenous peoples, 262: descendant communities, 279; Indigenous/ Aboriginal Australians, 86, 96–97, 98–99, 100, 101, 102t–4; of Siberia, 252 International Committee of Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS), 97 Iron Age, 76t Isturitz (France), 243 Ju/’hoãnsi (!Kung) San people: hxaro system, 9–10, 27, 30; ostrich eggshell beads and, 17, 73; ostriches and, 17–18. See also San people Jwalapuram (India), 212 Kakapel Rockshelter (Kenya), 76t, 77f, 79 Kathu Pan (South Africa), 211 Kenya, 220. See also specific sites Klasies River Cave (South Africa), 212, 215, 216f Klausenhöhle (Germany), 173 Klein Kliphuis (South Africa), 215, 216f Klipdrift Rock Shelter (South Africa), 217, 223 Koonalda Cave (Australia), 91, 99t, 103

296 • Index Kostenki (Russia), 251: “Dressed Venus” figurine, 251; Kostenki I, 245, 251; Kostenki II, 245; Kostenki IV, 243 Krems-Watchberg (Austria), 250 Ksar ‘Akil (Lebanon), 248 La Ferrassie (France), 243 Lagar Velho (Portugal), 134, 135f, 151f, 152, 153: site description, 136; beads/shells at, 139t, 142t; deer teeth ornaments at, 145; ornaments at, generally, 146t La Madeleine (France), 249–50 La Marche (France), 252 landscape: enculturated landscape, 98, 100, 103, 104, 279, 282; social landscape, 42, 60–61, 104, 149, 282, 284 La Quina (France), 240 Lapa da Rainha (Portugal), 134, 135f, 137, 142t, 146t, 151f Lapa dos Coelhos/Bugalheira (Portugal), 134, 135f, 150, 151f: beads/shells at, 139t, 143t, 148; ornaments, generally, 146t; site description, 137 Lapa Furada (Portugal), 134, 135f, 137, 143t, 146t, 150, 151f Lascaux (France), 238, 257 Last Glacial Maximum (LGM), 19, 23, 91, 101, 102t, 279 Late Stone Age (LSA), 240: Late Stone Age, in Africa, 5, 19, 27, 29, 70–71, 111, 218 Laugerie-Basse (France), 244–45f Laugerie-Haute (France), 243 La Vache (France), 187 Le Mas d’Azil (France), 163, 245 Le Placard (France), 243 Les Combarelles (France), 187 Lesotho, 13f: highland area of, 25, 28, 30, 34n2; hunter-gatherer sites in, 11; ostrich eggshell bead sites in, 14t, 20t, 21, 22, 60. See also South Africa; Namibia and specific sites Lespugue (France), 252, 253f Les Trois Frères (France), 133, 187 LGM. See Last Glacial Maximum Likoaeng (Lesotho), 11f, 22, 24, 25, 34n2 limestone, 136, 137, 173–75 LSA. See Late Stone Age

lithics, 5, 43, 219, 237: adhesives used in manufacture of, 218, 221; in Australia, 90, 95; bifacial projectile points, 25, 28, 224; of chert, 150; in Europe in Upper Paleolithic period, 167; as evidence of between-group interaction, 26, 29; flint tools, 2, 256; hafting of, 162, 218, 221, 238; heat treatment of geologic materials, 209, 213–14; for hide scraping, 218, 239; Levallois flake, 238; manufacture of, 2, 236, 286; microliths, 25, 28, 29; ochre applied to, 217, 218; in Portugal in Mesolithic period, 113, 114, 116, 117, 118t, 121, 125; in Portugal in Paleolithic period, 134, 137, 153; of quartzite, 90; retouched tools, 152; of silcrete, 90, 175, 213–14; in southern Africa, 59–60, 213–14; technology, 26, 154, 167; for textile manufacture, 244; variation of, 69. See also under ornaments Maasai people, 220 Maastricht-Belvédère (the Netherlands), 212 Madjedbebe (Australia), 212 magical beliefs/practices, 166, 192 Magubike Rockshelter (Tanzania), 71, 76t, 77, 78f Malt’a (Siberia), 252, 257 Mandu Mandu (Australia), 94, 248 manufacturing: of adhesives, 209, 221; of bone/ivory beads, 171, 176; of clothing, xviii, 164; cognition and, 2, 221; of cordage, 96–97, 238–39, 243, 259–60; of mollusk shell beads, 46, 93, 95, 96, 121, 152; of paint, 209, 219, 222, 223, 257–58; polishing, 120, 121; of portable art objects, 172, 176; of textiles, 238; of tools, 2, 29, 258, 260. See also under beads; lithics; ornaments; ostrich eggshell beads Maqonqo Shelter (South Africa), 11f, 14t, 20t, 21, 49, 54t–55t, 59, 60 Marine Isotope Stages: Marine Isotope Stage 1, 276, 277; Marine Isotope Stage 2, 14t; Marine Isotope Stage 3, 14t massing, xvii, xiv

