Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology at Oxford Conference 2020 9781407359915, 9781407359922

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‘Most of the papers collected here represent relevant theoretical developments, with case studies drawn from around the globe. This should have an international readership.’ Dr Anna Collar, University of Southampton

The volume brings together the innovative contributions presented at the Graduate Archaeology at Oxford 2020 conference ‘Innovative Approaches to Archaeology’. Rather than organising contributions by traditional archaeological sub-disciplines, this book groups them for their innovative theoretical and methodological approaches: Investigating materiality and material interactions, archaeologies of colonial encounters, and ancient landscapes and matters of scaling. The papers collated within these three sections present the reader with an idea of the current interests of archaeological postgraduate students, and a window into their future contributions to the field.

Marcella Giobbe is a DPhil candidate in Classical Archaeology at the University of Oxford (University College), Clarendon Scholar, and holder of the MacmillanRodewald studentship at the British Archaeological School at Athens. Her research interests focus on the use of science-based analytical techniques on ceramics to identify dynamics of human mobility, transmission of technology, and culture contact in the Mediterranean during the 1st millennium BC. Her doctoral project investigates the first instances of the Greek Colonisation in Southern Italy.

Innovative Approaches to Archaeology Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology at Oxford Conference 2020 EDITED BY

EMANUELE PREZIOSO AND MARCELLA GIOBBE

B A R I N T E R NAT I O NA L S E R I E S 3 0 9 5

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Emanuele Prezioso is a DPhil candidate in Archaeology at Keble College (University of Oxford) and Gerda-Henkel Stiftung Doctoral Scholar. His primary interest lies at the intersection between material culture and memory studies. His other research interests include cognitive anthropology, the anthropology of art, philosophy of mind, and trauma studies. His doctoral research reinvestigates the Knossian Kamares pottery style as a form of transgenerational memory from an ecological-enactive and material-engagement approach to cognition.

BAR  S3095  2022   PREZIOSO & GIOBBE (Eds)    Innovative Approaches to Archaeology

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Contributors: Sara Barbazán Domínguez, Giuseppe Delia, Justine Diemke, Jonathan S. Lim, Gonzalo J. Linares Matás, Hugo Lozano Hermida, Paul Louis March, Molly Masterson, Ioannis Nakas, Ivy Notterpek, Catherine O’Brien, Günce Pelin Öçgüden, Stefano Ruzza, Elena Scarsella, Frédéric Vallée-Tourangeau

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Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

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Innovative Approaches to Archaeology Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology at Oxford Conference 2020 EDITED BY

EMANUELE PREZIOSO AND MARCELLA GIOBBE

B A R I N T E R NAT I O NA L S E R I E S 3 0 9 5

2022

Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Published in 2022 by BAR Publishing, Oxford, UK BAR International Series 3095 Innovative Approaches to Archaeology ISBN  978 14073 5991 5 paperback ISBN  978 14073 5992 2 e-format doi  https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library © the editors and contributors severally 2022 Cover image  © John Mark Leach and Rachel Smith Leach. The Authors’ moral rights under the 1988 UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act are hereby expressly asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be copied, reproduced, stored, sold, distributed, scanned, saved in any form of digital format or transmitted in any form digitally, without the written permission of the Publisher. Links to third party websites are provided by BAR Publishing in good faith and for information only. BAR Publishing disclaims any responsibility for the materials contained in any third-party website referenced in this work.

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Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Of Related Interest Ships, Boats, Ports, Trade, and War in the Mediterranean and Beyond Proceedings of the Maritime Archaeology Graduate Symposium 2018 Edited by Naseem Raad and Carlos Cabrera Tejedor BAR International Series 2961 | 2020 Culturas en contacto: conflicto, asimilación e intercambio Proceedings of the Third Postgraduate Conference in Studies of Antiquity and Middle Ages, Autonomous University of Barcelona, 23–25th November 2016 Edited by Núria Pacheco Catalán, Ignacio Díaz Sierra, Marina Fernández Monterrubio, Isaac Lampurlanés Farré, Ariadna Martínez Guimerà, Marc Mendoza Sanahuja, Manel Pica Torné, Montserrat Rovira Rafecas and David Vázquez Ruiz BAR International Series 2887 | 2018 Archaeological Approaches to Breaking Boundaries: Interaction, Integration and Division Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology at Oxford Conferences 2015–2016 Edited by Rebecca O’Sullivan, Christina Marini and Julia Binnberg BAR International Series 2869 | 2017 Mobility, Transition and Change in Prehistory and Classical Antiquity Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology Organisation Conference on the Fourth and Fifth of April 2008 at Hertford College, Oxford, UK Edited by Paul R Preston, assistant editor Katia Schörle BAR International Series 2534 | 2013 Tough Times: The Archaeology of Crisis and Recovery Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology at Oxford conferences in 2010 and 2011 Edited by Elsbeth M. van der Wilt and Javier Martínez Jiménez with help from Guido Petruccioli BAR International Series 2478 | 2013 The Aegean and its Cultures Proceedings of the first Oxford-Athens graduate student workshop organized by the Greek Society and the University of Oxford Taylor Institution, 22–23 April 2005 Edited by Georgios Deligiannakis and Yannis Galanakis BAR International Series 1975 | 2009 SOMA 2001 - Symposium on Mediterranean Archaeology Proceedings of the Fifth Annual Meeting of Postgraduate Researchers, The University of Liverpool, 23–25 February 2001 Edited by Georgina Muskett, Aikaterini Koltsida and Mercourios Georgiadis BAR International Series 1040 | 2002

For more information, or to purchase these titles, please visit www.barpublishing.com iii Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Acknowledgments The Graduate Archaeology at Oxford (GAO) conference 2020, Innovative Approaches to Archaeology, was generously funded by the School of Archaeology (University of Oxford) through the Meyerstein Grant. The editors are also indebted to the Oxford Centre for Maritime Archaeology (OCMA) for the funding and support arranged. Initially scheduled for March (23–25) 2020, the GAO conference 2020 was moved to January (13–15) 2021, as the UK went into its first lockdown on March 23. We are thankful to all those who supported us regardless of the circumstances caused by the COVID-19 pandemic. Specifically to the keynote speakers, Prof Chris Gosden, Prof Andrew Meirion Jones, and Dr Damian Robinson, for their works and enthusiasm have inspired Innovative Approaches to Archaeology. But the conference would have never happened without the support of the GAO committee 2020 and 2021’s presidents, Dr Gian Piero Carlo Milani and Gonzalo Linarés Matas. We are very much indebted for their support and advice. We conclude by acknowledging the hard work made by the BAR Publishing staff in making this volume, as well as that of the many anonymous reviewers that volunteered their time and expertise. One last thought goes to all those friends and colleagues who have lost loved ones during those challenging times.

v Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Contents Introduction to Innovative Approaches to Archaeology................................................................................................. 1 Emanuele Prezioso and Marcella Giobbe Part 1  Investigating Materiality and Material Interactions.......................................................................................... 3 1. Cognition as Choreography: The Relationship between Eye Movements and the Morphology of a Jōmon Flame-Style Pot.............................................................................................................................................................. 5 Paul Louis March and Frédéric Vallée-Tourangeau 2. Materiality and the Mind: The Impact of Object Handling Sessions on the Wellbeing of Young Adults........... 17 Catherine O’Brien 3. The Materiality of Perforated Human Teeth and Ivory Skeuomorphs in the European Upper Palaeolithic..... 29 Ivy Notterpek 4. Constructing ‘Plantiness’ in Iron Age Wessex........................................................................................................... 45 Molly Masterson 5. The Iconography of Linen Body Armour in Greek Vase Paintings: An Attempt to Reconstruct a Linothorax....................................................................................................................................... 57 Justine Diemke Part 2  The Archaeologies of Colonial Encounters........................................................................................................ 67 6. Women’s Ship Graffiti in Ayşe Kadın Mosque, Mordoğan, İzmir.......................................................................... 69 Günce Pelin Öçgüden 7. The Process of Cultural Exchange in the Northwest of the Iberian Peninsula in Roman Age: The Study of Pottery Collections in the Lugo Area (Galicia, Spain)......................................................................................... 81 Sara Barbazán Domínguez and Hugo Lozano Hermida Part 3  Ancient Landscapes and Matters of Scaling...................................................................................................... 93 8.     Using Open Spatial Data to Investigate the Importance of Salmon Streams in the Indigenous Cultural Landscapes of Southwest Alaska����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 95 Jonathan S. Lim and Gonzalo J. Linares Matás 9. In the Shadow of the Mountain: The Funerary Landscape of Pre-Roman Abruzzi (Italy)���������������������������� 109 Elena Scarsella 10. Hollow Lakedaimon as Times Goes By: Rise and Fall of the Eurotas Valley in the Mycenaean Age...............119 Stefano Ruzza 11. Through the Eyes of the Mariners: A New Approach to the Understanding of Hellenistic and Roman Harbours of the Mediterranean............................................................................................................................. 129 Ioannis Nakas 12. “Hic sunt… canes”. Cynocephali at the end of the world: The Ancient Greeks’ relationship with the border of civilisation in relation to Egypt and India............................................................................. 147 Giuseppe Delia

vii Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Introduction to Innovative Approaches to Archaeology Emanuele Prezioso1 and Marcella Giobbe2 University of Oxford, United Kingdom https://orcid.org/0000-0002-9823-1522 2 University of Oxford, United Kingdom https://orcid.org/0000-0002-5356-5852 1

The major purpose of this volume is not that of supporting any specific archaeological scholarship or sub-discipline (e.g., prehistoric, Aegean). Nor it emphasises one strand of archaeological thinking over another. For us, the importance was not merely that of portraying innovative approaches ascribed to one or more of the various strands of thinking in archaeology  (e.g., cognitive, post-processual, postcolonial). As we highlight below, with its diversity in contributions this volume strives to present the increasing significance that our discipline plays in continually challenging theories, methods, and frameworks within and beyond archaeology. This volume is an attempt to avoid considering archaeology “a series of divergent and self-referencing regional schools with cumulatively self-reinforcing, archaeological education systems and with regionally esteemed bodies of archaeological theory” (Clarke 1973, 7). The papers that follow this introduction challenge the self-referencing and self-reinforcing boundaries produced in decades of studies in our discipline. They provide a cross-historical and geographical approach to discussions on archaeology disentangled by specific historical or geographical clusters. Therefore, the volume emphasises the potential that archaeology has of understanding its peculiar dataset and produce innovative approaches: modes of thinking with and about the variety of material things and ecofacts (i.e., animal bones, seeds) from the (near) past. In line with the above, the aim of the GAO 2020 conference for the scholars involved was twofold. First, questioning the fictional barriers between archaeologies. Second, showing how archaeology is innovative, porous, and capable of developing fully fledged approaches to answering new and old research questions. Essentially, the conference aimed to transform archaeologists from “observant participator(s)” to active agents that analyse the material world  without imposing physical or conceptual “b/orders” (Hicks and Mallet 2019, 85). With such commitment to de-localise the territories of our discipline, the three-days conference resulted in a great variety of contributions, not all of which made it into this volume. The papers focus on re-examining artefacts, interpreting past practices through experimental archaeology, bridging past and present of places and museum collections, and exploring new paradigms in maritime archaeology. Some of these concentrated more

on developing new ways of thinking human and nonhuman relationships, playing with the archaeological scales of analysis and landscapes, and challenging established views on issues of cognition seemingly outside the scopes of archaeology. This wide variety of approaches presented at the conference encouraged the preparation of these proceedings. Volume Organisation This volume contains the proceedings of the GAO 2020 arranged into three thematic sessions that emerged as the most significative during the conference and in the following debates. These sections are devoted to specific methodological and theoretical approaches instead of emphasising sub-disciplines, archaeological periods, or geographical areas. Albeit several papers would have fit in different sections, it was decided to reflect the core themes sought for the conference. The first section is titled Investigating Materiality and Material Interactions. The first five articles engage with less anthropocentric perspectives on material culture. Three of these contributions develop on Material Engagement Theory (MET; Malafouris 2013, 2019) and Process archaeology (Gosden and Malafouris 2015). Paul March and Frédéric Vallée-Tourangeau’s paper present an experimental study that explores the multi-sensorial capacities that a jōmon flame-style pot exerts on contemporary people when following with the eyes its complex morphology. The article by Catherine O’Brien challenges the meaning of ‘wellbeing’ via the observation of students’ bodily interactions with museum objects. Ivy Notterpek entwines the concept of material perspectivism  with MET and semiotic theory, thereby addressing the very meaning of notions of agency, personhood, and materiality in the European Upper Palaeolithic. Molly Masterson explores plant-human relationships to understand how plants influence and were influenced by humans over time. Justine Diemke closes this section by presenting a novel perspective on the Greek lynothorax; one that brings visual and literary sources together in the experimental (re) making of this armour type. The two articles in the second section, The Archaeologies of Colonial Encounters, contribute with different

1 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Emanuele Prezioso and Marcella Giobbe approaches to studying the cultural dynamics that shape the worldwide phenomenon of colonialism (Gosden 2004; Dietler 2010;  Stein 2005; Van Dommelen 2012). The study of morphological and technological characteristics of making traditions in the past is central in shedding light on debates about cultural interaction and exchange, as Sara Barbazán Domínguez and Hugo Lozano Hermida show with their study of early Roman Imperial pottery productions in Galicia (Spain). The second paper of this section, by Günce Pelin Öçgüden, suggests an innovative analytical methodology to interpret the how and why behind the presence of a group of 18th century ship graffiti found in the women’s section of the İzmir mosque (Turkey). The third section on  Ancient Landscapes and Matters of Scaling brings together two sessions, which partially overlapped during online discussions: new approaches to study landscapes and analyses on multiple geographical scales of human-nonhuman interaction. Thus, the articles included here consider the relationship between geographical space, chronological time, and the implications of interactions among things and people in different environments. The article by Jonathan Lim and Gonzalo Linares Matás illustrates how landscape, natural resources, cultural beliefs are all important factors that can inform the study of past and present communities. With an investigation on the relationship between landscape and funerary areas during the Iron Age (9th – 5th century BC), Elena Scarsella brings us to Abruzzo (Italy) to shed light on the temporal and spatial dynamics that brought to the emergence of a Central-Italian koinè. Stefano Ruzza’s innovative contribution engages with both the agency of the physical environment and settlement patterns, thereby offering a new narrative of the geopolitical changes occurred in the late 12th century BC in Bronze Age Laconia (Greece). Ioannis Nakas examines the relationship between ancient Mediterranean harbours with ship traffic by adopting a novel methodology that brings together an ethnography of marine practices centred with the direct observation of contemporary ships and harbours. In exploring the Greeks’ ideas of unknown lands populated by half-men and half-dog creatures, kings, and saints, the last contribution of this volume by Giuseppe Delia shows that not all landscape studies need contemporary mathematical maps.

Gosden, Chris and Lambros Malafouris. 2015. “Process archaeology (P-Arch).” World Archaeology 47 (5): 701–717. Hicks, Dan and Sarah Mallet. 2019. Lande: the Calais ‘Jungle’ and Beyond. Bristol: Policy Press. Malafouris, Lambros. 2013. How Things Shape the Mind: A Theory of Material Engagement. Cambridge, M.A.: MIT Press. Malafouris, Lambros. 2019. “Mind and material engagement.” Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences 18 (1): 1–17. Stein, Gil. 2005. The Archaeology of Colonial Encounters: Comparative Perspectives (School of American Research Advanced Seminar Series). Santa Fe; Oxford: School of American Research Press. Van Dommelen, Peter. 2012. “Colonialism and Migration in the Ancient Mediterranean.” Annual Review of Anthropology 41, no. 1: 393–409.

References Clarke, David. 1973. “Archaeology: The loss of innocence.” Antiquity 47 (185): 6–18. Dietler, Michael. 2010.  Archaeologies of Colonialism: Consumption, Entanglement, and Violence in Ancient Mediterranean France. Berkeley, C.A.; London: University of California Press. Gosden, Chris. 2004.  Archaeology and Colonialism: Cultural Contact From 5000 BC to the Present. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

2 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Part 1 Investigating Materiality and Material Interactions

3 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

1 Cognition as Choreography: The Relationship between Eye Movements and the Morphology of a Jōmon Flame-Style Pot Paul Louis March1 and Frédéric Vallée-Tourangeau2 University of Oxford, United Kingdom https://orcid.org/0000-0002-1521-6002 2 Kingston University, United Kingdom https://orcid.org/0000-0002-9554-5294

1

Abstract: We report the results of an experimental study into the relationship between contemporary eye movements and the morphology of a jōmon flame-style pot. Using Material Engagement Theory (Malafouris 2013) and results from a previous phenomenological study (March 2020, 2022) we made three predictions concerning  the pattern of body movement and eye gaze. Eight artists and 16 non-artists were invited to examine a jōmon flame pot in a museum while wearing Tobii 2 glasses to follow their movements. When the gaze and movement data were analysed, while both groups differed significantly on aesthetic measures taken before they saw the pot, this difference disappeared when their aesthetic reaction and the eye-tracking data were assessed. This preliminary investigation of mobile eye-tracking with a prehistoric artefact provides evidence that the morphology of the vase choreographed viewing patterns in a consistent way across these two groups.

1.1. A Brief Prehistory of Jōmon Flame Pots The word “jōmon”, “cord pattern” in Japanese, refers to the hallmark repetitive cord imprint on the sides of baked, clay vessels found across Japan and has subsequently come to refer metonymically to the culture that produced them. These ceramic artefacts and their stylistic evolution date the beginning of the jōmon period to at least 14,000 years ago and indicate the cultural continuity of a complex forager society that approached its end fewer than 3,000 years ago when the Yayoi culture arrived from the mainland, introducing rice farming and a much more restrained ceramic tradition (see Habu 2004; Kendrick 1995; Kidder and Esaka1968; Kobayashi 2004; Steinhaus and Kaner 2016; for more detailed accounts of jōmon culture). The morphological development of pottery defines six main stages to jōmon cultural evolution: (i) Incipient, (ii) Initial, (iii) Early, (iv) Middle, (v) Late, and (vi) Final stage. Fire flame pottery (Kaen doki) (see Figure 1.1) appears towards the end of the middle stage (about 3500–5000 years ago). Finds were initially concentrated in the Echigo region of Japan (Nigatta Prefecture) but as further discoveries spread along the Shinano valley and beyond, becoming more stylistically heterogeneous, the appellation broadened

to kaen-gata doki1 (Ghobadi 2015). Nevertheless, shielded from the influences of pottery styles from surrounding regions, the relative isolation of the Echigo region enabled a unique and enigmatic style (shinbo ninzaki) to develop a style that Kobayashi (2004) separates into three chronological periods, with flame-type pots as the final, exuberant apogee. Flame-style pots themselves are further sub-divided into four groups by construction method and visual appearance. Ghobadi (2015) and Pearson (2007) provide additional contextual evidence to suggest that different styles may also have followed different patterns of usage and disposal. Those pots exhibiting the iconic flame, rim projections (Figure 1.1) are contained within group A. In this paper, we concentrate on an example of a group B pot (Figure 1.2) whose rim projections are generally less flamboyant (our choice of pot was determined by the need for participants in the study to have 360º viewing access in its habitual position). Neither group A nor B pots exhibit cord imprint. Instead, the base panels are decorated with vertically oriented bamboo tool incisions containing embedded, incised spiral motifs. All Flame-style pots were constructed using the coiling method: sides of a pot are built up by spiralling a cylindrical coil of clay onto itself in a circular motion. The pots are not art as we conventionally understand it:2 Lipid analysis suggests they were used to cook aquatic Translation: fire-flame type pottery. Describing archaeological artefacts as “art” is controversial, see Robb (2017). Without re-visiting the debate here, two specific issues are 1 

Author Note: Address correspondence to Paul March, Keble College, University of Oxford, Oxford, OX1 3PG.

2 

5 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Paul Louis March and Frédéric Vallée-Tourangeau animals (Lucquin et al. 2016, 2018) and their burial context suggests their use in the preparation of feasts (Pearson 2007). While the word “flame” refers to the extrusions that extend from the rim, and although scorchmarked sides clearly indicate their use in hearths, we have no way of knowing whether flame pot morphology was intended to evoke fire. Although some have taken a symbolic approach to jōmon pot motifs (Oh 2006; Naumann 2000), as the above summary suggests, flame pot scholarship has tended to avoid interpretative approaches in favour of a detailed typological methodology, beginning in the 1930s with the work of Yamanochi who set out to create a typological, relational network of jōmon pottery in order to reveal the detailed, shared and evolving mental template of the jōmon potproducing community. Kobayashi has significantly developed this approach over his career. For example, he uses the typology of incipient jōmon pots to draw attention to the skeuomorphic relationship between their form and those of wooden containers and woven baskets (Kobayashi 2004). He also points out that the motifs on such pots lend themselves more easily to reproduction in wood or basket work than in clay. Figure 1.1. Flame pot (group A), 5000 BP. Earthenware, excavated from the Iwanohara Site, Nagaoka City, Niigata Prefecture, Japan. From the British Museum (on loan from the Nagaoka City Board of Education). Copyright by Paul L. March.

“While these objects may not have helped much with the technological developments needed for pottery making, they provided convenient models for shape ... The potters had images of these objects in their heads as they started to make pots, and for this reason the incipient Jōmon can be described as the ‘image stage’ in the history of the development of Jōmon pottery”. (Kobayashi 2004, 34–5) He goes onto suggest that early-stage pottery developed from the incipient stage by taking on forms and motifs that were more consistent with the plastic possibilities of clay. So, although Kobayashi argues that jōmon pots developed into vehicles for sharing “meaningful concepts [which] existed prior to the designs” (p. 45), implicit in his description is an acknowledgement first, that preexisting objects served as “external representations” (Kirsh 2017) and second, that the material qualities of clay played a fundamental role in jōmon pot evolution. These observations will be relevant when we come onto Material Engagement Theory.

Figure 1.2. Flame-style deep bowl (group B), Middle jōmon period (2500-1500 BC). Earthenware, Japan. From the Robert and Lisa Sainsbury Collection. Copyright by Paul L. March. relevant. First, Robb points out that much of ancient “art” was made to be used and not just viewed. Second, he proposes that things that we call “art” in the west maybe usefully be considered as a subclass of a more inclusive category of “powerful objects”. Likewise, Wells (2017)

For Kobayashi, the ability of jōmon vessels to convey meaningful concepts became prominent during the middle jōmon period; arguing that the evolution of early to middle jōmon stage was characterised by a change in function from vessel as container to vessel as vehicle for the representation of shared community concepts. “The establishment of these narrative patterns indicates that Jōmon potters had moved from just holding replaces “art” with the more generic term “visually complex objects” which he derives from the work of Gibson (1979) on direct perception and Gell’s (1998) notion of the enchanting agency of certain artefacts.

6 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Cognition as Choreography mental images of the object they wanted to create in their heads, to having particular concepts in mind, which they wanted to express through combinations of symbols, which carried meanings that would have been understood by other people in their community. In other words, by this stage, meaningful concepts existed prior to the designs used to express them, and these concepts were given a reality in the Jōmon world through appearing on Jōmon pots.” (Kobayashi 2004, 45). Kobayashi’s analysis and the symbolic approach of Oh and Naumann assume that jōmon pot morphology contains a narrative that, if only it could be decoded, would shed light on the mind of the maker and her community.3 This conceptual model is predicated on an ontological position called “hylomorphism” (Ingold 2010) dating back to Aristotle. According to this position, the form something takes can be abstracted from the matter from which it is made. Hylomorphism has important implications for how we understand the process of conceptualization. It provides the framework for a view of cognition as the exclusive and unilateral product of cortical activity that occurs through the manipulation of internal representations; jōmon people had thoughts in their heads which they subsequently expressed by modelling motifs on their pots and these motifs therefore replicate and represent those thoughts. This view is widely accepted within cognitive science (e.g., Boden 2004; and see David et al. 2004 for an introduction) but as Kobayashi’s description of the early evolutionary stages of jōmon pottery suggests, the process of cognition may be better understood by considering the real-world to be an integral part of the process of conceptualization. In the next section we introduce a model that collapses the separation between mind and material change. 1.2. Material Engagement Theory Material Engagement Theory (MET) proposes an ecological model of the mind that encourages a shift away from the search for meaning in the inscrutable shape of its motifs and towards the sensorimotor relationship facilitated by the physical presence of a pot. MET was advanced by Renfrew (2004) and Malafouris (2004), not within the conceptual or laboratory space of psychology but in relation to the material culture of archaeology. MET has since been considerably developed by Malafouris, (e.g., 2013, 2014, 2015, 2018). Below we briefly summarise the three main principles as they relate to reconfiguring a new perspective of a flame pot: The extended mind, material agency, and enactive signification. We take each in turn. The Extended Mind. as initially put forward by Clark and Chalmers (1998) proposed that cognition routinely took place by manipulating entities in the environment and that, by co-opting these objects, the mind extended into the world. There is a crucial distinction to be made between this version and that proposed by MET. Clark and Chalmers maintained that the brain remained the cognitive 3 

Evidence suggests that jōmon potters were women (Kobayashi 2004).

hub, extending outward when it was propitious to do so. In Malafouris’s version, the mind is not so much a place but a process; suggesting that cognition does not reach out into the world but is brought into existence through the interaction between humans and elements in the environment. This sets the stage for a performative analysis of pot-person interaction during which we concentrate, not on the tantalizing but chimeric hints that a pot might give about the mental structure of its makers, but on how pot and contemporary humans interact. Material Agency. The above reformulation of the extended mind holds important implications for agency. In the Clark and Chalmers version, the decision to extend cognition beyond the boundaries of the brain remains a decision for the brain. The ontological basis of the MET version has much more in common with Heidegger’s (1927) notion of Dasein in which the locus of mental activity is in the world, in relation to the world and part of the world. The individual human agent disappears to be replaced by the notion of agency as an emergent property of a transient system of activity, embedded and informed by the culturalhistorical context and the material at hand. A flame pot is a vestige of that activity – a record of a cognitive process in which the plastic materiality of clay played an agential role during the pot’s creation before going onto constrain and facilitate its own lifecycle. Malafouris (2013) refers to the mechanism by which this takes place as ‘enactive signification’. Enactive Signification. As we have seen, the surface structure of flame pots is normally broken down into individual motifs and treated as symbols that are thought to stand in or represent concepts that exist independently of a specific material manifestation. The arrangement of motifs is viewed in narrative terms, with each concept being assigned a linguistic meaning. In contrast, the systemic formulation of mind and agency we have outlined enables a radically different way of understanding how something comes to make sense. If the act of cognition takes place by and through the manipulation of material then, by coming into existence, the emerging structure is an act of signification. Meaning is expressed and experienced as behavioural-material intercalation rather than abstractconceptual imagination. Instead of portraying a pot as a reflection of the maker’s internal mental representations and therefore as a key to unlocking them, enactive signification collapses the separation between signifier and signified, emphasizing the process of making itself; focusing attention on how a pot creates a non-linguistic meaning that is performed by and through the actions that occur in relation to its creation and use. The goal is not to reveal some deeper symbolism but to locate signification in the gestures encouraged by the presence of the pot. By their nature, enactive signs are therefore difficult, if not impossible, to translate into words and so they do not lend themselves easily to scholarship. What follows is therefore not an attempt to describe the meaning behind enaction but a prediction of how a pot’s

7 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Paul Louis March and Frédéric Vallée-Tourangeau structure might organize behaviour: a prediction that can then be tested thanks to the technology of mobile eyetracking. 1.3. Flame Pot Construction As mentioned, a flame pot was constructed using the coiling method - rolling clay into cylindrical lengths and building up the vessel walls by spiralling these over each other. This coiling gesture determines a circular symmetry which is expressed in the ubiquitous conical base. As the walls rise, the visible, horizontal stratification left by the coils is progressively effaced and replaced by vertical embossed lines that encourage the gaze upwards, past proto-spiral forms that foreshadow the asymmetry produced by the sculpted spirals at the rim of the pot (see Figures 1 and 2). In this way, the presence of the spiral protrusions that undermine symmetry also simultaneously and paradoxically refer to the act of coiling - the method that created the symmetry in the first place. Seen thus, the construction process performs a semiotic transformation. In the first stage, the stratified lines left by the coils are indexically linked to the latter. These traces of construction are then effaced and replaced by vertical pathways that lead upwards towards an iconic sign of the production technique; iconic because the sculpted spirals are not caused by the coiling method but make reference to it. The vertically organized surface pattern of the base contrasts with the spiralling motifs extending from a horizontally organized upper rim. We therefore suggest that, in partnership with the viewer, the pot’s morphology simultaneously develops and deconstructs the symmetry of the production method, encouraging a dynamic, experiential re-enactment of the process of making. By re-working the surface structure of the vase, the act of construction is transformed from being an event that is fixed in the past to one that is brought into the present, sensorial experience of the viewer. We therefore predict that the unique morphology of a flame pot will constrain the way a viewer looks at it, such that different viewers will show similar patterns of eye movement. Tinio (2013) also suggests that the process of viewing recapitulates the process of making but his argument is based on a model in which that artist moves from initial (internal) conception to construction to final adjustments. The viewer reverses the direction, recognizing first the final touches, second evoking semantic inferences, and third seeking to understand the artistic intention. In contrast to Tinio, the MET approach suggests that intention and action, signification and creation are collapsed. Recent, neuro-scientific research, inspired by Gallese’s “embodied simulation theory” (see Williams, Mcsorley, and Mccloy [2020] for a recent review) seeks to demonstrate the existence of a shared aesthetic sensibility between artist and viewer which is mediated by the visual artistic gestures (e.g., brush strokes or sculpted marks) in an artwork. It is important to note that we are not arguing here for a simple “bottom-up” processing of the pot which highlights visually salient points. Rather, we suggest that

the relationship between the viewer and the pot is an act of enactive signification in which meaning is extracted not through abstracted, semantic inference but by engaging with material form. 1.4. Eye-tracking Eye-tracking involves the tracking of corneal reflections to monitor gaze patterns and, by inference, attention and underlying cognitive processes (Eckstein et al. Bunge 2017). The premise is that attention and gaze are linked, with gaze paths serving as a “window on mind and brain” (Dowiasch et al. 2019, 1) However, the relationship between gaze path and attention is not clear-cut and should not be assumed (Orquin and Holmqvist 2018). Part of the danger of eye tracking is that it encourages an automatic mind-eye inference– i.e., a longer fixation indicates deeper cognitive processing – but this is not a valid interpretation of the data. “There is indeed a relationship between thinking and looking but this relationship must be proved rather than just assumed because of its many caveats and exceptions” (Orquin and Holmqvist 2018, 7). It is also unclear whether eye movements reflect externally or internally directed processing. While there is some evidence that internally focused and externally focused cognition have different eye patterns, the results from empirical studies are complex and contradictory. Indeed, Reichle et al. (2010) found that rather than being associated with deeper processing, longer fixations were associated with off topic mind-wandering. But in this study, we nimbly sidestep this controversy. We do not seek to use eye tracking to reveal the structure of an inner mind, our interest lies in the opposite direction; in whether there is a predictable relationship between eye movements and a thing-in-the-world. For this, we need only a route-map showing “where the eye touches the clay” (Malafouris 2019, personal communication). In sum, we are interested in whether there is a predictable relationship between movement and morphology. Until recently technological limitations restricted eye-tracking research to the lab-based analysis of two-dimensional images. Published research using eye-tracking in experimental archaeology is therefore exclusively lab-based. Lab work allows large sample sizes of both participants and artefacts and facilitates automated quantitative analysis (see for example Criado-Boado et al. 2019). The research reported here has only been possible in the last few years, with the development of lightweight, portable eye-tracking equipment capable of being quickly and reliably calibrated for three-dimensional stimuli, with no calibration slippages (Niehorster et al. 2019). While the sampling rate of mobile equipment is lower than that of static trackers it is accurate enough for the study we are presenting (Dowiasch, Wolf, and Bremmer 2019). The use of mobile technology allows us to explore the relationship between gaze and aesthetic appreciation not with an image of an artefact but with the artifact itself; a development that is vital to an understanding of enactive as opposed to semantic signification. It is

8 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Cognition as Choreography important to note that mobile eye tracking does not resolve all methodological problems. Although its use can lead to freer engagement with an artefact and allows us to move away from presenting artefacts on a screen, the engagement remains structured by the context, as we discuss later. In addition, engagement with an artwork is likely to be informed by training and expertise: Eye tracking fixation patterns predict differences between expert and novice (Antes and Kristjanson 1991; Vogt and Magnussen 2007). The central thesis is that an expert’s pre-existing cognitive plan directs their eye movements and allows for more efficient processing of the salient features of the stimulus - although the mechanism is still under debate (Gegenfurtner, Lehtinen, and Säljö 2011; Pihko et al. 2011). It is therefore plausible that artists and non-artists react differently to the pot reflecting different levels of expertise, with artists’ eye movements displaying a greater level of engagement with its construction. As we outlined above, this higher level of engagement may be mediated by a sensorimotor appreciation of indexical signs (see also Massaro et al. 2012). 1.5. The Current Study Our study displays several novel features. First, unconstrained by laboratory conditions, mobile eyetracking allows participants to freely interact with a real artefact rather than with an image of a replica of the original (such as reported in Criado-Boado et al. 2019). Given the likely phenomenological gulf that separates viewing a thing from viewing an image of a replica-thing (Danto 1981), this has significant implications for the study of contemporary viewers. And it is worth adding that the original makers and users of many archaeological artefacts would never have seen an image of one and, aside from the decoration found on the pots themselves, would have had very little experience of 2D to 3D visual processing. Second, a flame pot is a structurally unique artefact. Recording gaze-patterns of a static image of a flame pot would fail to draw out the embodied response that we are predicting. Documented reactions to flame pots from Okamoto (1953) to March (2020, 2022) talk of the viewer’s desire to move: “…one experiences a strange shock from the unbelievably radical asymmetry […] the viewer begins to feel the urge to view it while circling all the way around the vessel.” (Okamoto 1953, 54–55) While not revealing anything directly about the experience of the original makers, studying the relationship between the body and eye movements of contemporary viewers can tell us whether a flame pot has the capacity to choreograph human behaviour and perhaps, by asking questions about what a flame pot does to people rather than what it means, brings us closer to its role in jōmon society. As mentioned above, evidence suggests that pots were used for cooking and feast preparation (Lucquin et al. 2016, 2018; Pearson

2007) whereas there is nothing to suggest that they acted as vehicles for symbolic content. The current study aimed to test the following hypotheses drawn from research by the first author (March 2020, 2022): • Direction of Gaze. Although the coiling pattern on the surface of the pot can be traced either clockwise or anti-clockwise, the sculptural form of the pot and overall organisation of spirals and linking lines on its surface suggest that there will be more eye movements showing a clockwise pattern. • Direction of Movement. The clockwise organisation of the pot and its surface will result in more participants moving around it in a clockwise direction. That is, direction of eye movements and body movements will be mutually reinforcing. • Prior Experience. Trained artists with more experience of engaging with visual material will be more sensitive to a pot’s structure and will therefore show a higher proportion of clockwise eye and body movements than non-artists. 1.5.1. Method The flame pot used for the study is in the permanent collection of the Sainsbury Centre for Visual Art, Norwich, UK (Figure 1.2). Participants viewed it in its normal location in the collection, on a grey plinth with a glass protective case. There is sufficient space around the pot to allow 360-degree access. Eye-tracking was conducted with Tobii Pro Glasses 2 (50hz) which operates a tracking model to compensate for slippage correction and uses a one-point calibration procedure. We added a manual 8-point calibration check. The eye-tracking data were subsequently extracted by the Tobii Pro Lab in an unfiltered form and exported to ELAN (https://tla.mpi.nl/ tools/tla-tools/elan/) for qualitative hand coding. 1.5.2. Participants We recruited 25 (F= 15) participants from two populations: artists and non-artists (Mage 47.8, SD = 17.4). We excluded one artist participant because of equipment failure, leaving 24 participants (F =14). The eight artists (F = 6, Mage = 62.00, SD = 17.10) were recruited either from a local art university or local artist’s network and all claimed visual art training. The 16 non-artists (F = 9; Mage = 40.69, SD = 12.86) were recruited via word-of-mouth. Those recruited as artists were exposed to art (either through making or viewing) more frequently than non-artists, with all artists engaging with art at least once a week (Table 1). 1.5.3. Procedure Before viewing the pot, each participant completed consent forms, demographic information and scales assessing (a) underlying aesthetic fluency (Smith and

9 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Paul Louis March and Frédéric Vallée-Tourangeau Smith 2006) and (b) experience of aesthetic flow using the Aesthetic Experience Questionnaire (Wanzer et al. 2018). The participant was invited to put on Tobii 2 eyetracking glasses which were calibrated using the inbuilt calibration software, before also being checked manually. Each participant was given the following instructions: The exhibit is just behind here (indicates screen). I will show you which one it is in a minute. I want you to look at it as you would look at an exhibit in a museum. If you only want to look at it for 10 seconds, that’s fine. If you want to look at it for longer, that’s also fine. We will use the first minute but if you want to look at it for more than a minute, that’s fine by us. When you have finished, find me here. Upon returning the participant was invited to fill out the modified Aesthetic Emotions Scale (AESTHEMOS; Schindler et al. 2017) and asked to reflect upon whether their view of the pot had changed over the course of viewing it using a Likert scale where 1 represented “not at all” and 5 represented “very much”. The full scales used can be found at https://osf.io/mktue/?view_only=0c126e1 7d1974900add68c8f2960a9a8 1.6. Results 1.6.1. Aesthetic Fluency and Flow The artists scored significantly higher (M = 34.75, SD = 6.58) than non-artists (M = 19.5, SD = 4.44) on the aesthetic fluency measure, t(22)= 6.75, p < .001 and the measure of flow, t(22) = 2.17, p = .041. (artists, M = 121.78, SD = 15.05; non-artists, M = 105.3, SD = 18.20) These differences confirm that the two groups represent two different populations.

(M = 61.62, SD = 8.56) than the non-artists (M = 58.25, SD = 11.82) but this difference was not statistically significant, t(22) = 0.72, p = .482. Likewise, the artists’ view of the pot changed more (M = 4.00, SD = 0.75) than non-artists (M = 3.25, SD = 1.13), but again not significantly so, t(23) = 1.69, p =.104. 1.6.2. Eye and Body Movement Analysis The structure of the artefact and the fluid nature of the eye-tracking data precluded automated analysis such as that reported in Criado-Boado et al. (2019). We therefore initially reviewed the 24 videos in an exploratory fashion and this review suggested two reasons to believe that pot structure and gaze pattern were correlated. First, the gaze of 22 of the 24 participants respected the boundaries of the pot and followed the contours of structure and pattern in similar ways such that it was difficult to distinguish one individual’s eye movements from another’s (see Figure 1.3). Second, the habitual rapid saccadic behaviour of the eyes across the surface of the pot would be interrupted every few seconds when the gaze was described an eddying movement corresponding directly to an underlying spiral on the pot’s surface. This is illustrated by heat maps which sum the frequency of gaze across participants (see Figure 1.4). Subsequently, the eye-tracking videos were hand-coded both by the first author and a second coder. First, the total time spent engaging with the pot was recorded. Second,

Despite these differences and contrary to our hypothesis, the measured response to the vase did not differ significantly across the two groups. The artists did manifest a slightly higher aesthetic emotional response Table 1.1. Frequency with which Participants Engaged in Making and Viewing Art. Copyright by authors Frequency

Artists

Non Artists

Making

Viewing

Making

Viewing

Multiple times per day

5

6

–

1

Once per day

1

–

–

–

Multiple times per week

2

–

–

2

Once per week

1

1

1

3

Once per month

–

–

–

3

A few times per year

–

–

5

5

Once per year

–

–

7

1

No response

–

2

3

1

Figure 1.3. Fixation points for all 24 participants coded by colour. Copyright by authors.

10 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Cognition as Choreography 1.6.3. Time Spent with the Pot While artists spent longer looking at the pot (M = 119.63 seconds, SD = 49.7) than non-artists (M = 90.88, SD = 47.2) this difference was not significant, t(22) = 1.38, p = .180. Unsurprisingly, both aesthetic fluency and aesthetic flow were significantly related to the aesthetic reaction, r(22) = 4.65, p = .022 and r(22) = .586, p = .003 respectively. However, aesthetic reaction was most strongly related to the time spent with the pot, r(22) = .770, p 45–50 ka cal BP to > 114 ka. A different story emerges from the Châtelperronian layers of the Grotte du Renne at Arcy-surCure, where grooved and perforated ornaments have been re-attributed to AMH with the occurrence of post-depositional mixing (White 2001; 8 

The shells of marine molluscs were often chosen for use in beadworks, as at the sites of Skuhl (135–100 ka) and Qafzeh (c. 92 ± 5 ka or earlier) in Israel; the Grotte des Pigeons (82.5 ± 5.3 ka) in Morocco; and Blombos, Border, and Sibudu caves (c. 80–70 ka) in South Africa (Henshilwood et al. 2004; d’Errico et al. 2005; Bouzouggar et al. 2007; d’Errico and Vanhaeren 2009; Vanhaeren et al. 2013, 2019; d’Errico and Backwell 2016). Shells more likely to bear natural perforations (e.g., Glycymeris specimens) were selected, but appear to have been filtered by the location and size of the perforation (Zilhão et al. 2010, 1026). Contrastingly, other shells required a hard, sharp object to pierce their exterior prior to their incorporation into beadworks. It is not always possible to demonstrate the anthropogenic nature of a perforation on these shell beads, as there are numerous natural processes (including predation) which mimic such perforations (d’Errico and Villa 1997; Kubicka et al. 2017). The archaeological record suggests that as humans migrated inland for longer periods of time, networks of exchange carried stone and shell over hundreds of kilometres for their use in beadworks (White 1989; Vanhaeren and d’Errico 2006; Niţu et al. 2019). As humans developed their thinking through matter (Malafouris, 2013), both the materials chosen for perforated ornaments and the forms they took proliferated and diversified. In the c. 48,000-year-old deposits at Fa Hien-Lena in Sri Lanka, perforated Conus and Nassariidae specimens were found with ochre beads, a Cercopithecid canine awl or knife, and an assemblage of finely worked osseous tools including projectile points that were likely hafted and employed in bow-and-arrow hunting strategies (Langley et al. 2020). Animal teeth were also incorporated into the corpus of perforated ornaments, as demonstrated by the 1 ungulate incisor and 9 Ursus spelaeus teeth that were perforated, abandoned, and recovered from 46.9–45 ka cal BP deposits confidently associated with AMH and an Initial Upper Palaeolithic industry at Bacho Kiro cave in Bulgaria (Fewlass et al., 2020; Hublin et al. 2020).9 By the Upper Palaeolithic proper, beads made of mammoth ivory, faunal teeth, and various stones are the most common ornament types found across Eurasia. 3.4. Perforated human teeth The use of human body parts as raw materials stretches back to at least the Lower Pleistocene, as evinced by the cannibalised Homo antecessor remains unearthed from Atapuerca Gran Dolina unit TD6 (949–772 ka) (Carbonell et al. 2010; Duval et al. 2018). Other species of the genus Homo consumed the flesh of their conspecifics and repurposed their hard tissue remains to various ends, including Neandertals at the Troisième caverne of Goyet (Belgium) and Magdalenian humans at Gough’s Cave (England) (Rougier et al. 2016; Bello et al. 2017). Bailey and Hublin 2006; Higham et al. 2010; Mellars 2010; Caron et al. 2011; Hublin et al. 2012). 9  BP = before present, taken as 1950 common era.

32 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

The Materiality of Perforated Human Teeth and Ivory Skeuomorphs in the European Upper Palaeolithic Of the many isolated human teeth found at Palaeolithic archaeological sites across western Eurasia, 24 have been found with what appear to be clear anthropogenic perforations (Table 3.1). As several of these teeth were lost in recent history, only 13 specimens with a well-known archaeological association and anthropogenic perforations remain (Vercoutère et al. 2008; Sázelová and Hromadová

2020). For most, if not all of these specimens, we do not know the conditions of their extraction, embodied displayed, discard or deposition. This data suggests that this phenomenon arose among Early Aurignacian communities in and around the Aquitaine basin, and reached the southern Moravia region of Czechia

Table 3.1. Perforated human teeth of the European Upper Palaeolithic10 Site (Region)

Archaeological Horizon

La Combe (Dordogne)

Early Aurignacian

Grotte des Hyènes at Brassempouy (Landes)

Early Aurignacian (Complex 2: Level 2A for Tooth 16 and 93, Level 2C for Tooth 542 and 3040)

Dentition (type/age/wear if known)

Notes

Mandibular left molar (M1 or M2)

Root perforation by unifacial rotation

Tooth 16: Mandibular right second premolar (adult)

Root perforation in progress

Tooth 93: Maxillary premolar (15 years ± 36 months)

Root perforated at the cementoenamel junction

Tooth 542: Maxillary right second molar (young adult)

Root perforated in the mesiovestibular direction

Tooth 3040: Mandibular second premolar (adult)

Root is clearly worked, postdepositional damage

Mandibular left molar (M2 or M3)

Root perforation by bifacial semi-rotation. Marked use and/ or refinement of the perforation by fine abrasion.

Isturitz (PyrénéesAtlantiques)

Early Aurignacian

Tarté (Haute-Garonne)

Early Aurignacian (specimen from backdirt of site which also contains Gravettian occupations)

Unknown

Perforated root, method unknown

Les Rois (Charente)

Aurignacian (Unit A2)

Incisor, heavily worn

Perforated root

*Fontchevade (Charente)

Aurignacian

Unknown

Perforated root, method unknown

Abri Pataud (Dordogne)

Early Gravettian (Level 5)

Permanent right canine (likely mandibular)

Perforated root

Les Vachons (Charente)

Gravettian

Permanent molar

Grooved root

*Dolní Vestonice I (Moravia)

Gravettian

DV 8: permanent maxillary right first incisor (Smith 3-4)

Single photograph shows an oval shaped mesial-distal perforation at the top of the root. Possible cut marks?

Pavlov I (Moravia)

Gravettian (Pavlovian)

Pav 15: deciduous upper left (?) canine (Smith 5)

Perforation by (indirect?) bilateral percussion

Pav 19: permanent maxillary premolar

Pseudoperforation caused by post-depositional surface corrosion

Pav 25: permanent mandibular right first incisor (26-35 years, Smith 5)

Perforation by biconical rotation, possibly preceded by percussion

(C 3b base)

*Placard (Charente)

Magdalenian?

Unknown

Unknown

*Chaffaud (Vienne)

Magdalenian?