Index • 297 material culture, 276: cognitive development expressed in, 221; cultural change expressed in, 58–59; cultural resilience expressed in, 152; as ethnolinguistic group marker, 29; of the Middle Stone Age, in South Africa, 208; in the Paleolithic, 5–6; relationship to body, 3–4, 275; social visual communication, 132, 217; survival of different types of, 97 materialism, 261: cultural materialism, 261 materiality: and bodies, 3–4; and human identity construction, xix; sensorial experience of, 2 Mazinga-1 (Malawi), 76t, 77f, 78f Melikane (Lesotho), 15f, 22, 23f Melkhoutboom Shelter (South Africa), 49, 56t, 59, 60 men: figurative objects representing the bodies of, 181–86, 188f, 252; gender, representations of, 192; genitals, representations of, 182; and personal adornment, 72, 73; rock art representations of, 29 Mesolithic period: in Europe, 164, 250; in Portugal, 111–25, 137, 138; in the UK, 164, 261–62 Mezmaiskaya (Russia), 246 middens, 95: shell middens, 61, 62, 91, 95. See also Muge shell middens; Sado shell middens Middle East. See Near East Middle Stone Age (MSA), in Africa, generally, 27, 223: archaeological record and, 5; hide working evidence, 239; Howiesons Poort technocomplex, 211, 217, 218; ochre use in, 162, 209–10, 211, 213, 214, 217, 218–19, 220–21, 223, 248; ornaments and, 111, 164–65; ostrich eggshell beads, 19, 70–71; in South Africa, 208; Still Bay technocomplex, 211, 215, 217 Miocene period, 148 mind: mind/body relationship, 2 minerals: bromine, 257; calcite, 257; calcium, 257; calcium phosphate, 257; chromium, 257; feldspar, 258; iron, 257; kaolin, 218; kaolinite, 257; in paint,

257–58; quartz, 257; strontium, 257; strontium isotope analysis, 11, 15f, 19, 22, 23f, 27, 28, 29, 60; tetracalcite phosphate, 257; zinc, 257; zirconium, 257 Mlambalasi Rockshelter (Tanzania), 75 Moita do Sebastião (Portugal), 112, 113f, 117–19, 125 mollusks, 24, 70. See also bivalves; gastropods; scaphopods Mousterian culture, 136 MSA. See Middle Stone Age Muge shell middens, 111f, 112–14, 115, 116, 119, 124–25: materials, 116; microscopic analysis, 117; taxonomic identification, 116–17. See also Sado shell middens and specific sites Mumba Rockshelter (Tanzania), 71, 76t, 77 museums: archaeology and, 96, 103, 116, 122, 123, 181; South Australia Museum, 97, 100 musical instruments, 167 Mzinyashana 1 Shelter (South Africa), 11f, 14t, 20t, 21, 53t–54t Namibia, 73, 163, 220. See also Apollo 11 Cave; Lesotho; South Africa Near East (Middle East), 70, 110, 218: Levant, 239 Nelson Bay Cave (South Africa), 76t, 77, 78, 80 Neolithic period, 76t: in Portugal, 112, 136, 137, 138 nonhuman, the, xviii, 32: animals as, xiv, xv, xvi; things as, xiii, xvii, xix, 2 ochre, xviii–xix, 5, 121: adhesives made with, 218–19, 221; black colorants in, 174; brown, 257; in burials, 133, 250; and cognition, 208, 209–10, 211, 221–22; collecting of, 208, 211, 212, 222; costly signaling and, 222–23; defined, 208; dolerite, 216f; dot patterns and, 173, 175f; ethnographic research on, 218, 219–20; European sites and, 212; ferricrete, 208; grinding of, 214, 217, 222; grindstones for, 172,