Unknown

Unknown

*Bédeilhac (Ariège)

Late Magdalenian

2 incisors, 3 canines, 1 premolar Perforation by biconical rotation

Saint-Germain-laRivière (Gironde)

Late Magdalenian (transitional zone between layers C2 and C3)

Permanent maxillary right second premolar

Perforation by biconical rotation

Asterisked sites are those with poor documentation and/or lost specimens. Smith numbers describe wear, with 1 being the least worn and 8 being the most heavily worn (Smith 1984). References: Chauvet 1919; Absolon 1935; Malvesin-Fabre et al. 1953; Mouton and Joffroy 1958; Bouvier 1971; Le Mort 1981, 1985; Vlček 1992; Gambier 2000; Vercoutère 2002, 2004; White et al. 2003; Henry-Gambier et al. 2004; Henry-Gambier and White 2006; Vanhaeren and d’Errico 2006; Vercoutère et al. 2008; Ramirez Rozzi et al. 2009; White 2010; White and Normand 2015; Sázelová and Hromadová 2020. 10 

33 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Ivy Notterpek approximately 1,500 km away by the Gravettian. Many of the earliest teeth are (pre)molars, and diversity in tooth selection positively correlates with time. No teeth have been paired with maxillae or mandibulae, though human mandibulae bearing cutmarks and teeth displaying traces of defleshing have been documented (White 2010, 97). At the site of Les Rois, the mandible of a three-to-fiveyear-old child with Neandertal-like features displays cut marks consistent with tooth extraction, and was found near a heavily worn incisor with a perforated root (Mouton and Joffroy 1958; Vallois 1958). As only Aurignacian layers (dated to 30–29 ka cal BP) are documented at the site, this find may represent evidence for “consumption and/or symbolic use” of a Neandertal child by Aurignacian AMH, the production of Aurignacian technologies by human groups bearing both Neandertal and AMH features, or the conservation of plesiomorphic features among AMH populations of the Upper Palaeolithic (Ramirez Rozzi et al. 2009, 174). To explore the affects and effects of material engagement with perforated human teeth through a concrete example, let us turn to the Gravettian (Pavlovian) site of Pavlov I. Together, the sites of Dolní Věstonice I and Pavlov I have yielded a total of four perforated human teeth—all of which are attributed to a main cultural layer dated between 31 and 27 ka cal BP (Vlček 1992; Svoboda et al. 2016). Specimen DV 8 was sadly lost in the burning of Mikulov castle at the end of the second World War, and Pav 19 has been recently recharacterised as a pseudoperforation caused by post-depositional surface corrosion (Sázelová and Hromadová 2020). Accordingly, Pav 15 and 25 are the only specimens that attest to this phenomenon outside of modern-day France throughout the whole of the Upper Palaeolithic. Pav 15 is likely a deciduous upper left canine, although its advanced occlusal wear suggests the possible absence of the permanent canine or the congenital presence of supernumerary teeth. The root surface was flattened with an unknown wear technique (possibly, fine abrasion) prior to perforation by bilateral percussion which, given the overall character and orientation of the perforation, was likely indirect. No use-wear was identified by Sázelová and Hromadová’s microscopic analyses, suggesting the tooth was unused as a bead or pendant due to the defective perforation (2020, 9). Contrastingly, permanent mandibular right first incisor Pav 25 displayed use-wear consistent with long-term use as a bead or pendant. While the manufacturing traces were difficult to decipher beneath the smoothed perforation, Sázelová and Hromadová suggest the root was also thinned before a hole was made by, seemingly, bilateral indirect percussion. Unlike Pav 15, this specimen then received further processing in the form of biconical rotation with a hard, blunt object to smooth and shape the hole prior to its incorporation into a beadwork (2020, 10, Fig. 4). Pav 15 and 25 were found near each other in the close vicinity of ivory needles, a bone awl, perforated wolf and fox teeth, tertiary shells, a fragment of reindeer skull, the deciduous molar of a young

mammoth, two broken antler branch tips, spalls, chisels, and sandstone and quartz cobbles (2020, 5). This cluster of objects, reminiscent of sewing toolkits found across the Eurasian Upper Palaeolithic (d’Errico et al. 2018; see also Heckel 2018), was found several dozen meters from the Gorodtsovian burial at the site. Sázelová and Hromadová (2020) thus reject previous postulations of these perforated human teeth as “part of the burial rite” (Zhitènev 2007, 55) and suggest instead that this assemblage demarcates an area where pierced objects were sewn onto clothing and/ or ornamented clothes were deposited. The evidence from Pavlov I therefore lends unique insight into the nature of craft specialisation in the Gravettian period of this region. To further investigate the possible significative meanings of these artefacts, Sázelová and Hromadová (2020) briefly raise ethnological examples where pierced human teeth feature as ear pendants, amulets that secure luck in hunting or warfare, and beads in necklaces that “declare the wearer’s ability to overcome enemies” or serve as “tokens as a memento of the deceased” (p. 12). The saliency of these specific ethnographic parallels is not addressed. This analysis thus falls subject to the interpretive habit of raising and subsequently dismissing specific ethnographic analogies, without first “exploring more fully the conditions under which analogical inference can be applied for the interpretation of body ornaments” (Abadía and Nowell 2015, 969). One way to do so is to first consider more broadly any ontological concepts which motivate these ethnographically-documented praxes, and secondly, to test if there is evidence for these ontological or epistemological understandings at work in the archaeological record at hand. The examples raised by Sázelová and Hromadová (2020) share a common belief in agency as “the relational and emergent product of material engagement” (Malafouris 2013, 148). Agency is extended and constitutively entwined with (human and non-human) persons and material culture, as it is personhood. Consider the words of Gell (1998) in Art and Agency: A person and a person’s mind are not confined to particular spatio-temporal coordinates, but consist of a spread of biographical events and memories of events, and a dispersed category of material objects, traces, and leavings, which can be attributed to a person and which, in aggregate, testify to agency […] which may, indeed, prolong itself long after biological death. The person is thus understood as the sum total of the indexes which testify, in life and subsequently, to the biographical existence of this or that individual (p. 222). Teeth are with us for most of our lives. As personified entities capable of knowing things, they would know quite a lot—from how we developed to what we eat, how we speak, and who we kiss. Human teeth may therefore serve as very powerful indexes for the person from whom they are extracted, long after their death. If human teeth held these indexical properties for the community at

34 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

The Materiality of Perforated Human Teeth and Ivory Skeuomorphs in the European Upper Palaeolithic Pavlov I, why was the faulty perforation on Pav 15 not also smoothed via biconical rotation? Does this choice boil down to practical concerns related to time, visual appearance, or the technical capacities of the beadmaker? Or was this choice perhaps also conflated with the origins of this particular tooth and the intended social effects of its embodied display?

signs but also the person(s) involved in their semiotic functioning. These processes may have engendered novel modes of perceiving and being in the world, as well as new materialities and material lexicons, such as figurative representation in non-standard media (i.e., skeuomorphy).

We may never know if the perforated teeth from Pavlov I belonged to “a dreaded enemy or reputable ancestor” (Sázelová and Hromadová 2020, 12), or why they were left behind. Nevertheless, we can imagine that seeing a perforated human tooth inspired interest, fear, awe, or any combination of emotions. To persons within their community, seeing and engaging with these tooth ornaments likely provoked narrative practices—whether subconscious (e.g., imaginative re-enactment) or materially embodied—that reaffirmed ontological and epistemological tenets such as the situatedness of meaning and the power(s) of iconic and indexical signification (Fiebich 2016; Garofoli and Iliopoulos 2019, 229–233). Taking reality as the malleable and emergent product of situated activity, the transformation and embodied display of human teeth with other ornaments and materials (e.g., animal skins, twine, ochres) could have had enormously different affects depending on the persons and things entangled in this material-semiotic meshwork at a particular place and moment (Ingold 2007, 2011). From materials intimately associated with another living organism to worked ornaments associated with a host of other human and nonhuman persons, the extraction, modification, and embodied display of human teeth enabled the active negotiation of the personhood, agency, and hermeneutic and significative meanings of not only these material

Archaeological engagements with skeuomorphy frequently concern the analysis of vessels (ceramic or otherwise) and pyrotechnology (e.g., metallurgy) in agricultural societies (Vickers and Gill 1994; Knappett 2010; Conneller 2013), as well as historic media such as photographs and marionettes (Knappett 2002). As such, skeuomorphy is often characterised as either an adaptation to make a new material acceptable to contemporary tastes or as a means of emulating expensive materials from cheaper and more accessible alternatives (Sherratt 1997; Frieman 2010). However, taken generally as the mimicry or imitation of a form usually found in another material or place, skeuomorphy likely has an extraordinarily deep antiquity in ephemeral media such as snow, mud, plant matter, and the human body. The earliest archaeological evidence for skeuomorphy appears in early Aurignacian layers from modern-day France, such as the six ivory ‘facsimiles’ recovered from Abri de la Souquette that reproduce the form and textural details of Atlantic seashells found at the site (White 1989, 2010; Conneller 2013, 126; see Bourrillon et al. 2018, Fig. 15). Of the 22 skeuomorphs documented across the whole of the Aurignacian, 15 mimic the shape of faunal dentition and 7 mimic that of shell. Red deer canines are the most represented form, and ivory is the material chosen most often for skeuomorphic activity (Figure 3.1).

3.5. Ivory skeuomorphs: the revelation of lustre?

Figure 3.1. Aurignacian skeuomorphs (after Conneller 2013, Table 6.1).

35 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Ivy Notterpek It is interesting that Conneller’s tabulation explicitly excludes basket-shaped beads (2013, 128). These curious, globular ornaments share considerable formal similarities to faunal dentition such as red deer canines, and the majority are made of mammoth ivory—thereby adhering to the observed preference for ivory-based skeuomorphy by Upper Palaeolithic humans (White 2001; Rigaud et al. 2017; Vercoutère and Wolf 2018). The skeuomorphic connection between basket-shaped beads and faunal teeth is almost tangible in the Early Aurignacian deposits of Isturitz (France), where a perforated human molar and the ‘rough-out’ of a basket-shaped bead composed entirely of dentine from the tooth of a large animal were recovered (White and Normand 2015; Figure 3.2a and 3.2b). The burial of a Magdalenian woman at Saint-Germain-laRivière (France), dated to 15,800 ± 200 BP (uncalibrated), contained 71 perforated red deer canines, a globular steatite bead, and three perforated Trivia europea shells (Henry-Gambier et al. 2000; Vanhaeren and d’Errico 2003, 2005, 2011). Of the 71 red deer canines, 6 pairs were identified and 34 were incised on the occlusal surface with series of parallel notches or lattices of notches (Vanhaeren and d’Errico 2003; Figure 3.2c). These incisions conjure the cusped appearance of human (and other mammal) molars, and their similar form to basket-shaped beads suggest possible skeuomorphic connections between these materials that have not been explored in the current literature.

Conneller likens Aurignacian skeuomorphy to Ingold’s analysis of masks in animist ontologies, which are not intended to disguise the human wearer but rather to “reveal the animal itself” (2000, 123). By this logic, ivory skeuomorphs were not produced to imitate shells or faunal canines but rather to “reveal their inner, shared essence: ‘lustre’” (Conneller 2013, 131). Yet focusing only on lustre as the internally shared essence of all such ornaments fails to take seriously “the fact that we have a plastic mind which is embedded and inextricably enfolded with plastic culture” (Malafouris 2013, 46). Mammoth ivory is not always inherently lustrous depending on the age and preservation condition of the specimen, and likely required polishing to truly “gleam” in the sense here advocated (Conneller 2013, 130). Furthermore, shells, bone, ivory, faunal teeth, and soft stones demonstrate several other qualitative possibilities or ‘feelings’ that precede and physically enable lustre—notably, durability and smoothness. It is feasible that these qualities were desired in beadworks for their resistance to breakage and textural appeal, with the added benefit of the ability to catch and reflect light under the right conditions. However, the tendency of Upper Palaeolithic humans to coat their beaded ornaments with iron oxides (red ochre) (e.g., Velliky et al. 2021; Figure 3.2c) suggests that lustre may not have been a desired quality at all, and further, that the material from which beaded ornaments were made was

Figure 3.2. Upper Palaeolithic skeuomorphs? a: early Aurignacian perforated human tooth from Isturitz, France (White and Normand 2015, Fig. 9; modified by author; courtesy of Palethnologie). b: early Aurignacian dentine rough-out of a basketshaped bead from Isturitz, France (White and Normand 2015, Fig. 14; modified by author). c: paired red deer canines from the Magdalenian burial at Saint-Germain-la-Rivière, presenting from left to right the lingual and buccal aspect of the right canine and the buccal and lingual aspect of the left canine, with visible occlusal incisions on 8 specimens (1-5: stag canines, 6: hind canines) (Vanhaeren and d’Errico 2003, Fig. 7; courtesy of Paleo).

36 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

The Materiality of Perforated Human Teeth and Ivory Skeuomorphs in the European Upper Palaeolithic perhaps secondary to their form. If agency lies in the form a material exhibits, as material perspectivism suggests, would the form of these beads not be rendered more potent when thoroughly coloured with ochre pigments, concealing their original material and increasing the contrast of the ornaments against their background to reveal their silhouette? Entertaining this notion requires further engagement with questions of why this globular shape, with possible hermeneutic links to human molars and other faunal dentition, held semiotic significance to Upper Palaeolithic peoples. Furthermore, what shifts in human thinking and behaviour did the manufacture of these objects engender? Conversely, how did the making of these objects as a situated act of co-constitution impact the evolving form of ivory skeuomorphs and Upper Palaeolithic beadworks more generally? While faunal dentition was a presumably mundane material in Palaeolithic lives, the tangible effort invested in the acquisition and modification of mammoth ivory into beaded ornaments disrupts the argument that ivory skeuomorphs are somehow less valued than the ‘original’ they replicate. As a behaviour employed in ornamental practices, skeuomorphy also requires further abstract thought and preplanning than directly piercing or grooving a “natural” object (e.g., shell, teeth, talons) for suspension. Ivory skeuomorphy could therefore reflect the gradual incorporation of this material into an extant but plastic material-semiotic meshwork that offered numerous opportunities for conceptual blending through matter (see Fauconnier and Turner 1998; Sonesson 2006; Iliopoulos 2016). Situated acts of skeuomorphy likely also provided the semiotic (and actualised) ground for the negotiation of material-form relationships, signification through matter, and human and non-human relationships with their environment on multiple spatial and temporal scales. Altogether, we can revise Conneller’s (2013) observations to suggest that Upper Palaeolithic skeuomorphy was not the revelation of an ‘inner’ lustrous essence linking discrete media (e.g., ivory, shell), but rather a form of material engagement with smooth and durable materials that actively allowed material signs to trans-form and become another—and in this transformative becoming, acquire the body, perspective, and personhood of the new subject. The cases here raised suggest that ivory can become shell or faunal dentition, and further, that faunal dentition can become ivory or the teeth of other organisms. Specific skeuomorphic connections between shell, mammoth ivory, basket-shaped-beads, red deer canines and other faunal dentition (e.g., human molars) should be explored further, as these behaviours offer unparalleled insight into the evolving material and semiotic vernacular of Palaeolithic peoples. The specific qualitive possibilities of ivory should also be further examined, as the abundance of ivory figurines (of bear, fish, zoomorphs, anthropomorphs, etc.) that appear in early Aurignacian contexts across central and western Europe suggest it quickly became the medium of choice for figurative representations and

skeuomorphic signification (Dutkiewicz et al. 2018). What can be stated, with a fair degree of certainty, is that the act of creating and engaging with skeuomorphic representations had significant ramifications on not only the human mind, but also the materials with which they are inextricably entwined. 3.6. Conclusions This paper has reviewed archaeological evidence for ornamentation, and specifically, that of perforated human teeth and ivory skeuomorphs in the archaeological record of the European Upper Palaeolithic. These objects are typically separated as distinct ornament ‘types,’ which is logical for the pursuit of quantitative data but impedes the broader project of deriving more salient “folk taxonomies” (Zedeño 2009, 407). This paper does not feign to infer such folk taxonomies. Instead, it encourages further engagement with material perspectivism—in dialogue with semiotics, Material Engagement Theory, and anthropologies of the body, among others—as a useful concept that beseeches us to explicitly confront the notions of agency, personhood, and materiality that have historically shaped our epistemic, analytical, and theoretical approaches to archaeological artefacts and assemblages. Material perspectivism itself should have no fixed definition, as there is great variation within Amerindian perspectivism and there was undoubtedly great variation among the ontological outlooks of Palaeolithic peoples. Accordingly, as with all ethnologically-derived analogues, we must lend our efforts to elucidating fundamental ontological and epistemological concepts which can be tested against the archaeological record. The natural relativist tenant that the form of beings conditions their perspectives is an incredibly intriguing concept with which one can query the conceptual evolution of human partibility (including the use of human body parts as tools or in ornamental practices) and skeuomorphy. However, it cannot function without the broader relativist concept that human, animal, and material agency are distributed and mutually-constitutive. In sum, placing these often-separated artefact ‘classes’ in dialogue beseeches us to consider a materialsemiotic meshwork that is more relational and rhizomic than individualistic and demarcated. The acquisition, manufacture, embodied display, and active engagement of and with perforated human teeth and ivory skeuomorphs enabled the continuous negotiation and realisation of the “reality” to which material signs and their significative meanings were compared and understood. This reality may well have been imbibed with ontological tenets such as the relationality of human and non-human beings (including things) and the ability of situated activity to instantiate new materialities and realities. The embodied display of these perforated ornaments with a host of other human and non-human agents likely engendered larger sociocultural means of creating, transforming, and transmitting knowledge with and through materiality.

37 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

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Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

4 Constructing ‘Plantiness’ in Iron Age Wessex Molly Masterson University of Oxford, United Kingdom https://orcid.org/0000-0001-8490-6245 Abstract: Out of the ‘material turn,’ new theories regarding materiality and ‘thingness’ have emerged and caused archaeologists to reconsider how we interpret cultural material. Important contributions have extended this thinking into the landscape and the natural world. Curiously, plants have remained silent within this developing narrative. It is deterministic to assume that, across diverse temporal and spatial landscapes, humans have always interacted with plants in the same manner that we do today. I reject the view that past peoples wished solely to exploit the plants in their worlds and that plants have held passive roles in human and plant becomings. Plants should be viewed not as people, animals, or things, but as plants; they should be interpreted both for what they are and what they represent. In this paper, I argue for a morethan-human approach to understanding early farmers’ relationships with plants. It is not our innate desire to separate ourselves from the natural world, but rather, a modern and Western design. This presents us with an obvious opportunity for re-evaluation. We question plant passivity and expand the idea of plant cognition, highlighting the importance of ‘plantiness’. Plantiness argues for plant activeness in plant-human relationships and seeks to understand how plants influence humans and are thus influenced in return. In this paper, I focus on Iron Age Britain and examine cultivation methods, field system organisation, and mechanisms of storage to understand the entangled relationships between people and plants. To reinterpret these relationships, we must begin to engage with notions of plantiness.

4.1. Introduction In recent years, there has been a surge in archaeological research concerning human-nonhuman relationships, object agency, and broader questions of nature-culture divides (e.g., Malafouris 2013; Hicks 2016; Bevan 2019). Objects, animals, and landscapes have taken different forms and our notions of human becoming have been greatly expanded. Yet, within our newly expanded views of the past, an important aspect has yet to be fully explored: plants. Broader questions regarding nature, natural places, and landscapes (e.g., Cooper and Gosden 2021; Noble 2017; Sturt 2006; Bradley 2000) have been considered, but plants themselves, as actors within their own right, have been underappreciated. Some recent work regarding plants within archaeology is notable (Bogaard et al. 2021; Fahlander 2018; Head, Atchison, and Gates 2012; van der Veen 2014; Fairbairn 2000), but there is little consideration as to how plants have shaped human becoming and how reciprocal relationships formed between plants and humans. By furthering our reconsiderations of the roles of plants, archaeologists can expand previously held interpretations of past societies.

Author Note: Address correspondence to Molly Masterson, Keble College, University of Oxford, Oxford, OX1 3PG.

This reconsideration of plants can be achieved through the concept of ‘Plantiness’, a term borrowed from Head and colleagues (2009, 2015) upon which I have expanded. Plantiness is a repackaging of ideas brought together from the plant sciences, ethnobotany, ecology, and archaeobotany alike. In the process of this repackaging, plants have shifted from passive subjects to dynamic actors within plant-human relationships. Concepts of plant intentionality and plant-human negotiations will be defined and explored in the following section, which proceeds a discussion of how Plantiness can help us rethink the use and function of Iron Age pit depositions, specifically in and around Danebury hillfort in Wessex, southern England. Rich archaeological records from this region provide an ideal context for the application of Plantiness, and while field systems and hillfort construction are defining characteristics of Wessex archaeology, it is specifically grain storage pits that will be considered. The Danebury hillfort is an extensively excavated site in the region and has provided archaeologists with incredible insights into prehistoric life. The features at Danebury are unique (although not singular), and act as a foundation for larger considerations of Plantiness throughout Wessex. This case study is only one example of how post-humanist ideas regarding plants can be utilised in interpretations of the archaeological record. Before we can turn to the

45 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Molly Masterson archaeological interpretations, we must first explore the theory behind Plantiness. 4.2. Plantiness Plantiness is a term first employed by Head and colleagues in their foundational works regarding ethnographies of wheat (2008, 2015). While they use this term primarily to define the biological constraints of plants, I have expanded their concept of Plantiness to include both this original definition (what makes a plant a plant) combined with concepts of plant intelligence and plant-human negotiations. Plantiness can be understood by answering the following three questions: 1. What do plants want? (intentionality) 2. How do they achieve it? (characteristics) 3. How do plants and humans interact? (negotiation) It is imperative to highlight that this reconsideration of plant-human relationships is not actually new. One simply has to read Braiding Sweetgrass (Wall-Kimmerer 2013) or How Forests Think (Kohn 2013) to quickly realise that how plants are described in this work can only be deemed a ‘recategorization’ within Western thought. We will explore the idea that plants are active and intentional beings, which vitally, is already known and accepted within indigenous thought (Todd 2016; Sundberg 2014). Industrialised societies have stopped listening to plants, have stopped speaking with trees, and have stopped learning from the nature which surrounds them. It is only within the last few centuries that we have begun to view nature as disconnected from ourselves. 4.3. Plant intentions The first question of Plantiness is difficult to answer yet is also a crucial part of the theory. Without a central nervous system and without a brain, how are we able to conceptualise the intentions of plants? While we may never know for certain, studies by foresters, evolutionary ecologists, and botanists over the last few decades have provided new insights into plant cognition and plant communication, significantly changing our understanding of plant passivity. Trees communicate with each other through expansive fungal network, sending electric pulses to warn of impending danger (Simard 2009; Wohlleben 2018). Vibrations are transmitted and received through the roots of corn seedlings, allowing them to perceive and interact with each other and their environment (Gagliano, Mancuso, and Robert 2012). Fennel is known amongst the gardening community to have very few friends; it releases chemicals into the soil and the air to inhibit the germination and growth of other plants nearby (Gagliano and Renton 2013). Philosophers are tackling the questions of plant predictive behaviour (Calvo and Friston 2017) and plant cognition through non-neural messaging (Calvo, Baluška, and Trewavas 2021) and plant nutation (Raja et al. 2020). We are increasingly understanding that plants are aware of their environments and can make choices about how

and where they grow. They interact and communicate with other plants in their surroundings, forming plant communities. These connections to each other and interactions with the environment suggest that plants have unique cognitive abilities, perhaps even consciousness. If we consider plants in an active role rather than as passive subjects, we can begin to suggest that they have very specific intentions. It is reasonable to suggest that a plant’s intentions are to grow, reproduce, and migrate (Hall 2011; Mancuso 2020; Ryan 2012; Trewavas 2014). We can view this intention to grow and reproduce when we consider our contemporary battle with nature; trees’ pesky roots disrupt underground utility services and contort pavements and sidewalks (Wohlleben 2017). Abandoned urban landscapes are reclaimed by trees, grasses, and vines (Hartigan 2019). It is easy to understand growth and reproduction as plant intentions; in simplified terms, it can be argued that this is the intention of all living things. Plant migration, however, is distinct from growth and reproduction because it sees the spread of plants throughout varying landscapes. Migration is best demonstrated through ‘invasive species’ (Mancuso 2020). A well-known example of an invasive species resides in the eastern United States where it has been taking over landscapes in New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Ohio. The Rosa multiflora (multi-flora rose) was introduced to gardens in the mid-nineteenth century from East Asia, but was then extensively used for erosion control and highway scrub growth in the early twentieth century (Swearingen et al. 2010). It tolerates a range of soils, light conditions, and moisture, meaning it can grow just about anywhere it likes. Abundant hips grow every year and are consumed by birds which unknowingly distribute the multiflora rose throughout surrounding landscapes. These climbing vines form thickets, which have overtaken fields, pastures, and forests, inhibiting the growth of native shrubs and plants. They are also difficult (if not impossible) to eradicate as stores of seeds are often hidden within the soil. Spending my childhood in this region, I was always aware of the multiflora rose; the plant’s myth was that of invasion – it took over the landscapes in which it grew, sprouting climbing vines that sprawl in every direction. Its migration to the United States provided it with new territories to overtake. We can juxtapose this migration of multiflora roses with the more deliberate migration of trees. The sturdy English oak is only capable of reproduction after approximately 40 years (Hoskins 2019). At 150, the oak is considered to be fully mature and reaches old age after 700 years. Every year, oaks produce acorns which carry future generations of saplings. These must be dispersed, far from the parent tree, and buried in order for new saplings to grow. In certain years—known as mast years—oaks coordinate with each other to produce a surplus of acorns (Kelly 1994). This significantly increases the likelihood of sapling germination, as there is less competition for resources amongst the critters who feast on acorns. It also results in more oaks in more varied landscapes. Despite the

46 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Constructing ‘Plantiness’ in Iron Age Wessex fact that it takes oaks (and most hardwood trees, for that matter) a very long time to migrate, it is still clearly one of their main intentions. Migration is not just concerned with growing, but also spreading. 4.4. Plant characteristics This comparison between an invasive species like multiflora roses and the slow-growing oak demonstrates the next important aspect of Plantiness. If we accept that plants want to grow, reproduce, and migrate – collectively considered their intentions – we must look at the varied ways in which they achieve these intentions. How they do so is entirely dependent upon their biological characteristics. These characteristics can be used to define how plants grow, reproduce, experience time, communicate, and react to their environments. As we saw with the comparison between multiflora rose and oaks, the ways in which distinct plants achieve their intentions varies considerably. This variability is determined by a plant’s biological characteristics (Karban 2008; Sultan 2000; Nicoglou 2015). Flowers exert their energy on attracting pollinators through a variety of smells and colours. Other plants invest in defences against predators, such as cacti, thistles, and certain trees, like the honey locust. Bamboo extends towards the sky, while ferns prefer to stay within the shade of trees. A plant’s characteristics encompasses the uniqueness of plants, how they grow, spread, and reproduce. In other words, how they exert their intentionality. Both multiflora roses and oaks enlist the help of animals to migrate and reproduce but they do so in entirely different ways. The spindly, prickly vines of the rose are contrasted with the thick, sturdy trunks of hundred-year-old oaks. Both plants are growing and thriving, but they are doing so in exceptional ways. 4.5. Plant negotiations Plant intentions have told us what plants want, while plant characteristics show us how they achieve it. The final element of Plantiness brings humans into the equation. Plants have specific intentions and those intentions are mitigated through unique characteristics. How have humans become entangled within these processes? As plants act out their intentions, how have humans engaged with varying plant characteristics? This leads us to the idea of plant-human negotiations, where negotiations are the ways in which plants and people have learned from and influenced one another. It is important to emphasise that people have had to learn the benefits and disadvantages of specific plants. Some plants have the ability to heal ailments while others are toxic when consumed. Sambucus nigra (elderberries) are toxic if eaten raw, but can be eaten once they are properly cooked. Some fungi can be nutritious (Volvariella volvacea), others are hallucinogenic (Psilocybe cubensis), and then those which are extremely poisonous (Amanita phalloides). Determining this would have required some risky experiment, where people

would have to learn the correct way to interact with these plants. The multiflora rose was a successful scrub for highway divides but we could not control its migration to fit our needs. We underestimated the characteristics and intentions of the multiflora rose and our ability to mitigate its migration has failed. The idea of negotiated relationships changes the ways that we have considered plants. A range of plant scholars have studied how interactions with plants are reciprocal and that plants have changed us as we have changed them (Brice 2014; Ernwein, Ginn, and Palmer 2021; Hall 2009, 2011; Kirksey and Helmreich 2010; Ryan 2012). Plants have become, in recent years, dynamic actors within their own rights. Within archaeology, archaeobotanists work closely with plants while many others often do not. Plantiness acts as a way of repackaging the ideas presented by ecologists and human geographers who argue for the inclusion of plants within our studies. Archaeobotanists have begun to argue against colonialist and anthropocentric notions of domestication, and instead view cultivation in terms of processes. Nonhuman-others and humans enter complex relationships that form over time, in different places and at different rates. These relationships are negotiated, whereby plants, humans, and other nonhumans are learning from each other. Such ideas highlight how archaeologists are beginning to consider extended notions of plants. What if humans and plants were negotiating their relationships, determining the best way to survive with each other rather than in spite of each other? What if plants have intentions and those intentions have shaped who we are today? All of these ‘what ifs’ form the basis of this article. What if things are not exactly what we have always thought them to be? What then? Humans did not simply domestic plants but instead, plants, humans, and other nonhumans negotiated over time and domestication arose out of those entangled relationships. Wood is used to construct settlements, monuments, and sacred spaces. It is used for musical instruments and for weapons. Plant fibres are utilised for weaving baskets and clothing, for creating the tools for writing and recording. Plants heal and kill, feed and restrict. Plants can manage just fine without humans, but no human can survive without plants (van der Veen 2014). For the purpose of this article, we seek to understand Plantiness within prehistoric Wessex by focusing on the pit rituals of one of the most famous hillfort sites in southern England: Danebury. 4.6. Pit Deposition at Danebury The hillfort of Danebury (Hampshire) is a prominent feature within Wessex archaeology (Figure 4.1). Excavations by Sir Barry Cunliffe (1984) provided evidence for a dynamic pattern of settlement construction and occupation. The majority of settlement activity is dated to the Iron Age (see Table 4.1) and it was occupied semi-permanently throughout the year (Davis 2013). The Iron Age across England sees distinct changes from the Bronze Age. Extensive field systems laid out in the Bronze Age fall

47 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Molly Masterson

Figure 4.1. Map location of Danebury (red) and other hillforts in the surrounding area (blue).

Table 4.1. Chronology of Bronze and Iron Age Britain (reproduced after Yates 2007 and Haselgrove 2009) Period

Date

Bronze Age

2000–700 BC

Earliest Iron Age

800–600 BC

Early Iron Age

600–400/300 BC

Middle Iron Age

400–300/100 BC

Late Iron Age

100 BC–AD 43/84

into disuse and no new systems are created (Bradley and Yates 2008). There is an increase in enclosed settlements and the extension of previous land boundaries (Yates 2007). There is a shift to intensive agriculture, supported by the evidence of crop rotation and increased manuring (Haselgrove 2009). These changes suggest a period of social upheaval during the Iron Age, where boundaries, movement, landscape, and monumentality were distinct from previously held notions (Sharples 2010). It is within this context that the most significant changes at Danebury were occurring. Danebury is characterised by its extensive earthworks, density of finds, and pit features. Within the 16 hectares of

the site, 1150 pits, 3760 postholes, and 24 circular and four rectangular structures were identified. The chronology of these structures is difficult to determine as pits and houses may or may not have been utilised contemporaneously and many postholes may represent both temporary or permanent structures. The circular structures were most likely domestic spaces, some of which also had associated pits. These pits, in combination with the fourand six-posthole structures are considered to be storage mechanisms, most likely used for grain. Pits (Figure 4.2) were carefully excavated and hermetically sealed with a clay top, protecting the grain from rot and damage. Grain storage has also been suggested for the posthole structures in the form of granaries. For the purpose of this work, the pits are of particular importance as their use as grain storage was only one aspect of their function. Before we begin with an in-depth consideration of pit use and deposition, let us first outline some aspects of Plantiness occurring at Danebury. Consider Figure 4.3, an artist’s reconstruction of Danebury which demonstrates some typical activities which might have occurred here. This reconstruction represents the ‘taskscape’, the meshwork of the inherently social activities performed by individuals on temporal and spatial scales (Ingold 1993). We see the entanglements between humans, plants,

48 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Constructing ‘Plantiness’ in Iron Age Wessex

Figure 4.2. Drawings of a cylindrical pit (A) and beehive pit (B) (redrawn by author after Hill 1995, figure 3.4a).

Figure 4.3. Artist reconstruction of activity at Danebury Hillfort (illustrated by Myrto Kokkalia).

and nonhumans happening within a common taskscape. Pits have been excavated in the foreground (left) while animals are carrying carts (possibly filled with grain), and people are busy with daily tasks. Structures are made from timber and trees grow in close proximity. Plants, humans, and animals are working and living within connected spaces. The lands beyond the walls of Danebury furthered

these connections through the shared practices of grain cultivation. These activities are not happening in isolation, and each actor experienced these activities in a specific manner. The person who harvests the grain engages with it in a distinct manner compared to the person who cleans and processes it. The grain is interacting with these specific tasks through different people, animals, and objects.

49 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Molly Masterson Although this is an artist’s interpretation, we can imagine the ways in which grain was one of the forces connecting people, plants, and nonhuman-others across a dynamic landscape. Spelt-human negotiations led to complex planthuman relationships, extended beyond nutritional benefit or economic importance. Cereal storage and pit refilling were entangled through grains, whether being consumed during feasts or deposited in pits. Crop plants such as spelt deserve a focused consideration for their practical and ritual functions. In fact, we should consider that these two functions were never distinct in the first place. As we discuss the practical/functional aspects of Danebury, it is useful to keep this reconstruction in mind. As demonstrated by Figure 4.3 there is a plethora of activity happening at Danebury. This has led to disputes regarding the overall function of the site within the landscape. It is widely accepted that there is no singular role for Danebury, as is the case with the majority of hillfort sites (Bradley et al. 2016). Bowden and McOmish (1987) and Hill (1995) prefer to view the symbolic nature of hillforts as locations where rituals were conducted and communities came together within a shared space. (Armit 2007) argues against both the ‘pacified hillfort’ model and the singular military role of hillforts. Hillforts can function in multiple roles, as sites for communal gathering, for ritual activities, sites for grain storage, or for military defence (Armit 2018; Fernández-Götz 2018). I argue that this multifunctionality of Danebury can be attributed in part to the varied plant-human relationships that were forming throughout the Iron Age, which can be exemplified by the pit depositional rituals occurring both in the region and specifically at Danebury. Once pit contents are emptied, they are refilled with a variety of deposits, including pottery and metal objects, as well as human and animal remains. These special deposits have gained particular attention in scholarship

as deposition seems to have played an important role in the life cycles of objects, animals, and humans (Brück 2006; Brudenell and Cooper 2008; Garrow 2006; Pollard 2001). Before pits received these special deposits, they were filled with grain for storage. The archaeobotanical assemblage that is represented in pits presents important insights into crop husbandry and crop processing at the site (Jones 1984). Triticum spelta (spelt) dominates the assemblage and remains the constant crop of choice throughout the occupation. There is additional crop evidence of Hordeum vulgare (barley), Triticum aestivum (bread wheat), and Corylus avellane (hazelnut). The wild taxa are of particular importance and are listed within Table 4.2. The variety in wild taxa associated with crop production suggests that cereals were being brought to Danebury from both the surrounding alkaline soils as well as from further low-lying valleys and gravel soils (Jones 1984). This is an interesting feature of Danebury, where the gathering of plant materials from a diversity of soils is different to what is recorded at other hillfort sites in the region (such as Maiden Castle; Sharples 1991). The indication is that cereals were grown within a wider region and were gathered together at this particular site. Plants and people were joining within a shared space. While debate surrounds the exact nature of storage pits, one primary function is grain storage, and large volumes of it. In fact, grain storage is a defining feature of hillfort sites, distinguishing them from smaller farmsteads (Sharples 1991). The storage of large volumes of grain is a widely accepted role of hillforts, but this role is considered primarily in terms of the subsistence economy; no further consideration is given to the grain itself. Bevan (2019) explores the idea that the storage of products influenced and changed landscapes, ways of consumption, and even social practices. He highlights not only the function of storage, but the importance of the products which were being stored. This is an intriguing idea for the study of pits

Table 4.2. Wild taxa from Danebury Hillfort (reproduced after Jones 1984) Species

Common Name

Type

Preferred Soil Type

Hordeum vulgare

Hulled six-row barley

Crop

Well-drained loams

Triticum aestivum

Bread wheat

Crop

Moist growing conditions

Triticum spelta

Spelt

Crop

Poorly-drained soils

Corylus avellane

Hazel

Wild/crop

Aphanes arvensis

Parsley-piert

Wild

Well-aerated chalkland

Bromus sterilis

Sterile brome

Wild

Well-aerated chalkland

Chrysanthemum segetum

Corn marigold

Wild

Acidic soils

Fumaria officinalis

Common fumitory

Wild

Well-aerated chalkland

Mentha sp.

Spearmint

Wild

Moist growing conditions

Papaver sp.

Opium poppy

Wild

Well-aerated chalkland

Ranunculus sp.

Ranunculus

Wild

Moist growing conditions

Rumex acetosella

Red sorrel

Wild

Acidic soils

Silene nutans

Nottingham catchfly

Wild

Well-aerated chalkland

Urtica urens

Annual nettle

Wild

Well-aerated chalkland

–

50 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Constructing ‘Plantiness’ in Iron Age Wessex in Wessex. If the storage of grain was of such significant importance to warrant centralised storage, why is there less acknowledgement to the grain which is stored there? The Danebury archaeobotanical materials suggest that grains were brought to the site from a variety of locations, not restricted to the local territory. Spelt cultivation reached its peak during the Early to Middle Iron Age and the (potential) volume of stored grain far exceeded the subsistence needs of the population at the site (van der Veen and Jones 2007) Once pits were unsealed, the grains had to be used almost immediately. Van der Veen (2007) argues that these grains were stored for particular feasting events, where large groups of people would consume the grains within a shared space. Grain was collected from surrounding landscapes and brought to Danebury for centralised storage to provide grains for communal feasting events. Her arguments are well founded and provide a context within which stored grains could be utilised. If pits were only used for grain storage, then our analysis of plant-human relationships would stop here. But pits, like hillforts, appear to hold a variety of roles within Iron Age contexts. The functional nature of pits must be considered alongside their ritual aspects. Hill (1995) considers the depositional assemblages of a range of pits at varying Wessex farmsteads. He criticises the separation between the sacred and the profane, questioning the notion that Iron Age people disconnected their rituals from daily activities. There is a range of depositional materials, including broken and intact pottery, disarticulated and articulated human and animal remains, and metal objects (although rare). Each category of finds tends to be found within a certain level of the pit fill, suggesting that pits were purposefully filled with specific materials and were not accidental accumulation or silting. There was a purposeful refilling of the pits over many years; Hill suggests that it could have taken up to twenty years to completely fill a pit and that multiple pits could have been filled simultaneously. This planning involved human and animal remains, pottery sherds and vessels, all placed in certain manners and distinct contexts. Every aspect of the assemblage, whether it be the human or animal remains, the broken or intact pottery, must be valued for both the practical and symbolic purposes that they hold. Understanding animal bones as simply a representation of their economic value does a disservice to the animal-human relationships as well as the symbolism specific types of animals held. The element of time was inherent to this process and there was a purposeful consideration of depositing these special materials within specific contexts (cf. Brudenell and Cooper 2008). The same type of considerations can be applied to other aspects of pit refilling. At Danebury, Cunliffe (1992) proposes that pit filling was an act of propitiation; constructing a pit was an invasion of the chthonic world and in order to repay this intrusion, offerings were made to appease these deities. Human and animal remains within pits contexts are seen as offerings and sacrifices, acts of propitiation for the protection of the grain throughout the year. Here, Cunliffe is considering

grain in two of the most commonplace manners: within the subsistence economy and as a representation of fertility. Grains were important to people because they provided food for survival and because they were the result of a plentiful harvest. Fertility and crop production are intrinsically linked and the role of crops within iconography, ritual, and religion is attributed to their representation of the larger concept of fertility. Crops, in their own right, do not hold significance beyond fertility; they support the population and any offerings made regarding crop plants was a petition for prospective fertility. While these are assuredly roles that plants hold, should they only be considered within these restricted categories? Or is it possible that plants deserve a consideration of intentionality in the same manner that has been given to animals and objects? Were crops plants only important to Iron Age people for economic reasons and/or as symbols of fertility? The significance of plant remains within pit contexts can be expanded if we consider Plantiness. A unique aspect of the Danebury assemblages was the presence of grain at the basal level within 26 pit contexts. This could be evidence of rubbish from daily use or the purposeful burning of spelt left within the pits. It is worth considering (as has been afforded to other categories of special deposits) that these examples of charred spelt was purposeful. Spelt was entangling people, animals, and objects within Danebury where the consumption of grain was occurring during feasting events. Spelt was gathered from the surrounding environment and brought to Danebury where it was stored on a large scale. After storage pits were emptied, concentrated planning was dedicated to the refilling of those pits. If humans, animals, and objects were purposefully and ritualistically placed within pits, why would grains be omitted from this process? It is reasonable to suggest that the presence of grains within these pits at Danebury represents the ritual significance of grains within pit refilling. It is possible that certain portions of grain were set aside, purposefully charred, and returned to the pit. If the other aspects of pit assemblages are representative of the connections between people, deceased individuals, and nonhuman-others, then grains within this context can also serve this purpose. Charred grains in pits represent the connected ritual importance of grain within Iron Age life in addition to their importance to the economy and diet of Iron Age peoples. This ritual importance does not necessarily have to reflect fertility, as it is only one aspect of plants. Similar agricultural practices connected people throughout the region, while the extended practice of cultivation of cereals connected people throughout time (Brice 2014). The annual cycle of grain harvesting gathered people together in shared locations for feasting events and the processes of filling, emptying, and refilling of pits. Significant time and labour were invested into the storage of grains: planting, harvesting, transporting grains, and excavating pits for storage. These activities are occurring within a shared space at specific times, as reflected in Figure 4.3. Plants, in this case spelt, were important to Iron Age life for a

51 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Molly Masterson multitude of reasons, one of which is the fact that they are plants. If we can see the economic and symbolic value of animals and objects why are we not able to afford the same interpretations to plants? 4.7. Conclusion: Reconnecting Plants and People at Danebury A common theme woven throughout the previous sections is the way in which plants, people, and time are entangled. Ingold (1993) defines entanglements in terms of temporalities, the gathering of the past and future into a ‘quality of the landscape.’ (Hicks 2016) redefines temporality as a ‘highly varied, uneven material creation’ which has formed through the archaeological material gathered up to the present point. Harris (2021) considers how time is understood in terms of memory and process, as non-linear and non-anthropocentric. These notions of temporalities help us to question how time was and is perceived. The tasks, relationships, and events which were formed throughout varied levels of time add to our greater interpretations of human becoming. The earlier consideration of the taskscape can be expanded beyond the focus on economic labour to incorporate the larger idea of ‘rhythmanalysis’, which Sturt (2006) views as the processes in which humans and non-humans experience both time and change within the landscape. The seasonality of the Wessex chalkland landscape is a possible reason for the semi-permanent occupation of Danebury; the changes of the seasons influenced when and why people travelled to the site. Humans and nonhuman-others were moving throughout the landscape in non-linear ways, engaging with the changes of the landscape throughout time. Discussions of temporalities can be expanded through a consideration of the life-cycles of hillforts, pits, and objects. The theme of life, death, and rebirth running throughout Iron Age life is notably similar to the life-cycles of plants; they were grown and harvested (life), purposefully charred (death), and then deposited into the bottom of pits (rebirth), as at Danebury. Houses and objects have been considered in similar ways in earlier periods, notably the Bronze Age (Brück 2006). It is provoking to consider that cereals may have been an influential force to this adherence to timecycles, especially if these temporal cycles were influential in the domestic and communal spheres, as well as in ritual deposits. Cereals grow, die, and regrow on an annual cycle very similar to the ways in which houses, objects, and pits are constructed, destroyed, and rebuilt. The large-scale cultivation of spelt in the Iron Age was a result of closely engaged relationships negotiated between spelt and people. The benefits of learning from these processes were higher volumes of grains and an ability to feed both people and animals. Successful plant-human relationships resulted in large amounts of cereal, meaning that humans benefitted from the grain surplus and could replant spelt the following year. Spelt was expanding throughout the landscape and was further acting as a means of connecting people and time. The cultivation

of spelt required significant attention and thus, as people became more dependent on spelt, they became more tied to the lands where spelt was growing. Spelt required people to settle; by the Iron Age, farmsteads were closely associated with the large plots of land demarcated by linear boundaries (Yates 2007). The ways in which plants and humans were learning from one another throughout time formed plant-human relationships, and these relationships influenced different aspects of life, from long-term cosmological traditions, diurnal activities, and the ways in which settlements were constructed and objects were used. Plant remains within pit assemblages could easily indicate a specific role within the ritual process of pit refilling. This role could reflect dedications to fertility and fecundity, but could also reflect the important relationships that entangled plants, people, and other nonhumans. Cereal grains have been excluded from pit assemblages because we have not fully considered the influence that plants maintain within plant-human relationships. By considering Plantiness, we are able to highlight how plants have held an active role within the creation of the archaeological record. Plantiness allows us to expand our notions of past planthuman relationships. If we return to our original ideas of Plantiness, plants are active within the negotiated relationships created with humans. Their desire to reproduce, grow, and migrate has entangled humans, who, in turn, have greatly benefited from the cultivation of plants. Cereals and humans changed one another, and in doing so, entangled animals and objects. Plant-human relationships were an important aspect of life in Iron Age Danebury and the relationships are unique to this region and time. This suggests that other plant-human relationships in distinct archaeological contexts can be re-evaluated. Distinct environments produce unique planthuman relationships and by considering Plantiness within archaeological research, we are able to consider another entanglement within human becoming. Plants were, and still are, invaluable to us. Plants and people will continue to shape each other in unique and specific ways. As Kimmerer (2012, 58) implores us, ‘we don’t have to figure out everything by ourselves: there are intelligences other than our own, teachers all around us’. Let us acknowledge this and change the ways in which we study, consider, and engage with plants in archaeology and in our own lives. Acknowledgements I am very grateful to Prof Chris Gosden and Dr Courtney Nimura for their feedback and comments on earlier drafts of this work. I would like to thank Emanuele Prezioso and Marcella Giobbe for organising the GAO conference. Finally, I would like to thank the editors of this volume. References Armit, Ian. 2007. ‘Hillforts at War: From Maiden Castle to Taniwaha Pā’. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 73: 25–37. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0079497X00000049.