298 • Index 212, 214, 217, 219; heat treatment of, 213–14, 222, 257; on hides/skins of animals, 214, 218; human health and, 219–20; incising/scoring/scratching/ engraving of, 87, 175, 209, 215–17, 222; iron oxides/hematite, 174, 176, 208, 213, 218, 257; iron oxyhydroxides/ goethite, 208, 218; ironstone, 208; on ivory ornaments, 176, 191; limonite, 174, 208; manuports of, 212; micaceous, 212, 220; mudstone, 208; paint and, 209, 219, 222, 223; powder of, xix, 174, 214, 217–20; processing of, 208, 211, 212, 217, 219; provenance of, in South Africa, 212–13; on quartz artifacts, 121; red, xvii, xix, 162, 172–73, 176, 210, 212, 218, 220, 256, 257; resource stress and, 223; rituals and, 220, 223; sandstone, 175, 208; shale, 208; on shell beads, 54t, 55t, 61, 217–18, 248; siltstone, 175, 208; source locations vs. finds locations, 212, 224; specularite, 18; Swabian Jura sites and, 167f, 172–76; as symbolic artifact, 167, 191, 219; tanning and, 162, 191, 223, 242, 250, 256; on teeth, 172; and tool hafts, xix, 34, 162, 218–19, 221; uses of, 162, 172, 208, 217–21; use-wear and, 173, 214, 215f; yellow, 174, 175, 213, 218, 220, 257 OES. See ostrich eggshell beads Ohalo II (Israel), 164, 238 ontology, 17, 261, 263, 276: heritage ontologies, 279; human vs. other species, xv; of identity, 282; landscapes and, 103; and sociality, xvii open-air sites, 134. See also cave sites; rock shelters and specific sites Opperman, Hermanus, 43–45, 57, 61 ornamental shells. See shell beads ornaments, 41, 88, 176: of amber material, 164; of amphibolite, 117, 118t; animal parts for, generally, 96; as apotropaic objects/talismans, 164, 166, 181, 193; archaeological record of, in Australia, 87–88; archaeological record, generally, 110; archaeological record, in southwestern Europe, 111–12; in Aurignacian Swabian Jura,

168–72, 175–76, 189–93; of bone, 97, 118t; bracelets, 3, 10, 73t, 164, 251, 252; of cartilage, 116, 118–19, 120; of clay, 116, 120–21; of clay shale, 171; and clothing, 237, 247; as “culturing the body,” 278; earliest examples, 164–65, 247–48; figurines as, 181; of fossil material, 164; function of, 70; of hyaline quartz, 118t, 120–21; of Indigenous/ Aboriginal Australians, 96–97, 103, 104; jewelry, 6, 32, 42, 60, 164, 250; of lithic materials, 117, 118t, 120–21, 164; manufacturing of, 281–82; materials of and social structure, 103–4, 280; in Mesolithic Portugal, 112–25; necklaces, 251; ochre residue on, 121, 175–76, 191, 217; pendants/colliers, 61, 96, 119, 121, 140, 171, 181, 189, 250; pendants of stone, 121, 125; pin for shroud, 250; of quartzite, 117, 118t, 119, 120; of schist, 117, 118t, 120; as symbolic artifacts, 167; types of, 164. See also artifacts; beads; clothing; ostrich eggshell beads; personal adornment; shell beads and under bone; gastropods; teeth; use-wear ornaments, attachment of: xv, 78; cordage/sinew and, 91, 93, 94, 95, 96, 238; styles of, 69, 74, 79, 80, 247 ostrich eggshell (OES) beads, xiii–xiv, 6, 9, 43, 62, 238, 248: analysis of, 62, 69, 278; archaeology and, 10–11, 13f, 16, 28, 43, 68, 71, 74; in Asia, 71, 278; chronology of, 71; as “culturing the body,” 276; display of, 72; distribution of, in southern Africa, 19–22, 27, 28, 59–60, 278; in gift-exchange systems, 10, 29, 30, 42, 60; healing properties of, 17; manufacture of, 12f, 14t, 21, 46–47, 57–58, 60, 78; ochre residue and, 46, 54t, 55t; provenance in Africa, 11, 13f–16, 22; San peoples and, 19, 25, 42; sewn on cloth, 248; source locations vs. finds locations, 20–22, 27; stringing patterns of, 79–80; strontium isotope analysis of, 11, 15t, 19, 22, 23f, 29, 60; styles of, 58–59, 69, 71; stylistic vs. functional variation of, 70; Tanzanian