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Constructing ‘Plantiness’ in Iron Age Wessex ———. 2018. ‘Ritual Sites, Offerings, and Sacrifice’. In The Oxford Handbook of the European Iron Age, by Peter S. Wells, Colin Haselgrove, and Katharina RebaySalisbury, 1st ed. Oxford University Press. https://doi. org/10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199696826.001.0001. Bevan, Andrew. 2019. ‘A Stored-Products Revolution in the 1st Millennium BC’. Archaeology International 22 (1): 127-. https://doi.org/10.5334/ai-404. Bogaard, Amy, Robin Allaby, Benjamin S. Arbuckle, Robin Bendrey, Sarah Crowley, Thomas Cucchi, Tim Denham, et al. 2021. ‘Reconsidering Domestication from a Process Archaeology Perspective’. World Archaeology 53 (1): 56–77. https://doi.org/10.1080/00 438243.2021.1954990. Bowden, Mark, and David McOmish. 1987. ‘The Required Barrier’. Scottish Archaeology Review 4 (Scott Archaeol Rev 4): 76–84. Bradley, Richard. 2000. An Archaeology of Natural Places [Electronic Resource]. Taylor & Francis EBooks. London ; New York: Routledge. https://ezproxy-prd. bodleian.ox.ac.uk/login?url=https://www.taylorfrancis. com/books/9780203630228. Bradley, Richard, Colin Haselgrove, Marc Vander Linden, and Leo Webley. 2016. The Later Prehistory of NorthWest Europe: The Evidence of Development-Led Fieldwork. Oxford: University Press. Bradley, Richard, and David Yates. 2008. ‘The Chronology of Co-Axial Field Systems’. In Monuments in the Landscape, by Paul Rainbird, 114– 22. Tempus Stroud. Brice, Jeremy. 2014. ‘Attending to Grape Vines: Perceptual Practices, Planty Agencies and Multiple Temporalities in Australian Viticulture’. Social & Cultural Geography 15 (8): 942–65. https://doi.org/10.1080/14649365.2014 .883637. Brück, Joanna. 2006. ‘Fragmentation, Personhood and the Social Construction of Technology in Middle and Late Bronze Age Britain’. Cambridge Archaeological Journal 16 (3): 297–315. https://doi.org/10.1017/ S0959774306000187. Brudenell, Matt, and Anwen Cooper. 2008. ‘PostMiddenism: Depositional Histories on Later Bronze Age Settlements at Broom, Bedfordshire’. Oxford Journal of Archaeology 27 (1): 15–36. https://doi. org/10.1111/j.1468-0092.2007.00293.x. Calvo, Paco, František Baluška, and Anthony Trewavas. 2021. ‘Integrated Information as a Possible Basis for Plant Consciousness’. Biochemical and Biophysical Research Communications 564 (July): 158–65. https:// doi.org/10.1016/j.bbrc.2020.10.022. Calvo, Paco, and Karl Friston. 2017. ‘Predicting Green: Really Radical (Plant) Predictive Processing’. Journal of The Royal Society Interface 14 (131): 20170096. https://doi.org/10.1098/rsif.2017.0096.

Cooper, Anwen, and Chris Gosden. 2021. English Landscapes and Identities : Investigating Landscape Change from 1500 BC to AD 1086. Cunliffe, Barry W. 1984. Danebury: An Iron Age Hillfort in Hampshire. Research Report (Council for British Archaeology), No. 52, 73, 102. London: Council for British Archaeology. Cunliffe, Barry W. 1992. ‘Pits, Preconceptions and Propitiation in the British Iron Age’. Oxford Journal of Archaeology 11 (1): 69–83. https://doi. org/10.1111/j.1468-0092.1992.tb00257.x. Davis, Oliver. 2013. ‘Re-Interpreting the Danebury Assemblage: Houses, Households, and Community’. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 79 (79): 353–75. https://doi.org/10.1017/ppr.2013.16. Ernwein, Marion, Franklin Ginn, and James Palmer. 2021. The Work That Plants Do: Life, Labour and the Future of Vegetal Economies. Sozial- Und Kulturgeographie ; Bd. 45. Bielefeld: Transcript. Fahlander, Fredrick. 2018. ‘The Relational Life of Trees. Ontological Aspects of “Tree-Ness” in the Early Bronze Age of Northern Europe’. Open Archaeology 4 (1): 373–85. https://doi.org/10.1515/opar-2018-0024. Fairbairn, Andrew S. 2000. Plants in Neolithic Britain and Beyond. Neolithic Studies Group Seminar Papers 5. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Fernández-Götz, Manuel. 2018. ‘Urbanization in Iron Age Europe: Trajectories, Patterns, and Social Dynamics’. Journal of Archaeological Research 26 (2): 117–64. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10814-017-9107-1. Gagliano, Monica, Stefano Mancuso, and Daniel Robert. 2012. ‘Towards Understanding Plant Bioacoustics’. Trends in Plant Science 17 (6): 323–25. https://doi. org/10.1016/j.tplants.2012.03.002. Gagliano, Monica, and Michael Renton. 2013. ‘Love Thy Neighbour: Facilitation through an Alternative Signalling Modality in Plants’. BMC Ecology 13 (1): 19. https://doi.org/10.1186/1472-6785-13-19. Garrow, Duncan. 2006. Pits, Settlement and Deposition during the Neolithic and Early Bronze Age in East Anglia. BAR British Series 414. Oxford, England: Jand EHedges : Available from Hadrian Books. Hall, Matthew. 2009. ‘Plant Autonomy and Human-Plant Ethics’. Environmental Ethics 31 (2): 169–81. https:// doi.org/10.5840/enviroethics200931218. ———. 2011. Plants As Persons: A Philosophical Botany. Albany, United States: State University of New York Press. http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/oxford/ detail.action?docID=3407222. Harris, Oliver J. T. 2021. ‘Archaeology, Process and Time: Beyond History versus Memory’. World Archaeology 53 (1): 104–21. https://doi.org/10.1080/00438243.202 1.1963833.

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Molly Masterson Hartigan, John. 2019. ‘Plants as Ethnographic Subjects’. Anthropology Today 35 (2): 1–2. https://doi. org/10.1111/1467-8322.12491. Haselgrove, Colin. 2009. ‘The Iron Age’. In The Archaeology of Britain: An Introduction from Earliest Times to the Twenty-First Century, by John Hunter and Ian Ralston, 2nd ed. London: Routledge. Head, Lesley, and Jennifer Atchison. 2009. ‘Cultural Ecology: Emerging Human-Plant Geographies’. Progress in Human Geography 33 (2): 236–45. https:// doi.org/10.1177/0309132508094075. Head, Lesley, Jennifer Atchison, and Alison Gates. 2012. Ingrained: A Human Bio-Geography of Wheat. Ebook Central. Burlington, Vt.: Ashgate. Hicks, Dan. 2016. ‘The Temporality of the Landscape Revisited’. Norwegian Archaeological Review 49 (1): 5–22. https://doi.org/10.1080/00293652.2016.115145. Hill, J. D. 1995. Ritual and Rubbish in the Iron Age of Wessex: A Study on the Formation of a Specific Archaeological Record. BAR British Series British Series 242. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports. Hoskins, R. 2019. ‘Life Cycle of a Tree: How Trees Grow’. Woodland Trust, 24 June 2019. https://www. woodlandtrust.org.uk/blog/2019/06/tree-lifecycle/. Ingold, Tim. 1993. ‘The Temporality of the Landscape’. World Archaeology 25 (2): 152–74. https://doi.org/10.1 080/00438243.1993.9980235. Jones, Martin. 1984. ‘The Plant Remains’. In Danebury: An Iron Age Hillfort in Hampshire, by Barry W. Cunliffe. Research Report (Council for British Archaeology), No. 52, 73, 102. London: Council for British Archaeology. Karban, Richard. 2008. ‘Plant Behaviour and Communication’. Ecology Letters 11 (7): 727–39. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1461-0248.2008.01183.x. Kelly, Dave. 1994. ‘The Evolutionary Ecology of Mast Seeding’. Trends in Ecology & Evolution 9 (12): 465– 70. https://doi.org/10.1016/0169-5347(94)90310-7. Kirksey, S. Eben, and Stefan Helmreich. 2010. ‘The Emergence of Multispecies Ethnography’. Cultural Anthropology 25 (4): 545–76. https://doi.org/10.1111/ j.1548-1360.2010.01069.x. Kohn, Eduardo. 2013. How Forests Think: Toward an Anthropology beyond the Human [Electronic Resource]. University Press Scholarship Online. Berkeley: University of California Press. https:// ezproxy-prd.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/login?url=http://dx.doi. org/10.1525/california/9780520276109.001.0001.

Nicoglou, Antonine. 2015. ‘The Evolution of Phenotypic Plasticity: Genealogy of a Debate in Genetics’. Studies in History and Philosophy of Science Part C: Studies in History and Philosophy of Biological and Biomedical Sciences 50 (April): 67–76. https://doi.org/10.1016/j. shpsc.2015.01.003. Noble, Gordon. 2017. Woodland in the Neolithic of Northern Europe: The Forest as Ancestor. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. https://doi. org/10.1017/9781316672006. Pollard, Joshua. 2001. ‘The Aesthetics of Depositional Practice’. World Archaeology 33 (2): 315–33. https:// doi.org/10.1080/00438240120079316. Raja, Vicente, Paula L. Silva, Roghaieh Holghoomi, and Paco Calvo. 2020. ‘The Dynamics of Plant Nutation’. Scientific Reports 10 (1): 19465. https://doi. org/10.1038/s41598-020-76588-z. Ryan, John Charles. 2012. ‘Passive Flora? Reconsidering Nature’s Agency through Human-Plant Studies (Hps)’. Societies (Basel, Switzerland) 2 (3): 101–21. https:// doi.org/10.3390/soc2030101. Sharples, Niall M. 1991. Maiden Castle: Excavations and Field Survey 1985-6. Archaeological Report (English Heritage) 19. London: English Heritage. ———. 2010. Social Relations in Later Prehistory: Wessex in the First Millennium BC [Electronic Resource]. Oxford Scholarship Online. Oxford: University Press. https://ezproxy-prd.bodleian. ox.ac.uk/login?url=https://dx.doi.org/10.1093/ oso/9780199577712.001.0001. Simard, Suzanne W. 2009. ‘The Foundational Role of Mycorrhizal Networks in Self-Organization of Interior Douglas-Fir Forests’. Forest Ecology and Management 258 (December): S95–107. https://doi.org/10.1016/j. foreco.2009.05.001. Sturt, Fraser. 2006. ‘Local Knowledge Is Required: A Rhythmanalytical Approach to the Late Mesolithic and Early Neolithic of the East Anglian Fenland, UK’. Journal of Maritime Archaeology 1 (2): 119–39. https:// doi.org/10.1007/s11457-006-9006-y. Sultan, Sonia E. 2000. ‘Phenotypic Plasticity for Plant Development, Function and Life History’. Trends in Plant Science 5 (12): 537–42. https://doi.org/10.1016/ S1360-1385(00)01797-0. Sundberg, Juanita. 2014. ‘Decolonizing Posthumanist Geographies’. Cultural Geographies 21 (1): 33–47. https://doi.org/10.1177/1474474013486067.

Malafouris, Lambros. 2013. How Things Shape the Mind: A Theory of Material Engagement. Cambridge, Massachusetts ; London: MIT Press.

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Todd, Zoe. 2016. ‘‘An Indigenous Feminist’s Take on the Ontological Turn: “Ontology” Is Just Another Word for

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Constructing ‘Plantiness’ in Iron Age Wessex Colonialism’. Journal of Historical Sociology 29 (1): 4–22. https://doi.org/10.1111/johs.12124. Trewavas, Anthony. 2014. Plant Behaviour and Intelligence. Oxford University Press. https://doi. org/10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199539543.001.0001. van der Veen, Marijke. 2007. ‘Food as an Instrument of Social Change: Feasting in Iron Age and Early Roman Southern Britain’, January. ———. 2014. ‘The Materiality of Plants: Plant–People Entanglements’. World Archaeology 46 (5): 799–812. https://doi.org/10.1080/00438243.2014.953710. van der Veen, Marijke, and Glynis Jones. 2007. ‘The Production and Consumption of Cereal Grain: A Question of Scale’. In The Later Iron Age in Britain and Beyond, edited by Colin Haselgrove and Tom Moore. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Wall-Kimmerer, Robin. 2013. Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants. First edition. Ebook Central. Minneapolis, Minnesota: Milkweed Editions. Wohlleben, Peter. 2018. The Hidden Life of Trees. Illustrated edition. Vancouver: Greystone Books. Yates, David T. 2007. Land, Power and Prestige: Bronze Age Field Systems in Southern England. [Electronic Resource]. Havertown: Oxbow Books. https://directory. doabooks.org/handle/20.500.12854/38830.

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Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

5 The Iconography of Linen Body Armour in Greek Vase Paintings: An Attempt to Reconstruct a Linothorax Justine Diemke University of Hamburg, Germany Abstract: Alongside modern technologies, experimental archaeology is becoming increasingly important in academic research. In recent years, the Department of Ancient History at the University of Hamburg and Helmut Schmidt University has proactively engaged with this practical way of research by reconstructing a Greek linothorax. The archaeological finds of Greek linothoraxes are confined to a small number of fragments. Therefore, the reconstruction we made, which was based on vase painting, included more than 100 depictions of the linothorax from the Classical period. In addition to the vase paintings, evidence for the use of the linothorax from the late 6th century BC until the 2nd century AD is provided by depictions in wall paintings, reliefs, and mosaics. These findings, however, raise difficult questions on how the ancient armour was produced and how materials and glue were used. For these purposes, experimental archaeology is becoming an evermore important tool for using the few archaeological fragments that are in existence, in conjunction with the small number of references that are made to this armour, so as to be in a position to attempt different reconstructions. 5.1. Introduction Alongside modern technologies, experimental archaeology has become increasingly important in academic research. In recent years, the Department of Ancient History at the University of Hamburg and Helmut Schmidt University, under the direction of Michael Zerjadtke, has proactively engaged with this practical research method by reconstructing a Greek linothorax.11 Previous research on ancient armour has focused on the muscle cuirass, while linen body armour remains a relatively inactive field of investigation. Until now, Aldrete and his associates have made the only academic attempts at reconstruction of this type of linen armour (Aldrete et al. 2013).

This paper will focus on archaeological sources, with a brief overview of relevant literary sources that underscore the armour’s high value. Given the amount of visual evidence, not all archaeological sources can be included in this study; instead, the paper presents an investigation of all Greek vase paintings depicting linen body armour. Initially, this paper addresses the definition of the term ‘linothorax’ and its wide usage in the Greek military. A study that seeks to reconstruct an armour that is as historically authentic as possible will not only need to fully exploit the available material but also to undertake a critical evaluation of the sources and depictions.

Archaeological finds of Greek linen body armour are confined to a small number of fragments. In addition to vase paintings, evidence for the use of the linothorax during the period from the late 6th century BC up until the 2nd century AD is mainly provided through depictions in wall paintings, reliefs, and mosaics. However, these findings raise difficult questions relating to how the ancient armour was produced and how materials and glue were used in their construction. Archaeological evidence provides a wide range of different structural elements and decorations for the armour. The project’s mission is to reconstruct linen body armour, using only the materials known in antiquity, and subsequently to test the armour’s efficacy.

The desire to make a hero of the warrior may have led in ancient depictions to the establishment of additional features and attributes far removed from reality. How accurately did paintings reproduce realistic battle scenes and military equipment, given the simultaneous requirement for aesthetic value? To consider this question, we will challenge the use of different elements, such as decoration and motifs, which often appear in many possible variations. Besides highly decorated armour, there are several plain representations. The wide range of different variants requires close consideration of all armour components, such as the shoulder flaps, pteruges, and scales. This iconographical analysis reveals that depictions of the armour were not always based on genuine patterns but on formulaic conceptions of the armour’s protective abilities.

The website of the project: https://www.linothorax.de/. For more information on the project, see Zerjadtke-Kasperidus 2021.

Finally, I will look at the material we used for the experiment. By presenting the initial results of this project, I would like to show how the practical approach of using

11 

57 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Justine Diemke experimental archaeology enables reconstruction of an armour through the scant evidence in the extant material. 5.2. Terminology and evidence The linothorax was a type of body armour made of multiple layers of linen. The terminology of armour (θώρηξ) has been problematic, as the same terms were often used to describe different types of armour without additional details. The Greek term for linothorax was λινοθώρηξ (confined to the Archaic period; see Hom. Il. 2.527–530; Hom. II. 2.828–833; Strab. 3.3.6; Strab. XIII.10; Anth. Gr. XIV.73.) and θώρηκα λίνεον,12 the Latin term being thorace linteo.13 Corslets made of linen and at least sometimes reinforced with bronze plaques are attested philologically and archaeologically in the Greek Bronze Age (Chadwick 1973, 319–320, 375-ff). The term ‘o-pawo-ta’ (literally ‘things hung’ or ‘attached around’) which is mentioned in several Pylos Linear B tablets indicates these plaques (Chadwick 1973, 376, 378). Moreover, a tablet in Linear B from Knossos (L693) may also attest to the application of bronze plates on linen chitons (e-piki-to-ni-ja). The existing remnants of armour originally dedicated in sanctuaries or found in warrior graves are confined to fragments, since the perishable material did not survive depositional processes.14 A clearly broad picture of the use and function of the linen armour is given by the written sources. Unlike the muscle cuirass, the linothorax provided better durability and breathability. Nepos stressed the main advantages of linen body armour: Idem genus loricarum mutavit et pro sertis atque aeneis linteas dedit. Quo facto expeditiores milites reddidit; nam pondere detracto, quod aeque corpus tegeret et leve esset curavit.15 According to Nepos, linen body armour (lintea) was lighter than the bronze muscle cuirass but protected the body in the same way. Plutarch emphasises the advantages of linen, including the minimal weight and the possibility of using it all year round (Plut. Mor. 352). Although Nepos referred to the establishment of linen body armour after the military reforms of the 4th century BC, the linothorax had already emerged by the Archaic period. The earliest attestation of this type of linen body armour in the Homeric epic suggests that it must have been known in Greece as far Hdt. 2.182.1; Hdt. 7.63; Hdt. 7.89.1; Xen. an. 4.7.15–16; Xen. cyr. 6.4.2; Dio. LXXVIII.7; Plut. Alex. 32.5; Paus. 1.21.7; Paus. 6.19.7; Aen. Tact. Frag. 50; Ael. NA. 9.17. 13  Liv. 4.20.7; Plin. nat. hist. 19.6; Sil. IX. 587–590. 14  From the Tomb of the Warrior at Tarquinia: see Helbig 1874, 257ff. Also, a grave at Mycenae: see Studniczka 1887, 8–24; Granger-Taylor 1994, 56–84. For an overview of all found linen armour fragments, see Zerjadtke-Kasperidus 2021, 30–31. 15  “He changed the character of their breastplates, giving them linen ones in place of bronze cuirasses or chain armour. In that way, he made the soldiers more active; for while he diminished the weight of their armour, he contrived to protect their bodies equally well without overloading them” (trans. from Nep. Iph. 1.4) Translation from J. C. Rolfe, On Great Generals. On Historians. Cornelius Nepos (1929). 12 

back as the 8th century (Hom. II. 2.529, 830–834). Linen body armour usage was not confined to the Aegean area but was also found in Egypt, Persia, Asia, and Phoenicia (see Aldrete et al. 2013, 13; Xen. an. 4.7.15–16; 7.63; 7.89). The literary evidence reaches from the Archaic through to the Hellenistic period,16 when the linen body armour was displayed as a corselet in its predominant form. In Roman imperial iconography, the linen body armour appeared to a lesser extent. It was mostly limited to equestrian statues and portraits of emperors, as well as reliefs on triumphal arches and victory columns. The literary evidence stressed its uselessness at this time. For example, according to Pausanias, the linen body armour had not been necessary for military purposes since the 2nd century AD.17 In contrast to the limited amount of literary evidence, the armour is well represented in archaeological sources, including vase paintings, statues, wall paintings, reliefs, and mosaics. The earliest depictions can be found in temple architecture and funerary stelae, appearing at the same time as depictions on ceramics around 500 BC. Numerous depictions of ancient linen body armour appear on vase paintings. For the analysis of the depictions, I used the Corpus Vasorum Antiquorum (CVA), the largest collection of ancient Greek painted pottery in the world. Fragments and pieces that cannot be dated were excluded from my analysis, thus reducing the number of depictions examined to 120 pieces. The analysis focused on vessels dated to the period between 530 and 360 BC. The following sections present a critical appraisal of the depictions of these vessels, examining the different structural variants and decorations of linen body armour. 5.3. Vase paintings as source of material The adoption of depictions of military equipment and combat scenes as the main sources for reconstructing warfare in antiquity needs to be carefully examined, as Greek painters often attempted to recreate topics from the epics and past by archaizing or heroizing them (Echeverría 2015; for the iconography of war on Archaic vases, see Kucewicz 2021).18 The questionable reliability of such sources does not stand in contrast to historical sources, as the exaggerated weight of weapons and the focus on single combat in the epics similarly attempted to make heroes of the characters. Aside from the question of whether military equipment was merely a part of heroic repertory, archaeological findings can confirm that, even for mythological scenes, painters used contemporary repertories and altered them (Jarva 1995, 15).

As Plutarch remarks, Alexander wore linen body armour at the Battle of Issus: see Plut. Alex. 32.8. 17  Paus. 1.21.7: οἱ δὲ θώρακες οἱ λινοῖ μαχομένοις μὲν οὐχ ὁμοίως εἰσὶ χρήσιμοι, διιᾶσι γὰρ καὶ βιαζόμενοι τὸν σίδηρον: θηρεύοντας δὲ ὠφελοῦσιν, ἐναποκλῶνται γάρ σφισι καὶ λεόντων ὀδόντες καὶ παρδάλεων. 18  Painters often tried to fill up free space in pictures, including in clothing and adornment. The person is often surrounded by plants, trees, and branches: see Dietrich 2010. 16 

58 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

The Iconography of Linen Body Armour in Greek Vase Paintings As already pointed out, the question of the degree of realism in the iconography of ancient warfare receives little attention, as there is a lack of other sources to be considered for reconstruction.19 Despite their potential shortcomings, vase paintings have become a valuable and essential source, alongside literary evidence, for reconstructing the composition of such armour, as warfare itself was a recurrent motif in iconography. The idea of the male body and armour as one unit, similar to the female body and clothing, was prevalent in iconography (Dietrich 2015, 64–67). The separation of the body from its armour or weapons aims to extend the figure by spreading the hero’s equipment over the field of the picture. In contrast to linen body armour, the muscle cuirass, whose decoration primarily repeats anatomical features, was pictured more rarely. An example can be found in 6th century BC black-figure vases. Here, the linen armour is rarely found, while the most common representation is that of ancient warriors wearing the muscle cuirass or a large shield covering the entire body. After the beginning of the Persian War in 499 BC, depictions of linen body armour became more frequent. The depictions are most common between 510 BC and 450 BC, while they decrease steadily in the 4th century BC, which does not necessarily indicate a decrease in the use of this armour. Rather, this trend correlates with the massive overall drop in numbers of battle scenes painted on pottery at this time. A common scene in vase painting of the Archaic and Classical periods is the departure of the warrior, showing him bidding farewell to his family, who assist him with his armour and weapons. This scene is intended to emphasise the soldier’s willingness to fight and highlight the warrior’s duty to protect his family and polis (Bernadette-Spieß 1992). The Attic red-figure amphora attributed to the painter Euthymides provides one example (Figure 5.1):20 Hector putting his armour on before combat, flanked by Priam and Hecuba. In this depiction, we can see how the armour was put on: wrapped around the waist and fastened at the front. Since a frontal representation was probably easier for the painter to realise, the closure of the armour at the front in this instance may be attributed to artistic reasons. Side representations of linen armour on other vases depict leather straps on the side, whereby the armour could also have been fastened on the side. In the final step, the upstanding shoulder flaps were folded down and fastened to the chest area. Depictions of shoulder flaps and their shapes vary in vase paintings, as do the motifs often depicted on them. The flaps are either squared off at the end, which is the most common form, or rounded.21 The decoration of the flaps See Aldrete et al. 2013, 23. Hannestad (2001, 110–119) considers realism in fighting scenes in Greek art. 20  Attic red-figure amphora, 510 BC, Antikensammlung, Munich, 2307. Red-figured lekythos, attributed to the Phiale Painter, 440–430 BC, British Museum, London. 21  As the rounded shoulder flaps are most common in depictions of the Persians, the Greeks could have adopted this style: see Aldrete et al. 2013, 32. 19 

Figure 5.1. Hector donning his breastplate. Drawing after an Athenian red-figure amphora ascribed to Euthymides, ca. 510 BCE. Accessed 3 August 2022. https://en.wikipedia. org/wiki/The_Revelers_Vase#/media/File:Hektor_arming_ Staatliche_Antikensammlungen_2307.jpg

varies wildly and, similarly to the rest of the armour, no pair of flaps is identical to another. Despite the various styles, certain characteristics and commonalities can be observed. The available space of the shoulder flaps is mostly filled with motifs, even if the rest of the armour, especially the chest area, remains undecorated. Further options in the construction of body armour can be observed in the various methods of fastening the shoulder flaps to the torso, and their associated decorated elements. Vase paintings show different methods of attachment (for the frequency of the attachment point style, see Aldrete et al. 2013, 32–33). While in the earliest depictions the shoulder flaps were fastened by two ties, after 480 BC some depictions displayed circular rings of metal to which the ties were fastened. The first and most common method was one attachment point, central on the torso, to which the flaps were fastened,22 followed by the double attachment point, either crossed over23 or, less commonly, parallel.24 For instance, Departure of a warrior, red-figured stamnos attributed to the Achilles Painter, 450–440 BC, British Museum, London; Achilles kills Memnon, stamnos, 450–430 BC, Museo Archeologico dell’Antica Capua; Persians defeating Greeks in combat, plastic vase by Sotades, 460–440 BC, Musée du Louvre, Paris, CA3825; Amazonomachy, calyx-krater, the Penthesileia Painter, 470–460 BC, Museo Civico Archeologico, Bologna, 16427, ARV 2891; Priam attacked by Neoptolemos, calyx-krater by the Niobid Painter, 460/50 BC, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Ferrara. 23  Achilles and Memnon, Attic red-figure ware stamnos, attributed to Hermonax, 470 BC, National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne; Dionysus and a giant, calyx-krater, Blenheim Painter, 470–465 BC, State Hermitage Museum, St Petersburg, ST1274; Mixing vessel with Greeks battling Amazons, attributed to the Niobid Painter, 475–450 BC, Museo Archeologico Regionale, Agrigento, Sicily. 24  Combat of Theseus and Andromache, red-figured kantharos, attributed to the Alexandre Group, 430–420 BC, British Museum, London; Amazons, Athenian red-figure cup, the Eretria Painter, 440–410 BC, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples, 81324. 22 

59 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Justine Diemke was established during the Persian Wars27 to stress the idea of proud triumph and courage against the enemy. While the Greek hoplite is wearing linen body armour or is fighting naked to demonstrate heroic virility, the Persian is depicted in an oriental trouser-suit or fish-scale corselet, also used for depicting Scythians (Miller 2006, 109–123).