Index • 299 finds of, 71; uses, 72–74. See also under Grassridge Rockshelter ostrich eggshell (OES) beads, preforms of, 11, 28, 60, 78, 79: at Grassridge Rockshelter, 46–47, 48, 57; preformcomplete bead ratios, 42, 48, 59; rarity of, 10; sites of finds of, 13f, 21, 49, 50t–52t, 54t–56t, 71 ostrich eggshell (OES) beads, use-wear of: 53t, 69, 71–72, 79: interpretation of, 78–79; pinching, 74–80 ostrich eggshells: as “medicine,” 17; incising of, 209, 217; incising of and social signaling, 224 ostriches, 58: in Asia, 71; bones of, 10, 34n2; eggs and shamanism, 18–19; range, in Africa, 10, 13f, 14, 16, 28, 34n1; in rock art, 31f; San people and, 16–18, 30, 32, 34n2, 276 Oued Djebbana (Algeria), 247 Pair-non-Pair (France), 243 Paleolithic period: animate nature of nonhuman world in, 263; archaeology of, generally, 4–6, 238, 261; Epipaleolithic, 138; human-animal relationships in, 261–63; ichnofossils/ footprints from, 253–54; limited material record of, 6, 132–33; Lower Paleolithic, 240, 242; Middle Paleolithic, 5, 70, 110, 137, 138, 165, 167, 212, 218, 240, 242, 254. See also Middle Stone Age; Late Stone Age; Upper Paleolithic period parietal art, 256, 264n6 Pavlov (Czech Republic), 164, 245 Pech de l’Azé (France), 240 performativity: body and, 4, 6; of identity, 4 perlemoen. See abalone personal adornment, xiv, xix, 5, 17: as connecting the human and the nonhuman, xv; as “functional” and “symbolic” simultaneously, 284; identity and, xvii, 41, 42, 68, 110, 160–61, 189–90; of Indigenous Australians, 96–97, 102t–3; in Portugal in Mesolithic period, 112–25; in Portugal in Upper Paleolithic period, 134–54; Paleolithic

archaeological record of, generally, 133; as “second skin” of bodies, 3; social communicative function of, 68, 110, 132, 153, 160–61; social structure and, 103–4, 161. See also artifacts; beads; body; clothing; ornaments; ostrich eggshell beads; shell beads personal adornments. See ornaments personal ornaments. See ornaments personhood, xii–xiii perspectivism, 263 Picareiro (Portugal), 134, 135f, 150, 151f, 152: beads/shells at, 140t, 141f, 143t, 146t; site description, 136–37 Pié Lombard (France), 242 pigments, xii, 193, 208, 213: binders, 174, 258; black, 212, 257; brown, 257; calcite, 257; charcoal as, 219, 257; clothing and, 256; kaolinite, 257; manganese/manganese dioxides, 212, 257; paint/painters, 209, 219, 222, 223, 257–58, 260; in parietal art, 257; purple, 257; red, 96; red hematite, 257; social communication and, 191; yellow, 175. See also ochre and under body decoration/modification Pinnacle Point (South Africa), 211: Pinnacle Point 5–6, 222–23; Pinnacle Point 13B, 212, 213, 215 plants: and adhesives, 218; fibers of, 96, 163–64, 243–44; flax, 238, 243, 244, 251, 257; grass, 239; imprints of in clay, 245– 46; lichens, 256; pollen analysis, 245; as resources for humans, 208, 260–61; retting of, 238; as temper for ceramics, 245, 246; and textile manufacture, 238–39, 243; walnut shells, 256 Pleistocene period, 20, 27, 69, 71, 88, 247: in Australia, 89, 91, 94–96, 99t, 103; Late Pleistocene, 76t, 77, 150; Middle Pleistocene, 212; in Portugal, 148, 149–50; terminal Pleistocene, 42–45, 47–48, 57, 60, 61; Younger Dryas, 19, 27 Pocas de São (S.) Bento (Portugal), 114, 115f, 116, 122t Porc-Epic Cave (Ethiopia), 211 portable art objects: Adorant, 182, 183f, 184; animal figurines, 186, 187f, 188f;

300 • Index decoration patterns of, 184–86, 188f; dots on, 177, 182, 184, 185, 189, 192; human/therianthropic figurines, 133, 167, 171–72, 176–80, 188f, 191–92, 251–53f; incisions/notches in, 180, 182, 184, 188f; lines/stripes on, 177–78, 180, 181, 182, 188f, 192, 214; Lion Man, 164, 171, 181–82, 183f, 184, 192, 193; little Lion Man, 164, 182, 183f, 184, 192, 193; rondelles, 244–45; symmetry/ asymmetry and, 184–86, 192–93; representation of time and, 180, 182, 184, 193 Portugal: Algarve, 134, 138, 145, 147, 150, 152, 153; Côa valley, 134, 136; coastinterior connections in Paleolithic in, 150, 152; Estremadura, 134, 147, 148, 150–51, 153; hunter-gatherers in, 124, 149, 150; Mesolithic period in, 112–25; Mondego basin, 134, 145, 150, 153; Muge river, 112; Neolithic period in, 112; Redinha region, 134, 136; Rio Maior region, 134; Sado river, 114, 115; Tagus river, 112; Tagus Valley, 134; Upper Paleolithic record in, 133, 153; Upper Paleolithic sites in, 134–54. See also Muge shell middens; Sado shell middens; specific sites and under shell beads practices: archaeology of Paleolithic practices, 6; communities of practice, 6, 258–61; of “culturing the body,” xii, 166, 275, 282, 286; cultural practices, 166, 278; that delimit the self, xvii; magical practices, 166, 192; medical practices, 192, 193; of ornament manufacture, 281–82; of social organization, xvii, 161; symbolic practices, 162–63, 165–66, 278. See also behavior; body decoration/modification Qafzeh Cave (Israel), 165, 212, 247 Qesem Cave (Israel), 239, 242 religion, 4 reproduction, of humans: childbirth, 19, 72, 180, 182, 192; fertility, 178, 181, 191, 210, 252; fundal height, 179f, 180;

pregnancy, 180, 192, 193; sexuality, 16, 161, 165, 166 rituals, 166, 262: body painting and, 163; cognitive development and, 222; funerary rituals, 114; ochre and, 162, 208, 223; pregnancy and, 163 Riwi (Australia) 94, 248 rock art, 134, 138, 164: dots in, 25–26; exotic animal images, 26, 29; lines and, 25; of ostriches/ostrich eggs, 31f. See also cave art rock shelters, 56t, 89, 94. See also specific sites Rose Cottage Cave (South Africa), 51t–52t, 215 Sado shell middens, 111f, 124–25: materials, 116; microscopic analysis, 117; taxonomy, 116–17. See also Muge shell middens and specific sites Salemas (Portugal), 134, 135f, 138, 142t, 146t, 150 San peoples, 9, 22: animals and, 16; colonial period and, 25, 43; hxaro (giftexchange) system, 9–10, 27, 30, 42, 60; of the Kalahari, 29, 43; of the Karoo, 29; n/um, 17, 18; ostrich eggshell beads and, 73; ostriches and, 16–19; rock paintings of, 25–26; shamanism and, 17, 18–19, 25; “things of consequence,” 17; /Xam people, 16, 18. See also Ju/’hoãnsi (!Kung) San people Santa Maira Cave (Spain), 239, 246 scaphopods: Antalis sp. (tusks), 122, 123, 139t, 140t, 141f, 142t, 144t, 146t, 149, 152, 153t; Dentalium sp. (tusks), 249; scaphopods, generally, 94, 116, 153. See also bivalves; gastropods; mollusks Schöningen (Germany), 240, 241–42 sedentism, 6 Sehonghong (Lesotho), 15f, 19, 21, 22, 23, 24, 27, 52t–53t self, xiii: cultural self, xv; identity as concept of, 160 settlement, 10, 114, 124, 150, 154, 279 shamans/shamanism: San people and, 16, 17, 18–19, 25, 262; Sorcerer/Shaman in Les Trois Frères, 133