Figure 5.2. Achilles wearing a linothorax, embellished with a gorgoneion. Drawing after an Attic red-figure amphora ascribed to Achilles Painter, ca. mid 5th century, now at the Vatican Musuems. Accessed 3 August 2022. https:// www.beazley.ox.ac.uk/images/pottery/painters/keypieces/ tiverios/28-p175-medium.jpg

The crossed-over attachment, involving securing the flaps to two parallel attachments, may have been preferred by painters as the crossing enables the space on the chest to be filled aesthetically. For this purpose, the attachment point could appear as a decorative element, such as Medusa’s head (Figure 5.2).25 This could explain why this attachment point style is mostly used when the chest is not covered with scales. Both flaps could also be cross-over fastened to one point on the chest. 5.4. Decoration The completeness and quality of body linen armours did not depend on the prevalent decorative style in use during the different historical periods. The warrior is depicted only in a few types of scenes: carrying the dead from the battlefield, saying farewell to his family, putting the armour on and receiving weapons, with the most common being the fight against the enemy. The evidence becomes complex when vase paintings display different types and decorations of linen armour. In a few instances, vases depict combat scenes from historical events, such as battle scenes between the Greeks and the Persians.26 This motif

Contrary to the hoplites, whose armour was depicted with no motifs, the Persians’ and Scythians’ trouser-suits were decorated with numerous patterns and ornaments (Hölscher 1974, 79; Raeck 1980, 102; Bittner 1985, 125–126). These differences are not surprising given the shared literary topoi regarding Persian effeminacy, luxurious living, and decadence, which were strongly established after the Persian invasion. Similarly, the extravagant depiction of their equipment, including typical oriental weapons such as the bow, was meant to reflect its strangeness and otherness (Osborne 2018, 106–109; Raeck 1980, 101– 133).28 To highlight this contrast, the armour of the Greeks was kept plainer than usual. However, in other depictions, particularly in mythological scenes, where heroes fight against each other, the linen body armour is far more ornamented and presents multiple decorative elements. An example comes from the Iliad’s heroes, such as Achilles on a red-figure cup by the Sosias Painter, represented with a linen body armour completely covered with scales, dated 500 BC (Berlin, Antikensammlung, F2278). The use of decorative techniques in the depiction of armour seemingly depends on several factors: the identity of the enemy, the status of the warrior, the quality of the depiction (in some cases, the whole picture is decorated plainly), and the aesthetical interest of the painter. These factors cast doubt on the realism of such representations, demonstrating that the use of such decorative elements may not be primarily intended to represent the armour in realistic terms. Instead, these representations are only loosely based on actual stylistic and functional components of this type/class of armour. The various decorative styles show the different ways in which the armour could be decorated, without any genuine temporal relationship. The most common decorative element was a four-, eight-, or sixteen-point sunburst placed on the shoulder flaps or located in the chest area between the shoulder flaps. Most common was the eight-point sunburst, followed by the four-point (25%) and sixteen-point (15%). More rarely, we find six- and eight-point sunbursts (Aldrete et al. 2013, 41–42). This star should not be confused with the emblem of the Macedonian royal family, as the symbol appears as a common decorative pattern in all periods, from the Archaic period to Hellenistic times.29 Between 490–470 BC, we have nine vase paintings: see Muth 2008, 699, note 61: 21860; 205108; 204329; 203838; 204549; 2273; 16190; 2567; 210293; and four between 470–460 BC: Muth 2008, 699, note 61: 275257; 207321; 207519; 1287. 28  On the costume and armament of the Persian army, see Bittner 1985, 123–178; Bovon 1963, 595–597; Miller 1997, 153–187. 29  The symbols could have a religious function, as the sun and stars played an important role in different cults as well as in the funerary cult: see Müller 2009, 364–380. 27 

Theseus is attacking an Amazon, Attic red-figure neck amphora, 450– 430 BC, Israel Museum, Jerusalem, 124/1. 26  Muth 2008, 142–238; Felten 1999, 196–197. For battle scenes in the 5th and 6th centuries BC, see Recke 2002, 11–20. Interest lies particularly in depictions of duels, reaching its peak in 540–520 BC and steadily declining again from 500 BC onwards, Recke 2002, 12. For a direct reference to the Battle of the Eurymedon, see Attic oinochoe, Museum für Kunst und Gewerbe, Hamburg, Inv. no.1981.173. 25 

60 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

The Iconography of Linen Body Armour in Greek Vase Paintings Another common decorative pattern was the head of an animal, often placed on the chest and less frequently on the shoulder flaps. Among the most popular motifs were the head of Medusa, panthers, dogs, lions, and snakes. The frequency of the Medusa motif results from its multiple symbolic functions, including the apotropaic and the protective function, as well as the destructive connection features similarly found in the snake motif. The lion has often been used as a symbol of virtue and force and is often associated with Heracles and the lion skin. In addition, to fill up the free space on the armour as much as possible, painters used palmettes, square patterns, dashes, wave-like patterns, dots, and the meander as decorative elements. 5.5. Pteruges and scales Pteruges were strips of linen or leather to protect the groin area. While in the earliest vase paintings from the sixth century BC we find two rows of pteruges, after 480 BC, these are reduced to a single row. One of the explanations for the reduction of pteruges could be the high cost and weight of a double row. Pteruges show a distinct change in their representation from all other decorative elements, which suggests that painters might not have arbitrarily selected decorative elements for their depictions of linen body armour but rather incorporated changes in the structure of the armour into their paintings. However, it remains unclear how the pteruges were fastened to the armour. It is conceivable that the pteruges were sewn to a separate piece of leather, fastened to the breastplate, or worn separately under the armour in the shape of a belt. Archaeological findings from armour provide information about the attachment of these scales (De Bakker 2012, 1−38; Maddin et al. 1983, 108–109). Scales fulfilled an aesthetic function in vase paintings and produced a flexible armour in practice. The scales could be strung together through small holes on the edges so that they overlap at each side and at the top. Square and round scales could be placed here side by side or separated by putting square scales on the outer margin and filling the middle part with round scales.30 In rare cases, scales were placed over the whole armour piece, including the pteruges and shoulder flaps, possibly based on an aesthetic aspect as well as the social status of the warrior. Since vulnerable areas required additional plating, in most cases scales covered only the abdomen or chest. Scales on these vulnerable areas did not increase the corselet weight as much as if they completely covered the corselet 5.6. The vulnerability of armour Multiple vase paintings depict injured warriors with complex wounds, highlighting violent brutality of the fighting, such as in the example of a red-figured amphora by the Altamura Painter depicting Menelaos and Helen, now at the British Museum (470–450 BC) (Muth 2008; Saunders Menelaos and Helen, red-figured amphora by the Altamura Painter, 470–450 BC, British Museum, London. 30 

2010, 1–21; Salazar 2000, 230–247). The depiction of wounds and injuries gives us valuable information about the degree of penetrability of the armour’ and what parts of the body were better protected. Wounds were often illustrated in vase painting by blood losses from different parts of the body. The bodily locations of the wounds depend on whether the warrior was dressed or naked.31 As Bonfante (1989) has pointed out in her study of nudity in Classical art, there were several stylistic reasons for depicting the warrior nude.32 Thus, nudity became a mark of distinction between social groups (Greeks and nonGreeks), between civilized people and wild beasts, or one combatant from another (Hurwit 2007, 52). The image of a nude warrior could also express arete or physical beauty. Likewise, heroism could also be emphasized by depicting the warrior fully armed, simultaneously referring to his unique protection on the battlefield.33 Vice versa, nudity can, suggest vulnerability and defeat as we can see in Exekias’ Ajax or Sarpedon.34 The calyx-krater signed by Euphronios shows the removal of Sarpedon’s naked body from the battlefield.35 The corpse shows three fresh spear wounds: one in the lower right abdomen, the second on the left collarbone, and the last one on the left thigh. However, what body areas are most often wounded when heroes are fully armoured? The wounds of the fallen warrior wearing a corselet are constrained to specific bodily locations, such as the thigh and the chest. On a calyx-krater by Euphronios, the fallen warrior is wearing a scale corselet but blood gushes from the thigh, which remains uncovered.36 The depictions show the eyes (here, the motif with the arrow),37 the arms, the legs, the left thigh, the waist, and the neck as vulnerable areas. A lance or sword is often thrust into the back or chest of the enemy. For instance, the red-figure oinochoe, attributed to the Terpaulos Painter (Museo Nazionale Etrusco di Villa Giulia in, Rome) shows a hoplite wearing linen body armour while arrows are thrown at him: one has pierced his shield, the second misses his thigh, and a third is about to pierce his other leg.38 Another example is given by a According to Osborne, the depiction of a hoplite in full armour or naked ‘seems to be a matter of the preference of individual artists’; see Osborne 2018, 104. 32  Bonfante 1989. Likewise, Hurwit (2007) refers to the heroic component of nudity: the hero’s courage and fearlessness; (p. 46). 33  Achilles wearing armour while he is being carried off the battlefield, see Malibu, J. Paul Getty Museum 77.AE.20; also Patroclus, see Attic redfigure calyx-krater of the Pezzino Group, 500 BC, Museo Archeologico, Agrigento, C 1956. 34  For instance, Ajax on the Boulogne amphora, where his nakedness signifies vulnerability; see Hurwit 2007, 49, 55; Osborne 2018, 104. 35  Attic red-figure calyx-krater signed by Euphronios, ca. 515 BC ExNew York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 1972.11.10. 36  Kyknos in battle with Herakles, calyx-krater signed by Euphronios, 510–500 BC, Shelby White and Leon Levy Collection, New York; see Muth 2008, 54–56. 37  Often Heracles: see Heracles and Geryoneus, Attic red-figure signed by Euphronios, 510–500 BC, Antikensammlung, Munich; Battle between Heracles and Geryoneus, red-figure kylix, Epeleios Painter, 510 BC, private collection, Bremen. 38  For instance, see red-figured cup, Kleophrades Painter, 500–480 BC, British Museum, London; Hermes kills a giant, Attic red-figure pelike, Argos Painter, 490–480 BC, Musée d’Art et d’Histoire, Geneva: the hoplite is wearing a scale corselet; the god thrusts his sword into his back; Athena slaying giant, red-figure lekythos (tight and side on the chest), 31 

61 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Justine Diemke

Figure 5.3. The ordered linen fabric. A total of twelve layers of linen were glued together.

red-figure hydria depicting the Sack of Troy attributed to the Kleophrades Painter that presents two fallen warriors in linen body armour lying on the ground.39 Both are wounded on the left thigh and waist, which was not additionally covered in scales. The question of which area of the warrior’s body would be wounded also depends on the opponent’s ethnicity and identity. For instance, Amazons are most often injured on the left breast and thigh being as said the most vulnerable areas. It seems that the artists stressed the armour’s protective effect by depicting wounds on unprotected areas of the body—mainly on the groin area and thighs. These areas had to remain uncovered to preserve the upper body to freely move. These depictions also indicate that the corselet was not entirely spearproof. However, in most cases the warrior preferred to injure his enemy in the most vulnerable or uncovered areas. As the injuries of fallen warriors frequently appear on these parts of the body not covered with scales, the examples provided show the strong effectiveness of armour and stresses the importance of scales on the waist area and the sides. 5.7. Outlook: The reconstruction process The examination of pottery depictions was essential to reconstruct this type of linen armour. After collecting literary and archaeological sources, we began the experimental process. Although we knew the structure of the armour, we were faced with a new problem: as attributed to the Berlin Painter, 490–480 BC, Museum of Art, Cleveland, Ohio. 39  Attic red-figure hydria, Sack of Troy, Kleophrades Painter, 480–475 BC, Museo Nazionale Archeologico, Naples.

we did not know either the kind of fabric or the glue used to make the linen armour, we tested several types of both fabric and glue. For the fabric, we first tried thin and then coarse linen, but this significantly delayed the production process, as several layers were required. Furthermore, the archaeological evidence speaks more in favour of thicker linen, which was also more favourable for production (Figure 5.3). With the glue, we had to experiment for a longer time, since hardly any information about the exact composition of the glue has survived in ancient sources. For the first step, we followed the experiments of Aldrete, who used rabbit and flaxseed glue for the reconstruction of the linothorax (Aldrete et al. 2013, 77–80). Rabbit-skin glue is a natural glue made from animal waste (Figure 5.4). But with the rabbit-skin glue, the corselet became too stiff and inflexible, which is why we tried using glue from flaxseeds. However, after a few attempts, it became evident that glue from flaxseeds hardly even held the layers together (Figure 5.5). For the third adhesive, we used starch glue. We made this decision based on a Suetonian commentary from the 17th century and another Byzantine source, which provide evidence that the linen was hardened by salt and vinegar (Aldrete et al. 2013, 66). This could point to the use of starch glue (see Zerjadtke-Kasperidus 2021, 34). When we applied this glue, the armour plate became very hard but much more flexible than when we used rabbit glue. Due to the unsolved issue with the hard armour plate, we had to slightly modify the construction of the armour. Therefore, as gluing the armour was not a realistic option, we decided to sew some parts of the linen body armour together (Figure 5.6). The combination of two methods of construction—gluing and sewing—could have also enhanced the protection offered by the armour.

62 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

The Iconography of Linen Body Armour in Greek Vase Paintings

Figure 5.5. On the first test piece, where the glue was applied with a brush, the layers hardly stuck together. On the second test piece, whose layers were dipped in the glue, they stuck together much more firmly, but became very hard.

Less mobile areas such as the chest and back, which required increased protection, were glued to produce a tough and resistant material (Figure 5.7). The result was a thicker front panel with much more flexible sides. For reinforcement and to compensate for the less effective protection of the side areas, we strengthened the thinner side areas with bronze scales as seen on vase paintings (Figure 5.8).

Figure 5.4. Heating the rabbit glue. The glue was heated to a temperature of about 70°C. The glue was then applied to the linen fabric with a special brush. Some layers we dipped directly into the glue and then wrung out.

We have been working on the project for four years and, as has been shown, the reconstruction is based primarily on testing and experimentation. The archaeological and literary sources form the basis of our project, but they do not give us a ready pattern for the armour’s reconstruction. This pattern can be restored only by experimental archaeology.

Figure 5.6. Sewing the layers.

63 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Justine Diemke

Figure 5.7. The chest and back were hardened by gluing, while the side areas were not coated with glue.

Figure 5.8. Last step: Attaching bronze scales to the vulnerable sides.

64 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

The Iconography of Linen Body Armour in Greek Vase Paintings References Aldrete, Gregory S., Scott Bartell, and Alicia Aldrete. 2013. Reconstructing ancient linen body armour. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins U. Press. Bernadette-Spieß, Angela. 1992. Der Kriegerabschied auf attischen Vasen der archaischen Zeit. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang. Bittner, Stefan. 1985. Tracht und Bewaffnung des persischen Heeres zur Zeit der Achaimeniden. Kalifornien: Interdisziplinäre Wissenschaft. Bonfante, Larissa. 1989. “Nudity as a Costume in Classical Art.” American Journal of Archaeology 93, no. 4: 543–570. Bovon, Anne. 1963. “La representation des guerriers perses et la notion de barbare dans la I moitie du V siecle.” BCH 87: 579–602. Chadwick, John. 1973. Documents in Mycenaean Greek. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. De Bakker, Fabrice. 2012. “Scale-Armour in the Mediterranean Area during the early Iron Ages: A) From the IXth to the IIIrd Century B.C.” Revue des Études Militaires Anciennes 5: 1−38. Dietrich, Nikolaus. 2010. Figur ohne Raum? Bäume und Felsen in der attischen Vasenmalerei des 6. und 5. Jh. v. Chr. (ICON – Image and Context 7). Berlin-New York: De Gruyter. Dietrich, Nikolaus. 2015. Figure and Space in Vase-Painting and in Architectural Sculpture: On the (Ir-) Relevance of the Medium, TEMPO. Revista digital de História do departamento e do programa de pós-graduaçao em história da Univesidade Federal Flumimense [online]. Echeverría, Fernando. 2015. “Heroic Fiction, Combat Scenes, and the Scholarly Reconstruction of Archaic Greek Warfare.” BICS 58 (1): 33–60. Felten, Florens. 1999. “Blutdurst oder Verhaltensmuster. Zur Bedeutung der Kampfbilder in der archaischen und klassischen griechischen Kunst.” In Steine und Wege, Festschrift für Dieter Knibbe zum 65. Geburtstag edited by Peter Scherrer, Hans Taeuber, Hilke Thür, 185–195. Wien: Sonderschriften des Österreichischen Archäologischen Instituts 32. Granger-Taylor, Hero.1994. “Fragments of Linen from Masada, Israel – the Remnants of Pteruges? – and related Finds in Weft- and Warp-twining including several Slings.” In Wearing the Cloak. Dressing the Soldier in Roman Times edited by Marie-Louise Nosch, 56–84. Oxbow Books. Hannestad, Lise. 2001. “War and Greek Art.” In War as a Cultural and Social Force: Essays on Warfare in Antiquity edited by Tønnes Bekker-Nielsen, Lise Hannestad, 110–119. Copenhagen: Kongelige Danske Videnskabernes Selskab. Hölscher, Tonio. 1974. “Ein Kelchkrater mit Perserkampf.” AntK 17: 78–85.

Hurwit, Jeffrey M. 2007. “The Problem with Dexileos: Heroic and Other Nudities in Greek Art.” Journal of Archaeology 111(1): 35–60. Jarva, Eero.1995. Archaiologia on Archaic Greek Body. Rovaniemi: Pohjois-Suomen Historiallinen Yhdistys. Helbig W. 1874. “Oggetti Trovai nella Tomba Cornetana detta del Guerriero”, Annali dell’Instituto di Corrispondenza Archeologica 46: 249–266. Kucewicz, Cezary. 2021. The Treatment of the War Dead in Archaic Athens: An Ancestral Custom. London: Bloomsbury Academic. Maddin, Robert et al. 1983. “Armour Scales from Masada: A Metallurgical Study.” Israel Exploration Journal 33: 108–109. Miller, Margaret Christina. 2006. “Persians in the Greek Imagination.” Mediterranean Archaeology 19/20: 109– 123. Miller, Margaret Christina. 1997. Athens and Persia in the Fifth Century BC: A Study in Cultural Receptivity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Müller, Florian Martin. 2009. “Der ‘Stern von Vergina’: Vom Emblem der makedonischen Königsdynastie zum nationalen Symbol Griechenlands?” In Bildmagie und Brunnensturz: Visuelle Rhetorik von der klassischen Antike bis zur aktuellen medialen Kriegsberichterstattung edited by Elisabeth Walde, 364–380. Innsbruck/Wien. Muth, Susanne. 2008. Gewalt im Bild. Das Phänomen der medialen Gewalt im Athen des 6. und 5. Jahrhunderts v. Chr. Berlin: De Gruyter. Neils, Jenifer. 2009. “The ‘unheroic’ corpse: re-reading the Sarpedon krater.” In Athenian Potters and Painters Vol. II edited by John H. Oakley, Olga Palagia, 212– 219. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Raeck, Wulf. 1980. Zum Barbarenbild in der Kunst Athens im 6. und 5. Jh. v. Chr. Bonn: R. Habelt. Recke, Matthias. 2002. Gewalt und Leid. Das Bild des Krieges bei den Athenern im 6. und 5. Jh. v. Chr. Istanbul: Ege Yayınları. Osborne, Robin. 2018. The Transformation of Athens: Painted Pottery and the Creation of Classical Greece. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Salazar, Christine. 2000. The Treatment of War Wounds in Graeco-Roman Antiquity. Leiden: Brill. Saunders, David. 2010. “Warriors’ injuries on red-figure vases.” Mouseion 10: 1–21. Studniczka, Franz. 1887. “Zur Herkunft der Mykenischen Kultur.” Athenische Mitteilungen 12: 8–24. Zerjadtke, Michael, and Kasperidus, Till. 2021. “Zur Konstruktionsweise des antiken Leinenpanzers, Einige Ergebnisse des Hamburger Linothorax-Projektes.” EXAR 20: 27–47.