Index • 301 shell beads, 87, 88, 133, 136: choice of species for, in Portugal, 111, 124, 280; as grave goods, 113, 118, 123, 125; from Gravettian technocomplex, in Portugal, 139t, 147, 148, 149, 152, 153; from Magdalenian technocomplex, in Portugal, 143t, 148, 149, 153t; of marine animal shell, xiii–xiv, 43, 48; of mollusk shell, 70–71, 164, 247–48; ochre and, 46, 54t, 55t, 61, 172, 217–18, 248; pendants, 250, 281; from Proto-Solutrean technocomplex, in Portugal, 140t, 153t; as social signalers, 224; from Solutrean technocomplex, in Portugal, 147, 153t. See also bivalves; gastropods; mollusks; ornaments and under manufacturing shells, of freshwater animals, 49t, 117, 121; of freshwater mussels, 61–62; perforation by humans vs. natural processes, 93, 140, 148–49, 151, 247–48; of riverine animals, 49t, 111, 116, 124; of terrestrial animals, 49t; trade in, 95, 125; unperforated, 133, 139t, 140t, 142t–44t, 146t. See also gastropods; mollusks shells, of marine animals: of estuarine animals, 24, 28, 124, 147, 148; on sites in Africa, 23, 27, 28, 43, 48, 70, 209, 238; on sites in Portugal, 110, 111, 116, 117, 121, 137, 138, 149, 150; source locations vs. finds locations, 23–25, 27–28, 48–49, 61–62, 91, 100–101, 102t, 125, 150, 152, 281; trade in, 95, 125, 150. See also abalone; bivalves; gastropods; mollusks; scaphopods Sibudu Cave (South Africa), 211, 215–17, 218, 219, 239 signs, 165: bundling and, xvi; ochre as signifier, 222; representationalism, xiii Sirgenstein Cave (Germany), 166, 167f, 168, 170t, 171 Soai, 22 sociality, 68, 222, 285 social networks, 88, 149, 151f: communities of practice as, 258–61; faunal artifacts and, 23–24; gastropod shell beads and, 45, 61–62; ochre and, 222, 223; ostrich eggshell beads and, 14–16, 19, 21, 27, 42, 45, 60–61;

personal adornment and, 41, 125, 282; “taskscape” and, 259 social status, 4: the body and, 161; clothing and, 237, 253; ornaments and, 103–4, 125, 191 South Africa, 220: archaeological sites in, generally, 44f, 76t; Barkly East/Maclear, 20t, 21, 22, 28; Caledon Valley, 10, 14t, 20, 21, 23–24; Eastern Cape, 10, 21, 42, 43, 61; grasslands, 11, 24, 30, 43, 58, 61, 62f; KwaZulu-Natal, 10, 14t, 20t, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 61; Maloti-Drakensberg Mountains/region, 10, 11, 13f, 14, 20, 25–26, 30, 50t; Middle Stone Age in, 208–11; ochre, on sites in, 209, 211, 212–13; ostrich eggshell beads and, generally, 11, 71; Thukela Basin, 14t, 20t, 21, 22, 24, 25, 27–28; uKhahlambaDrakensberg Escarpment, 10, 14t, 20t, 22, 24, 25. See also Lesotho; Namibia; and specific sites spatialization, xviii: artifact style and, 70; the distant, xv; social use of space, 209 Star Carr (United Kingdom), 164, 261–62, 263 Strashnaya Cave (Siberia), 247f style: clothing and, 237; as identity marker, generally, 72; of ostrich eggshell beads, 58–59, 69; as social group marker, 69–70, 153–54; stylistic variation, 69–70 Suão (Portugal), 134, 135f, 137, 143t, 145, 146t, 147, 151f subjectivity, xiii, xiv, xvii subsistence, 124, 209, 210: cognition and, 221; cultural ecology and, 261; drivers of change in, 222; gathering, 236; of hunter-gatherers, 9, 10, 27; hunting/ hunters, 236, 255, 258, 260, 261–62, 263, 286; knowledge needed for, 260–61; manuports, 212; “taskscape” and, 256, 259. See also food; ochre Sunghir (Russia), 163, 248 supernatural, the, 16, 19, 30 Swabian Jura: Ach Valley, 166, 167f, 171; Adorant, 182, 183f, 184, 193; Aurignacian technocomplex in, 160, 166–72, 174–87, 189–93, 242; body

302 • Index decoration/modification in, 189–93; female depictions, 177–81, 191–92; figurative art, in general, 176–77; Gravettian technocomplex in, 171, 172–74; Lion Man, 164, 171, 181–82, 183f, 184, 192, 193; lithics, 175, 193; little Lion Man, 164, 182, 183f, 184, 192, 193; Lone Valley, 166, 167f; Magdalenian technocomplex in, 172–74; male/ therianthropic depictions, 181–86, 192; ochre, 167f, 172–76; ornaments/ beads, 168f–71, 175–76, 189, 193, 248; stratigraphy, 171. See also specific sites symbolism, 30, 41, 133, 176, 178, 210, 278: color and, 222; ochre and, 208, 219; ornaments and, 278; social communication and, 280; subsistence and, 260; symbolic artifacts, 167; symbolic behavior, 87, 110, 172; symbolic communication, 191, 210, 217; symbolic materials, 277; symbolic practices, 162–63, 166 taboos/prohibitions, 17 tattooing, 5, 163, 189, 191, 192: archaeological evidence of, 163; tools for, 163 technology, xvi, 208, 260: archaeology of fiber technology, 238–39; multicomponent technologies, 285; Oakhurst-like technocomplex, 58; ochre and innovations in, 218–19, 223; sociality and, 285; style of artifacts and, 132; technologies of the body, xviii; Wilton technocomplex, 58. See also under lithics teeth, 97: beads/ornaments of, 136, 137, 139t, 140, 143t, 144t, 146t, 150, 153, 164, 168, 169f, 262; beads/ornaments of bear teeth, 137, 171; beads/ornaments of cervid teeth, 120, 121, 133, 136, 137, 138, 139t, 140, 141, 142t, 143t, 144t, 145, 146t, 171; beads/ornaments of fish teeth, 118t, 119; beads/ornaments of fox teeth, 171; beads/ornaments of horse teeth, 171; beads/ornaments of hyena teeth, 171; beads/ornaments of marine mammal teeth, 118t, 121, 125; beads/

ornaments of wolf teeth, 171; ochre and, 172 Terra Amata (France), 212 territorialization, xiv, xvii, 149, 151f textiles, 164, 250, 263–64: braiding/ plaiting, 164, 239, 246, 251, 252, 246; dyeing of, 256–58; communities of practice and, 258–62; imprints in clay, 245–46; infant/baby carriers, 73t, 237, 250; knotting, 258; manufacture of, xviii, 243–44, 255; mats, 97, 164, 239, 246; nets, 164, 239, 242, 243, 246; ostrich eggshell beads sewn onto, 248; perishability of, xiv; plain weave, 246; shrouds, 250; “taskscape” and, 259; “textile,” defined, 236; thread, 237, 238, 239, 243–44, 246, 250, 256, 258, 260; twill weave, 246, 260; uses of, 237; weaving/woven materials, 72, 97, 238, 243, 245, 246, 258, 260. See also animals, skins/hides/furs of; clothing; cordage; fiber and under containers; tools thaumatropes, 244–45 Theopetra Cave (Greece), 254 The Queen Charlotte’s Textbook of Obstetrics, 179f therianthropes, 29, 164, 181–86, 188f, 192. See also human; nonhuman Tianyuan 1 (China), 254 time, 180, 182, 184, 193 Tito Bustillo (Spain), 257 tools, 34n2: ash residue on, 242; awls, 100, 164, 239–40, 246; bâton de commandement/bâton percé, 243; battens, 243; of bone, 43, 100, 113, 209, 217, 239–41, 242, 243–47f; for clothing manufacture, 5, 193, 243; grindstones, 172, 212, 214, 217, 219; hackles/combs, 243; for hide/skin processing, 239–42; images on, 245; for incising, 215; leather work punch board, 242; looms, 164, 236, 246, 258; manufacture of, 2, 29, 258, 260; needle cases, 246; needles, 5, 164, 242, 246–47f, 250; for ochre processing, 219; ochre residues on, xix, 34, 162, 217, 218, 219, 255; for ornament manufacture, 121; rondelles,