65 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Part 2 The Archaeologies of Colonial Encounters

67 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

6 Women’s Ship Graffiti in Ayşe Kadın Mosque, Mordoğan, İzmir Günce Pelin Öçgüden Koç University, Turkey https://orcid.org/0000-0003-2815-088X Abstract: Under the bias of today’s perception, the broad scholarly interpretation of graffiti is an illicit act of lower social class of an urban society in a political context. However, as the data increases, the significance of graffiti in sacred/religious contexts has come to be realized. They have started to be interpreted as votives for protection, good fortune, salvation, and become a private ritual. This paper suggests a developing methodology on studying a group of ship graffiti, with a terminus post quem of the late 18th century, discovered in a mosque in İzmir, Turkey. The methodology serves to document them as they are in a very fragile state and record them to make accessible for further studies, experimenting on different methods of documentation. The paper presents a preliminary interpretation of why and how these graffiti were carved and by who. The ritualistic nature of the graffiti shines a light on the religious and social aspects of the local population of that peninsula. The fact that the assemblage is made up of solely ships reflects the socio-economic dynamics in the region in late Ottoman period. Furthermore, as they are found only within the women’s section of the mosque, this ritual may be defined by gender as well, which makes this case unique within the newly developing study of ship graffiti, as the carvers are exclusively women. 6.1. Introduction As a research subject, graffiti has a broad scope since it can appear in various contexts: public, domestic, religious, secular, and on different materials such as stone, plaster, ceramic, and wood. As the study field grew more, defining what constitutes graffiti became more complex (Baird and Taylor 2011, 3). It is interpreted as a tool of communication that takes shape rapidly, and so crudely, in the form of scratched markings on a surface with an illicit nature, as it involves vandalism through defacement (Baird and Taylor 2011, 3–4). This paper presents the preliminary results of the analysis and interpretation of a group of ship graffiti found in Ayşe Kadın Mosque, studied by the author as part of her MA research. The aim of the study is to identify and interpret the ship graffiti within a geographical, historical, and cultural context, considering the human factor behind their creation. It investigates the following questions: what was depicted, who carved them and what was those people’s relationship with the sea? A secondary goal was to do a comparative cost-benefit analysis of different methods of documentation for this case study. The study adds a unique case to the body of literature in that the ship graffiti were carved on the walls of a mosque by women. Hull remains in the archaeological record are few, and the amount of information that can be obtained from them is very limited, especially for the upper parts of a vessel

like sail and deck. Because of this scarcity of data, early researchers like Basch (1987) used visual representations such as ship graffiti to understand ancient shipbuilding technology. This led scholars to consider ship graffiti primarily to investigate nautical technology, thus neglecting the human factor and social context behind their creation as mode of expression and their artistic nature. Others sought the meaning behind these carvings, such as Le Bon (1997) with her cognitive approach or Westerdahl (2013) who prioritized the purpose and meaning of the graffiti, and how the practice fitted with the maritime culture. Since the early studies on ship graffiti, graffiti in religious contexts were interpreted as a votive offering, or an ex-voto, to wish safe voyages (Meinardus 1972; Artzy 1999). Eventually these two extremes in the study of ship graffiti came to an agreement with some scholars’ methodologies. In this scholarly context, researchers investigated individual sites (Babuin and Nakas 2012; Thomov 2015; Basch 2012) or conducted regional studies to understand patterns and interactions (Demesticha et al. 2017; Şevketoğlu 2017; Altıer 2016) in the eastern Mediterranean. Yet, these studies are mostly associated with the Christian context, and studies in an Islamic context are quite rare (e.g., Altier 2016; Bilici 2008). Another strand of graffiti studies attempted to identify the identity of the carvers based on their contexts. However, women are not openly considered as the artists of ship graffiti. Furthermore, this activity was associated with male interest in maritime societies (Christensen 1995) due to the strong androcentric approach towards maritime activity. These interpretations

69 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

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Figure 6.1. Map of the region showing the showing the location of the village and the ports (by author; Google Earth).

do not account for the Ottoman records, which show that women owned boats and even rowed the 17th and 18th century Bosporus (Ertuğ 2001, 55). 6.2. Mordoğan and the maritime culture of Karaburun peninsula Mordoğan is one of the oldest villages in Karaburun peninsula, located on the east coast, facing Foça and Gulf of İzmir (Figure 6.1). Today it is divided into the old village and harbour town, remnants of a division imposed with the changing of borders enduring since at least the 16th century. Mordoğan was one of the three most populated villages in the peninsula, with a mix of Turkish and Greek people, which experienced fluctuations because of the immigration and population exchange in late 19th and early 20th century. The old village of Mordoğan is inlands with no visibility of the sea. The location of the village reflects a peculiar pattern of settlements that can be found throughout the peninsula: while the Turks preferred to settle on the sides of the valleys and hills, the Greeks used to settle on the outer slopes by the sea. According to local oral traditions, this was a conscious choice by the Turks rooted in the desire of protecting themselves from pirate raids and, probably, reminiscent of their nomadic life in the highlands. The overall topography of the Karaburun peninsula is rough and not suitable for land transportation. Until 1960s there were no proper roads linking the peninsula to the mainland. For that reason, the main mean of transport for goods and people was the sea. In the late 19th century,

there was a ferry service between Karaburun and İzmir provided by the Hamidiye Company (Kurt 1991, 90). Additionally, private boat owners accommodated passage for individuals. Similarly to Shaw’s (2003) interpretation of Magrib as an island, it is fair to consider the peninsula as an island. Previous ethnographic studies about the peninsula mention that several families dominating the sea trade of the peninsula, who sold goods in shops or on their boats at various harbours (Telci and Güntürkün 1996). Mordoğan had a significant share in the trade of the peninsula. Olive and grape were the two major products exported from the peninsula. The impact of grape in the economy even manifests in the name of the harbour in Mordoğan: Üzüm Iskelesi (i.e., Grape Port). This dependence on the sea is reflected by the traditions and material culture of the peninsula. One of them is Eyyamı bahur, known as the “dog days of summer” in some Western countries, which adds an additional superstitious characteristic for the maritime community in Karaburun. According to this tradition, elderly people used to monitor the weather for a period of seven to ten days and predict the weather forecast throughout the year. Based on these predictions, sailors would decide whether to sail or not. Another tradition that connects the sea with the local community concerns the dowry chests with a steamship painted on the lid (Figure 6.2) that the girls of the Mordoğan would use to collect the items in anticipation of the marriage. Furthermore, ships and seascapes adorn the walls of mosques around the peninsula. One example is Kösedere, little further on the north of Mordoğan, and another is Urla, south of Karaburun peninsula. These

70 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Women’s Ship Graffiti in Ayşe Kadın Mosque, Mordoğan, İzmir

Figure 6.2. The dowry chest with steamship depicted on the lid, located in Müesser Aktaş Etnoğrafya ve Tarih Evi, Mordoğan (photograph by author).

examples indicate that the image of ship is a part of the visual culture of the peninsula. 6.3. Ayşe Kadın Mosque The ship graffiti in this study is carved on the walls of the women’s gathering space on the second floor of Ayşe Kadın Mosque in old Mordoğan village, in Karaburun peninsula, İzmir. Based on its architectural features, the mosque was built in 15th – 16th century with later construction phases (Gürbıyık 2010, 14–15). The women’s section of the mosque is a balcony in the praying hall that is reserved to women and separated from the hall with a screen that provides privacy from men (Figure 6.3). The balcony is at the end of the north-northwest wall of the dome, right above the entrance of the main praying hall (Figure 6.4). However, the entrance to the balcony is through the stairs outside the praying hall and the second floor of narthex. Two squinches, that are part

Figure 6.3. The women’s balcony and the panel separating the balcony from the prayer hall in Ayşe Kadın Mosque (photograph by author).

of the dome’s structure, are now also part of this balcony, creating a sense of compartmentalization. The walls of this section, as well as the rest of the dome, are adorned with frescos of floral motifs, screen motifs and forest landscapes that are stylistically dated to late 18th and 19th century (Çağlıtütüncigil 2012). This dating is further supported by the Ottoman records from nineteenth century that mention an Ayşe Kadın renovating the mosque (Telci and Güntürkün 1996, 21) and the frescos were most likely made during

Figure 6.4. Plan of the second floor of Ayşe Kadın Mosque. The red rectangle highlights the women’s balcony (Reconstructed by the author from the plan in Directorate of Foundations in İzmir Archive).

71 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

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Figure 6.5. Photogrammetry model of the walls of women’s balcony (photograph by author).

these renovations. The graffiti was carved on these frescos, thus providing a terminus post quem for the ship graffiti. The building went through several smaller renovations in the last century. Additionally, the directorate of foundations in İzmir conducted two restoration projects, one in 1960 and one in 2006 (Gürbıyık 2010, 13). These renovations and restoration projects created several problems for the study of graffiti. Many graffiti were sealed underneath a thick plaster and paint applied during the renovations. In the 2006 restoration project, this plaster was removed and the original wall uncovered. However, the disturbed areas were plastered or painted over again (“Ayşe Kadın Mosque Restoration Logbook” 2007, 21 February 2007) affecting the visibility of graffiti by either sealing the scratches or creating pseudolines (i.e., recent lines created by the tools used during the restorations). Others were also filled with a restoration material. Furthermore, the floor level of the balcony and the positioning of the screen have changed during these interventions as there are examples of graffiti below the present floor level and extending beyond the present location of the screen. Hence, there exist graffiti that are inaccessible for studying. 6.4. Documentation and methodology Apart from using traditional methods, such as tracing on paper, free-hand drawing or photography, archaeology employs many digital documentation methods depending on the research questions and conditions of the context under study. One of the purposes of this project was to investigate the effectiveness of documentation methods for ship graffiti. As there are many studies focusing on the current documentation methods of graffiti (Valente and Barazzetti 2020; Abate and Trentin 2019; DiBiasie Sammons 2018; Bertocci, Verdiani, and Şevketoğlu 2019; Tenschert et al. 2018), hence they will not be discussed here thoroughly. Photogrammetry, Reflectance Transformation Imaging (RTI), and terrestrial laser scanning methods were

used to document the graffiti in this study: photogrammetry as the primary method, and RTI and laser scanning to compare methods and supplement photogrammetry data. These methods are helpful to reduce the time spent on fieldwork and are useful to produce research opportunities for post-field work. In fact, some of the graffiti were recognised during the post-field work phase. For a variety of reasons, photogrammetry was an ideal method for documenting this area. Graffiti was densely concentrated on a particular area of the mosque. Hence, to see the spatial distribution and their association with each other, a 3D model of the walls of the women’s balcony was built using this technique (Figure 6.5). Furthermore, the use of photogrammetry allowed me to produce digital drawings using the orthophotos extracted from the model created, take measurements from it, and extract photos without limitations of space. For drawings and photos, orthophotos of sections with perpendicular angle were rendered to minimize the distortion that can emerge when the 3D space is flattened to 2D plane. In order to better follow the workflow and express more precisely the spatial relations, the walls of the balcony were divided into 10 areas (Figure 6.6). This division of the space is mainly based on the spatial association and the ways people can interact with the space. All three methods faced challenges caused by the space. The major challenge for this study was the low level of light in the mezzanine. The small windows and the screen that separates the balcony from the praying hall blocked the light. Thus, additional light was needed to detect and observe the graffiti. Even though low levels of light were beneficial for the RTI, it complicated the logistics and process of data collecting during photogrammetry (Figure 6.7) and laser scanning (for the coloured scan). Another challenge for all methods was the spatial limitations caused by the screen and the low squinches, which make some graffiti inaccessible for proper RTI application and creating holes on the point

72 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Women’s Ship Graffiti in Ayşe Kadın Mosque, Mordoğan, İzmir

Figure 6.6. The plan of the area separation, not scaled (figure by author).

Figure 6.7. Photogrammetry set up during photographing Area 1 (photograph by author).

cloud of laser scan because of the blind spots, therefore preventing homogenous light set up for photogrammetry. Furthermore, photogrammetry was the most adaptable method to equipment availability. For photogrammetry Fujifilm X100S camera and Metashape were used among many DSLR camera and software options, whereas laser scanning is limited to few companies and the custom software they provide. In this study a Faro Focus S 350 scanner and Scene software were used. The RTI is flexible in terms of equipment but the only software available is RTIBuilder (and RTIViewer for studying the image). To identify the ship, each graffito was categorized based on the propulsion type (sailing or oared vessel), and further on the rigging types (lateen, lug, sprit, square, or combination of these). When possible, the vessel type was identified by comparison to Ottoman vessels. However, identifying the ship type is a complicated matter. While there is abundant

information on Ottoman naval ships, there is not much record on the merchantmen. Most sources are textual rather than visual. Apart from the illustrations and photos of the seascape, the technical drawings by Paris (1882) are one of the main sources of visual information with technical details on these vessels. 6.5. Ship Graffiti The walls of the women’s balcony retain a dense cluster of 249 ship graffiti, unevenly distributed throughout the wall. It seems that the inside of the squinches was the most preferred area for carving graffiti. This is probably due to the secrecy that the low ceilings, alongside the darkness, provide in keeping the graffiti out of sight. The previously mentioned sense of compartmentalization adds more privacy to the act of carving. A further curious case regarding the privacy of the ritual is that graffiti is

73 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

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Figure 6.8. Graffiti from Ayşe Kadın Mosque a) sailing vessel (small coaster), b) both sailing and oared vessel, c) oared vessel, d) bareboat with no propulsion depicted, e) Large vessel with two masts of square sail and a gaff as an aft sail, including further details of ratlines (photograph by author).

distributed to a certain height that seems to be determined by the height of the screen to ensure the non-visibility of the graffiti and the act. Statistically and spatially, it is difficult to state that the ship graffiti were unique to the walls of the women’s balcony because renovations have obscured and changed the surfaces elsewhere in the mosque. The only original wall surface that survived since the 19th century is the area from the dome down until the squinches, which is the level of the women’s balcony. Nevertheless, even if men in the community were also creating graffiti elsewhere in the mosque, these are no longer preserved, we have the collection only made by the women of Mordoğan still preserved. The preservation of the balcony walls can bias the spatial distribution analysis even further when comparing the mirroring areas such as Area 4 (21 ship graffiti) and Area 7 (5 graffiti), or Area 5 (16 graffiti) and Area 6 (2 graffitti). Even though they cover the same surface area, the numbers of graffiti are different. However, in the case of Area 1 (11 graffiti) and 10 (42 graffiti), the preservation level is not the reason for the imbalance, but it is the women’s preference to carve on the arch of the squinch on the right side of the balcony (Area 8&9), which is the left half of Area 10. In general ship graffiti are carved in a simplified, almost schematized manner with only few essential elements depicted: a hull, mast(s) or oars (or both), sail and some rigging elements such as stays, shrouds, and sheets, that are sometimes depicted rigorously. However, some graffiti incorporate additional elements into these schematic representations that individualises the vessel, such as a pattern of decoration, a wale, a beak-head, a flag, ratlines, and even a person on board.

There are three groups of vessels among the graffiti (Figure 6.8). About 65 % of the graffiti are sailing vessels, and some include oars. There are a few graffiti depicting solely oared vessels, but most of the remaining graffiti are boats depicted as a hull with no propulsion measures. The sail types recognised in the assemblage are square sail, lateen sail, lug sail, and sprit sail, or a combination of two types like square and sprit sail. Most of the vessels depicted are small coasters (Figure 6.8a, b) and barges. Only very few are large vessels with two or three masts of square sail (Figure 6.8e). Between the 18th and 20th centuries, Ottoman coasts were navigated by small coasters and barges like pereme, çektirme (tserniki), mavna, kayık (caïque), and the graffiti depicted show many similarities with these vessels. The pereme was a typical Aegean coaster trafficking the sea-trade in the archipelago between Smyrna and islands like Chios and Crete (Prins 1992, 79–80). They were built in Smyrna shipyards in 1870 (Güleryüz 2004, 72). Kayık was rather a general term for small boats and takes different names depending on the usage and region such as İzmir kayığı (Smyrna caqïue). Pereme and mavna were categorized as bigger types of kayık. Çektirme was another coaster which was more common in the north in the Black Sea and Marmara Sea, but also encountered in the south. In addition to these small vessels, Ottoman merchants used gagalı which had a local hull shape but used brig rigging. Even though there were regional characteristics among ship types, there were many shipwrights who transferred traditions originating from other regions they learned when they were called to work in the state arsenals (Damianidis 2010, 164). Hence these types did not necessarily have strict forms. These small ships would only make short trips within the local trade network taking few days of round trip. There were few well-established and busy ports within that

74 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Women’s Ship Graffiti in Ayşe Kadın Mosque, Mordoğan, İzmir

Figure 6.9. Graffiti depicting people on board (photograph by author).

network such as Smyrna and Chios, which were ports of call for both international and domestic trade, Foça which was an alternative port for trade with İstanbul, and further north there was Lesbos (Figure 6.3). Yet the larger vessels cannot be associated with the trade capacity of the peninsula. Such large vessels would be redundant and difficult to maintain. These were most likely for longdistance travellers who probably departed from Smyrna or sailors of the town who found jobs as a crew member on bigger trade ships that navigated through Smyrna. Most studies on ship graffiti in religious contexts associate them with pilgrims (Demesticha et al. 2017; Meinardus 1997; Walsh 2008; Babuin and Nakas 2012), which might be the case here as well. However, it is possible that some of these graffiti could have been made for the Greek community of the village who had to sail away during the war and the population exchange between Turkey and Greece, as a farewell and a wish for a safe voyage during those troubled times. Regardless of the size of the vessel or the purpose of the journey, these ship graffiti in the mosque were likely carved by the women of the village as votive offerings as part of a ritual, praying for a safe voyage for themselves or their beloved ones who were setting sail. The practice of votive offering has been a common practice in Islamic Anatolia, with various forms including imagery (Günay 2003; Güzey 2020; Keser 2010; Allen 2020). Hence ship graffiti can be expected. Few of the graffiti depict people on board (Figure 6.9), some are interacting with the equipment, probably ropes used for fishing, mooring, fixing the sail, while others stand on the deck or the crow’s nest for a lookout. These people depicted on board are not just ancillary to the image, but most likely the recipient of the ritual. Some scholars consider the artists behind the graffiti to be travellers, pilgrims, or sailors passing by the villages where the ship graffiti are located (Demesticha et al. 2017; Michail 2015; Altıer 2016). However, in Ayşe Kadın

Mosque it is much more likely the locals made them because not many people would visit the mosque, since Mordoğan is not a prevalent destination or a port of call as it is Smyrna. Due to the location of the graffiti on the walls of the women’s praying area, the artists were the women of the village. An idea reinforced by the fact that the regular presence of men in the balcony would have been disapproved by the community. It is unclear what was the women’s relationship with the ships they depicted. Even though they are not continuously exposed to the seascape in the village, these women were keen observers and had a basic understanding of the essential elements of a ship and were able to depict certain details. It is expected that men in a maritime community, as sailors and shipwrights or even merchants, would acquire this expertise. However, these graffiti indicate women also had a comprehensive knowledge of the subject. Most of the graffiti have confident lines. There is almost no confusion on how to shape a hull or a sail and corrections are not evident. Even though there are graffiti that have poor accuracy or failed to depict a vessel well, most carvers seem to have been comfortable with their subject and the medium. They may even have practiced elsewhere before carving the graffiti in the mosque. The overall assemblage has no redundant or cumbersome lines while depicting ships and most lines connect smoothly. The fact that they were carved on a fresco, which is a smoother surface and a softer material than a stone, enabled a more controlled movement of the sharp tool used to scratch graffiti. Ship graffiti should not be expected to be properly scaled, given they are artistic symbols - with possible aesthetic concerns - rather than technical drawings. Nevertheless, these examples are proportionally accurate in a general sense. The size of the hull and the sail are balanced, even though in some cases the bowsprit may seem out of proportion. It is fair to say they have some artistic license: mainly regarding the perspective in sail depiction. The hull

75 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Günce Pelin Öçgüden that this is not an error but a conscious stylistic choice. It is a concept in which characterisation of the vessel is not a concern, but it is the purpose of the ritual. It is possible that the carver is not good in carving a whole vessel, which is clearly evident with the coarse lines, some are misjoined, but also wants to take advantage of the ritual, so she makes something vaguely depicted. The artist’s preference as the fore rather than the aft section might be related with an association between the frontal view of a vessel and the notion of arrival.

Figure 6.10. Graffiti depicting only the fore section of a vessel with little identifying detail (photograph by author).

and fore-and-aft rigging such as lug, lateen and gaff sail are fittingly depicted sideways whereas square sail depictions are pivoted. This can be a further issue in identifying the lug sail and single square sail, because with the artistic license both can have the same shape. The other point is whether the mast is depicted depending on the perspective. A mast would not be fully visible from front, but when the sail is outlined frontally, graffiti depict complete masts. This suggests that they carve the mast first as a guide and arrange the complex sail plans accordingly. In some cases of square sail, when the mast is carved, it is divided into sections between each yard. This is evident in the changing directionality of the line (Figure 6.8e). Starting with the lowest sail or the uppermost sail, the carver first scratches the mast and then the yard and outer lines of the sail, and then the sheets. There are several graffiti that depict only the fore section of a vessel in schematic form with very few details (Figure 6.10). The fact that this type is repetitive indicates

Apart from these fore depictions, in some cases it is possible to distinguish graffiti made by the same person. Especially, when they are similar, even almost identical, and these tend to be carved close to each other (Figure 6.11). This indicates that people had a choice of location, where they either felt comfortable carving, or related to the characteristics of the location such as being on the east or west side, or the apparent direction of the vessel, or the features of the fresco the graffiti was carved on. The fact that the same person repeatedly carved the same vessel suggests that the protective nature of the ritual was not everlasting but needed to be repeated periodically or for each trip. However, big vessels were only depicted once and are depicted by different people as they show a different style. Does that mean the graffiti represented one-time voyages? Or did they retain their protective influence as a votive offering? Another reason behind the presence of so many graffiti is that there are many unfinished ones (Figure 6.12). It is difficult to decide on what can be interpreted as finished or complete since it is related with the artist’s contentment. Additionally, the abstract or caricaturized depictions of a boat can only be deciphered with the artist’s mindset. Yet a minimum level of data can be set for safe interpretation. The unfinished graffiti in the mosque lack the identifying features of a schematical depiction of a vessel, in particular a polygonal shape of a hull, but the overall assemblage gives you the sense that they were intended to be vessels

Figure 6.11. Two almost identical graffiti most likely made by the same person (photograph by author).

76 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Women’s Ship Graffiti in Ayşe Kadın Mosque, Mordoğan, İzmir

Figure 6.12. Unfinished graffiti (photograph by author).

as well. Unlike the fore section depictions, this is probably not a stylistic choice. In these cases, it is likely that the privacy of the ritual was interrupted. Because the ritual involved the defacement of the frescos of the mosque, which is a sacred space, the act had an illicit nature that disturbed the integrity and purity of the mosque that is symbolized by the frescos. This led people to keep this ritual clandestine. Furthermore, it is possible that the plaster which was removed during the 2006 restoration might have been made to cover the graffiti. There is a certain respect towards the graffiti made previously, as new images do not spoil the alreadyexisting ones by overlapping, except in very compact spots. This characteristic may reinforce the ritualistic nature of the act, as well as the communal recognition of

the ritual’s value. There are only few cases where two or three graffiti interact by sharing a line or crossing each other. An example is the group of graffiti in Area 2 (Figure 6.13) with lines overlapping each other to the point of being almost commingled, making difficult to separate one from the other. The plastered dents and paint from restoration make interpretations difficult as well. One example creates a scene effect, where one vessel is carved on top of the second. This can be interpreted in two ways: a single depiction of two ships created by one person or two individual graffiti violating each other’s space. It is quite interesting that ships are the only subject depicted on the walls. No fish for plentiful fishing, or fruits or plants for fertile harvests. The votive offerings were specific to sea voyages and the medium chosen for

Figure 6.13. A group of graffiti overlap each other (photograph by author).