Index • 303 244–45; scrapers/endscrapers, 218, 239; smoothers/lissoirs, 240–41; spatulas, 241; spindle whorls, 244, 260; spindles, 243; for tattooing, 5, 163; technologies of, 208; weaving/loom sticks, 243. See also lithics trade, 9, 30, 88: in lithics materials, 175; in ochre, 213; in shells, 95, 125, 150. See also gift-exchange system Twin Rivers (Zambia), 211 Üçağızlı Cave (Turkey), 248 Umhlatuzana (South Africa), 20, 22 Upper Paleolithic period, 5, 165, 167, 240, 245, 256: Aurignacian technocomplex, 5, 137, 248; Aurignacian technocomplex in Swabian Jura, 160, 166–72, 174–87, 189–93, 242, 243; Châtelperronian technocomplex, 239; Early Upper Paleolithic, 110, 172, 246; in Europe, 68, 133, 167, 172, 212, 239; Gravettian technocomplex in Europe, 163, 164, 243, 248, 250, 252, 254, 257; Gravettian technocomplex in Portugal, 133, 134, 136, 137, 138, 139t, 141, 144t, 147, 148, 149, 152, 153; Gravettian technocomplex in Swabian Jura, 171, 172–74; Initial Upper Paleolithic, 240, 248; Magdalenian technocomplex, 133, 136, 137, 138, 143t, 144t, 145, 147, 148, 149, 153t, 163, 243, 252, 254, 257; Magdalenian technocomplex in Swabian Jura, 172–74; Proto-Solutrean technocomplex in Portugal, 134, 136, 137, 138, 140t, 141, 144t, 153t; Solutrean technocomplex in France, 243; Solutrean technocomplex in Portugal, 133, 136, 137, 138, 142t, 144t, 147, 153t; in southwestern Europe, 111, 125, 134–54. See also Paleolithic period use-wear, 5, 121: of figurines, 172; lack of, 95, 280; of ochre artifacts, 173, 214,

215f; of ornaments, generally, 74; of ostrich eggshell, 69, 71–72; of ostrich eggshell beads, 74–80; of shell beads, 119, 120, 218, 248, 249f; of tools, 241, 242, 243, 255 Vale Boi (Portugal), 134, 135f, 151f: beads/ shells at, 139t, 140t, 141f, 142t, 143t, 145, 146t, 148, 149, 152, 153t; site description, 138; unperforated shells at, 147, 148 Vale das Romeiras (Portugal), 114, 115 value, xv, xviii, 30, 32, 259: regimes/ systems of, xiv, 161; social value, 9; subsistence value, 242, 281 Varzea da Mo (Portugal), 114 Vogelherd Cave (Germany), 166, 167f, 185f: figurines found at, 171–72, 183f, 184, 186, 187f; ochre and, 173f, 176; ornaments found at, 168, 169f, 170t, 176; weaving tools found at, 243 Willendorf (Austria), 133, 251 women, 16, 19: in communities of practice, 258–61; fiber arts and, 252, 258–59; figurative representations of, 172, 177–81, 182, 188f, 191, 193, 251–53f; gender, representations of, 192; genitals of, representations of, 177–78, 180, 192; as hunters, 258; and personal adornment, 72–73, 95; as tool makers, 258 Wonderwerk Cave (South Africa), 76t, 77, 78f, 79, 211, 215 Xhosa people, 220 Xiaogushan (China), 247f Zaraisk (Russia), 245 Zhoukoudian Upper Cave (China), 247f Zulu people, 220