77 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Günce Pelin Öçgüden this was the ship. Is this a concept learned from the Greeks of the peninsula? Or did Muslim seafarers encounter such a tradition elsewhere and adapted it? It is common to encounter textual graffiti in churches denoting prayers for their loved ones or themselves (Yasin 2015). In Islamic contexts there are various tombs and mosques where textual graffiti appears, yet this is not the case in Ayşe Kadın Mosque. This is mostly related with the literacy of the population. Until 1928 people were writing in Arabic letters, which is difficult to read and write, and the average population would be illiterate. The situation was even worse for women in rural areas, as most of them did not get formal education at school. Furthermore, as it is a very curvy letter system, writing would have been more difficult than carving the less curvy lines of a ship. 6.6. Conclusions This study is important as it contributes with a unique case to the vast literature on ship graffiti. It suggests that women were the possible artists behind these images and challenges the androcentric perspective in the field. It also provides a large assemblage from a mosque, which is a rare study, especially for the English scholarship. Considering all the human agency on ship graffiti, it is difficult to perceive them only as source of information on nautical technology. As seen, merchant vessels can be distinguished primarily based on the hull shape since sails can be used interchangeably depending on the needs and availability. However, the artists of the graffiti pay more attention to the sail than the hull. Moreover, sometimes it is difficult to identify the rigging because the line representing a rope of the rigging can actually be the sail cloth or the artistic choices can alter the interpretation. All these factors complicate the identification of the vessel and encourage to seek different research opportunities. In addition to studying the graffiti, the research employed and investigated various documentation methods to meet the needs of the research. That is, photogrammetry is favoured over RTI and laser scanning, as it provides the means to answer some of the research questions with a more manageable dataset and presents comprehensive documentation. The ship graffiti in Ayşe Kadın Mosque is a part of the visual culture of the peninsula that is rooted in its dependence from sea routes. Even though old Mordoğan village is not on the coast and connected to the sea, the villagers have a strong maritime culture that reflected on their material culture and beliefs. As the carvers of the graffiti, women were part of this maritime culture. Most graffiti represented small coasters and barge type vessels that are associated with the trade activity of the peninsula in short distances whereas some depicted big vessels that should indicate long-distance travels. They were votive offerings for the safety of the crew or the travellers and possibly the merchandise. Even though it may be considered unorthodox, votive offerings have been a part of Islamic tradition taking various forms of activities conducted by

women in shrines. The women of Mordoğan took this tradition further and adapted it into a male dominated mosque context by exercising their social agency. They wished to be blessed with the sense of protection for their loved ones and for themselves. The ritual of scratching ship graffiti on the mosque walls was a rather private act, as it had an illicit nature, which is indicated by the distribution of the graffiti and the presence of unfinished ones. Yet it was approved by a group of people in the village as a way to communicate a prayer. Acknowledgements I would like to thank my advisor Matthew Harpster for guiding me in this research and the GAO Conference 2020 organisers for this opportunity. References Abate, Dante, and Mia G. Trentin. 2019. “Hidden Graffiti Identification On Marble Surfaces Through Photogrammetry And Remote Sensing Techniques.” International Archives of the Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences - ISPRS Archives 42: 1–8. https://doi.org/10.5194/isprsarchives-XLII-2-W15-1-2019. Allen, Jonathan Parkes. 2020. “Sanctifying Domestic Space and Domesticating Sacred Space: Reading Ziyāra and Taṣliya in Light of the Domestic in the Early Modern Ottoman World.” Religions 11 (2). https://doi. org/10.3390/rel11020059. Altıer, Semiha. 2016. “Çanakkale ve Çevresindeki Bazı Türk Dönemi Yapılarında Görülen Denizcilikle İlgili Kazıma (Grafiti) Tasvirler.” Çanakkale Araştırmaları Türk Yıllığı, 14: 1–26. Artzy, Michal. 1999. “Carved Ship Graffiti—an Ancient Ritual?” In Tropis V: 5th International Symposium on Ship Construction in Antiquity: Nauplia 26–28 August 1993, edited by H. E. Tzalas, 21–27. Athens. “Ayşe Kadın Mosque Restoration Logbook.” n.d. Babuin, Andrea, and Yannis Nakas. 2012. “Byzantine Ship Graffiti from the Church of Prophitis Elias in Thessaloniki.” Skyllis, 8–17. Baird, Jennifer A., and Claire Taylor. 2011. Ancient Graffiti in Context. https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203840870. Basch, Lucien. 1987. Le Musée Imaginaire de La Marine Antique. Athens: Institut hellenique pour la préservation de la tradition nautique. ———. 2012. “Reflections on the Graffiti of Hagia Sophia at Trebizond (Trabzon), Turkey.” In Between Continents. Proceedings of the Twelfth Symposium on Boat and Ship Archaeology Istanbul 2009, edited by Nergis Günsenin, 165–70. İstanbul: Ege Yayınları. Bertocci, Stefano, Giorgio Verdiani, and Müge Şevketoğlu. 2019. “Graffiti Photogrammetry, Extracting the Signs from the Walls of the Kyrenia Castle.” In Proceedings

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Women’s Ship Graffiti in Ayşe Kadın Mosque, Mordoğan, İzmir of the 23rd International Conference on Cultural Heritage and New Technologies 2018, edited by Wolfgang Börner and Susanne Uhlirz, 1–10. Bilici, Z Kenan. 2008. Kalenin gemileri : Alanya Kalesiʼndeki gemi graffitileri = The ships of the castle. İstanbul: Ege Yayınları. Bon, Elizabeth Le. 1997. “Images out of Water: Aspects of the Interpretation of Ancient Maritime Graffiti.” PhD Dissertation. University of St Andrews. https://doi. org/10.11606/rco.v4i8.34762. Çağlıtütüncigil, Ersel. 2012. “Eski Mordoğan (İzmir) Köyü Camii Süslemeleri.” Sosyal Bilimler Dergisi, no. 25: 139–62. Christensen, A. E. J. 1995. “Ship Graffiti.” In The Ship as Symbol in Prehistoric and Medieval Scandinavia, edited by O. Crumlin-Pedersen and B. Munch-Thye, 180–185. Copenhagen. Damianidis, Kostas A. 2010. “Chains of Technology Transfert in the Traditional Shipbuilding of the Black Sea,” 161–73. Demesticha, Stella, Katerina Delouca, Mia Gaia Trentin, Nikolas Bakirtzis, and Andonis Neophytou. 2017. “Seamen on Land? A Preliminary Analysis of Medieval Ship Graffiti on Cyprus.” International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 46 (2): 346–81. https://doi. org/10.1111/1095-9270.12269. DiBiasie Sammons, Jacqueline F. 2018. “Application of Reflectance Transformation Imaging (RTI) to the Study of Ancient Graffiti from Herculaneum, Italy.” Journal of Archaeological Science: Reports 17 (August 2017): 184–94. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jasrep.2017.08.011. Ertuğ, Nejdet. 2001. Osmanlı Döneminde İstanbul Deniz Ulaşımı ve Kayıkçılar. Kültür Eserleri Dizisi. Ankara: Kültür Bakanlığı Yayınları. https://books.google.com. tr/books?id=QI-xAAAAIAAJ. Güleryüz, Ahmet. 2004. Kadırgadan kalyona Osmanlıda yelken : Mikyas-ı sefain = Ottoman sailing ships from galleys to galleons and particulars of ships and their equipment. İstanbul: Denizler Kitabevi. Günay, Ünver. 2003. “Türk Halk Dindarlığının Önemli Çekim Merkezleri Olarak Dini Ziyaret Yerleri.” Erciyes Üniversitesi Sosyal Bilimler Enstitüsü Dergisi 1 (15): 5–36. Gürbıyık, Cengiz. 2010. Karaburun Yarımadası’nda Türk mimarisi. İstanbul: Arkeoloji ve Sanat Yayınları. Güzey, Gökçe Zeynep. 2020. “İzmir’deki Kutsal Ziyaret Yerleri Etrafında Oluşan İnanç Ve Uygulamalar.” PhD diss., Ege University. Keser, Ulvi. 2010. “Kıbrıs Adasında Kadın Eksenli Olarak Adak Ve İnanç Dünyasına Kesitsel Bir Bakış.” Motif Akademi Halkbilimi Dergisi 3 (6): 108–28. Kurt, Sadık. 1991. “İzmir Hamidiye Vapur Şirketi.” Çağdaş Türkiye Tarihi Araştırmaları Dergisi 1: 71–107.

Meinardus, Otto F. A. 1972. “Mediaeval Navigation According to Akidographemata in Byzantine Churches and Monasteries (Πίν. 15–18).” Δελτίον Χριστιανικής Αρχαιολογικής Εταιρείας 24: 29. https://doi. org/10.12681/dchae.807. ———. 1997. “Maritime Testimonies In Eastern Anatolia.” Revue Des Études Arméniennes 26: 315–20. https://doi.org/10.2143/rea.26.0.2003753. Michail, Maria. 2015. “Ship Graffiti in Context: A Preliminary Study of Cypriot Patterns.” In Cypriot Cultural Details. Proceedings of the 10th Post Graduate Cypriot Archaeology Conference, edited by I. Hadjikyriakos and M.G. Trentin, 41–64. Oxford and Philadephia. Pâris, François Edmond. 1882. Souvenirs de Marine. Collection de Plans Ou Dessins de Navires et de Bateaux Anciens Ou Modernes Existants Ou Disparus, Avec Les Éléments Numériques Nécessaires À Leur Construction. Prins, A. H. J. 1992. “Mediterranean Ships and Shipping, 1650–1850.” In The Heyday of Sail. The Merchant Sailing Ship, 1650–1850, edited by R. Gardiner, 77– 104. London: Conway Maritime Press. Şevketoğlu, Müge. 2017. “Documenting Ship Graffiti In North Cyprus: Preliminary Results.” In Proceedings of the 20th Annual Meeting of Underwater Science and Technology, edited by Hayat Erkanal, Vasıf Şahoğlu, and İrfan Tuğcu, 181–99. Ankara. Shaw, B. D. 2003. “A Peculiar Island: Magrib and Mediterranean.” Mediterranean Historical Review, no. 18: 93–125. Telci, Cahit, and Barış Güntürkün. 1996. Karaburun. İstanbul: Ege Yayınları. Tenschert, Ruth, Max Rahrig, Rainer Drewello, and Sebastian Kempgen. 2018. “Scratches? Scribbles? Scripture! Revealing the Unseen – 3D Scanning of Glagolitic Graffiti of the 10th Century at the Monastery of St. Naum.” Proceedings of the 23rd International Conference on Cultural Heritage and New Technologies 2018, edited by Wolfgang Börner and Susanne Uhlirz, 1–11. Thomov, Thomas. 2015. “Maritime Ex–Voto Graffito from the Church of Hagia Sophia, Constantinople.” Byzantinoslavica - Revue Internationale Des Etudes Byzantines 73 (1–2): 57–74. Valente, Riccardo, and Luigi Barazzetti. 2020. “Methods for Ancient Wall Graffiti Documentation: Overview and Applications.” Journal of Archaeological Science: Reports 34: 1–13. https://doi.org/10.1016/j. jasrep.2020.102616. Walsh, Michael J.K. 2008. “‘On of the Principal Havenes of the Sea’: The Port of Famagusta and the Ship Graffiti in the Church of St George of the Greeks, Cyprus.” International Journal of Nautical Archaeology

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Westerdahl, Christer. 2013. “Medieval Carved Ship Images Found in Nordic Churches: The Poor Man’s Votive Ships?” International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 42 (2): 337–47. https://doi.org/10.1111/10959270.12010. Yasin, Ann Marie. 2015. “Prayers on Site: The Materiality of Devotional Graffiti and the Production of Early Christian Sacred Space.” In Viewing Inscriptions in the Late Antique and Medieval World, edited by Antony Eastmond, 36–60. Cambridge University Press.

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7 The Process of Cultural Exchange in the Northwest of the Iberian Peninsula in Roman Age: The Study of Pottery Collections in the Lugo Area (Galicia, Spain) Sara Barbazán Domínguez1 and Hugo Lozano Hermida2 Museo de Prehistoria e Arqueoloxía de Vilalba, Spain https://orcid.org/0000-0002-1638-4745 2 Museo de Prehistoria e Arqueoloxía de Vilalba, Spain https://orcid.org/0000-0002-0999-166X 1

Abstract: This study presents the results of the thesis research: “Ceramics as a factor of cultural exchange in the Romanizing process of Gallaecia”, carried out at the University of Santiago de Compostela (A Coruña, Spain) in collaboration with the Museum of Prehistory and Archaeology of Villaba (Lugo, Spain). The main objective of this study is to deepen the analysis of the common ceramic productions present in some forts surrounding the ancient Roman city of Lucus Augusti (Galicia, Spain). We study the productions of the forts of Saa (A Pastoriza), Agra dos Castros (Lugo) and Viladonga (Castro de Rei). These are sites located at different distances from the city with occupations in different periods between the 1st century BC and the 5th century AD. We interpret the different realities present in the territory through an approach that focuses on the analysis of the cultural exchange that gave rise to a hybrid culture that left its echo in the pottery. 7.1. Introduction This study arises from a research project focused on the analysis of common pottery as a factor of cultural exchange in the Roman era (Barbazán Domínguez 2019). Pottery, one of the most abundant materials in the archaeological contexts of that time, is essential when we trying to understand these societies. Common pottery, considered in general as a daily use pottery used both for eating and cooking, storing or even transporting, is an extremely useful resource to understand the past due to its great permeability to changes taking place within the daily life of a society (Huguet Enguita 2013, Sutton 2018). The main objective of this study is to analyse the common pottery productions themselves and to understand, through them, the transformations generated after the integration of the Northwest of the Iberian Peninsula into the Roman world. This analysis model has been put into practice in other areas and has proven extremely useful when interpreting the changes produced at this time in the society (Sutton 2018). This analysis starts from the theoretical basis that each area of the Empire has a differentiated process that must

Author Note: Address correspondence to Sara Barbazán Domínguez, Rúa Dr. Domingo Goas 2, 27880, Vilalba, Lugo (Spain).

be analysed separately with the premise of the existence of a two-way cultural exchange that will give rise to a hybrid culture (Hales and Hodos 2010) that leaves its presence in the settlements of the time. Through the characterization of these productions, we constructed a complementary vision of the different realities of the hillforts inside this territory in the Roman era, noticing how the proximity of the Roman nucleus and the pass of time increase the Roman influence in the settlements. This analysis refutes the current lines of research that point to a diverse landscape, noting that the hybridization process varies depending on the area, the geographical situation, and the proximity or not to Roman urban centres. The dissemination of this type of work is important. Deepening into the study of these peripheral areas of the Empire is essential to understand the process of construction of Roman culture in its entirety. In them we can better observe the cultural exchange that took place at this time, promoting the construction of a more complete perspective. As some researchers already pointed out (Martins 1987, 31), this type of regional studies will allow us a more rigorous evaluation of the evolution of these communities in the Northwest of Hispania and their integration into the Roman world. At the end, it will be the sum of the different territorial studies that will promote the construction of a more complete and holistic perspective that helps to understand the Roman Empire in all its complexity.

81 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Sara Barbazán Domínguez and Hugo Lozano Hermida 7.2. Theoretical framework. Common pottery and its contribution to overcoming the concept of Romanization 7.2.1. The concept of “Romanization” The Romanization is a term that refers to the process through which the conquered territories were integrated into the Roman Empire. This concept has been subject of debate throughout the years (Hopkins 1996; Keay 1996; Hales and Hodos 2010; Mattingly 2011). In recent decades it has been proposed to abandon this concept in favour of others that better reflect the social and cultural mosaic of the Roman Empire. The traditional struggle was stablished between those that suggest a marginal role of Rome in the configuration of post-conquest societies, which would remain essentially the same as before the invasion (Hopkins 1996), and those that defend an acculturation and a central role into the integration of indigenous societies in the socio-economic and political dynamics of the Empire (Blázquez Martínez 1974). This debate has now turn out into a syncretic approach based on the concept of cultural exchange (Keay 1996, 19) to understand the processes of cultural hybridization that will result in a hybrid culture. This will be the specific categorization for the societies resulting from the mixture between the local tradition and the Latin culture. Hodos and Hales (2010) suggest to contemplate this phenomenon of hybrid cultures and to define its role in the perception of Roman cultural reality. These authors suggested the possibility of studying the process of formation of the Latin culture taking as a starting point for its construction the local cultures. For Hingley (1996) the key is the heterogeneous nature of regional cultures. These cultures work together to form a sense of superior cultural unity while emphasising their differences, establishing a feedback relationship as the product of this collective work returns to and fuses with each of the local cultures. Those authors, along with others (Wolf 1998), suggest a bidirectional process of cultural exchange, abandoning the colonialist perspective that contrasts the vision of the conqueror with that of the conquered. During the first half of the 20th century, the Northwest of Hispania was considered as a place where the impact of the Roman world was lower compared to other areas of the Empire (Sánchez Albornoz 1956). In the following decades, the first revisions in this regard were carried out (Balil 1973), understanding the need to change this idea in the light of archaeological evidence. Now, the absence of remains with respect to other areas are not considered as evidence of a lesser Roman presence in the territory, but to the existence of a different implantation model from the Mediterranean. In this framework, Fernández Ochoa (2002, 2007, 2015) understands the process as a phenomenon that should not have occurred homogeneously due to the different realities previously present in each territory. This author suggests abandoning the single model of Romanization and contemplates the

existence of a progressive and uneven phenomenon that must always be analysed from a regional perspective and never from a general point of view. To this day, the idea of the Northwest as a marginal and non-Romanized area is already totally outdated (Fernández Ochoa and Morillo Cerdán 2002, 2015) due to the numerous sources that indicate the Roman presence in this territory. Throughout this study we will follow these lines of research, leaving the term of Romanization behind and understanding the changes that were introduced in Roman times as a phenomenon of cultural exchange that will give rise to a process of cultural hybridization of a regional nature. We use an open and integrative approach through which we will analyse the material culture present in these sites, giving us the key to understanding the societies that produced them. 7.2.2. The common pottery It was also necessary an in-depth definition of what “common pottery” means, a traditionally ambiguous and confusing term within pottery studies. For years, common pottery was only the set of cooks and serve productions considered to be Roman, excluding in many cases the rest of the local productions. It is considered as a daily use pottery used both for eating and cooking, storing or even transporting. The debates around this definition are numerous (Olcese 1993; Paunier 1981; Tuffreau-Libre 1980) and now some researchers suggest keeping this term to avoid greater confusion (Martínez Salcedo 2004, 32). They establish what pottery types are included by exclusion, aware that while productions are continuing to be defined the term “common pottery” will be devoid of content (Martínez Salcedo 2004, 32). These definitions show some problems if we try to apply them to the sites studied. On the one hand, in many cases an important group of productions of local or regional origin are left out and, although they were not made with Roman techniques, they are collected in Roman contexts. On the other hand, focusing on function to establish a category makes difficult to classify pieces that can be multifunctional (Blanco García 2017, 148), be very fragmented, or deterioration. In this sense, and for pragmatic reasons, we have decided to include within the term “common pottery” all the pieces that, regardless of the techniques implemented for their elaboration or the function and use they had, do not fit within productions that have their own typological studies. Within this very generic definition, throughout the investigation we differentiated a few groups. First, we found several productions traditionally put under the name of “common Roman pottery” (Figure 7.1). We consider these productions as common pottery that show the techniques and forms imported by the Romans after the conquest and that do not fit within the other Roman productions such as Samian ware or amphorae. This definition has some methodological problems, some authors (Beltrán Lloris

82 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

The Process of Cultural Exchange in the Northwest of the Iberian Peninsula in Roman Age

Figure 7.1. Common Roman pottery of the settlements studied (photograph by author).

1990, Huguet Enguita 2013, Hevia González and Montes López 2009) have referred in their works to the imprecision presented by the term, metaphorically referring to it as a hole into which goes the pottery that do not fit into the great Roman classifications. Sometimes it is not clear what features make a production into common Roman pottery and which allow to exclude it from this classification. In addition, because of its everyday nature, it is a pottery that is strongly influenced by local tastes and by the pottery traditions of each area, which causes that the limits between productions are not clear. Through our research, it was not logical to assume as common Roman any production that appeared in a Roman context without considering that it may be a continuity of previous traditions or a hybridization between both. There is another production (Figure 7.2) that represents a significant part of the common pottery present in the hillforts of Roman times. It is a group that seems to be a regional elaboration and that has often been related to pottery made before the conquest (Maya González 1988, 153). This group received different names through the years: indigenous pottery (Rey Castiñeira 1991), indigenous tradition (Maya González 1988; Alcorta Irastorza 2001), astur tradition (Carretero Vaquero 2000, 574) and castrexa or castreña (Arias Vilas 1985, 15; Esparza Arroyo 1987, 294, Berrocal-Rangel, Martínez Seco and Ruiz Triviño 2002, 161, Fernández Fernández 2008). We will refer to it generically as “common pottery of indigenous tradition” to avoid generate more terminological confusion within the framework of pottery studies. Its chronological frameworks

are also not clear, since it is suggested that it begins to be elaborated throughout the Iron Age (Rey Castiñeira 1991; Maya González 1988) and continues during Roman times. Some authors even point to the continuity of a tradition that has its origin in the Bronze Age (Carretero Vaquero 2000, 574). The geographical frameworks are not completely defined, being in the current Galicia, the North of Portugal, the area of León, Zamora, and Asturias. Some authors (Hidalgo Cuñarro 1988; Maya González 1988; Carretero Vaquero 2000, 574) even stablish a possible

Figure 7.2. Common indigenous tradition pottery of the settlements studied (photograph by author).

83 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Sara Barbazán Domínguez and Hugo Lozano Hermida connection between some of its forms and the pottery of indigenous tradition typical of other Atlantic areas such as the “Black-Burnished Industry” of Britannia (Peacock 1977, 174). Common pottery of indigenous tradition would be all the common pottery that present formal and technological characteristics usually related to the techniques used before the integration of this territory into the Roman world and different from those of common Roman pottery. Even though there is great homogeneity in the indigenous tradition, within this production we separate a subgroup that differs at the morpho-technological level. Here we included pieces that present forms of indigenous tradition and have been executed with Roman techniques. Also, those that present forms that we will see later in Roman pottery but made with techniques and decorations typical of the indigenous substrate. This production (Figure 7.3) has been given different names by researchers. Sometimes it is simply included within the indigenous pottery (Arias Vilas 1985), while some authors choose to establish a differentiation based on its morphotechnological hybridization, calling it “influenced local” (Alcorta Irastorza 2001). Other researchers called “highimperial regional Roman pottery” (Hevia González and Montes López 2009). With the data that we have, the place of its manufacture cannot be elucidated. We decided to simply call it “common high-imperial pottery” framing it as a subgroup within the common pottery of indigenous tradition that has been related to types and forms of the 1st century CE. It seems that in this century we have a confrontation between two different traditions (the Roman and the indigenous) that initiates their coexistence and hybridization process. This change in pottery could constitute one of the manifestations of the hybrid culture emerged with the arrival of Rome in the region.

7.3. Methodology To analyse these collections, we chose a methodology commonly used in this type of research based on the works of Llanos and Vegas (1974) and Ramil Rego (2010). After a sample selection based on objectives, we analysed all the materials through the observation of morphological, technical, and decorative parameters that allow the classification of the pottery. Once all the parameters had been measured, the data taken was used to relate the collections studied to the types that researchers have established over the years. The analysis of the collections also links the stratigraphic register with the typological classification to try to narrow the chronology of the occupations. When we made an approach to the studies of pottery in the Northwest of the Iberian Peninsula, we must consider the differences among areas. Although the study of local pottery from the Roman period is widespread in Hispania (Vegas 1973; Maya González 1988; Beltrán Lloris 1990; Aguarod Otal 1991), in the Northwest these have been carried out in a less intensive and unequal way, with different degrees of development depending on the areas. In Galicia and León, we only find works about specific collections (Esparza Arroyo 1987; Lozano Hermida et al. 2016, 2018; Barbazán Domínguez et al. 2014, 2018, 2020), and some catalogues of pottery (Alcorta Irastorza 2001). The absence of research projects and excavations in many places, such as some areas of Lugo, contrasts with the relative progress in others, such as the Asturian West and the north of Portugal, where there are reference works for the study of the contexts and their materials (Alarçao 1975; Delgado et al. 2009; Hevia González and Montes López 2009). Regarding the pottery of indigenous tradition, in absence of a basic typology for our area and complete forms to establish new types, most of the pieces were classified based on their

Figure 7.3. Common high-imperial pottery of the settlements studied (photograph by author).

84 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

The Process of Cultural Exchange in the Northwest of the Iberian Peninsula in Roman Age general morphology. We take as a reference the materials analysed in nearby places such as Punta do Castro (Lozano Hermida et al. 2015; Ramil Rego et al. 1995), the hillfort of Vixil (Ramil Rego 1997) or Zoñán (Vigo García 2007). For common Roman pottery we made the typological comparison of the groups studied with those defined there (Alcorta Irastorza 2001), because they are the closest to the scope of this study. In addition, we have broadened the comparative framework by incorporating reference studies from the geographically close contexts mentioned above. 7.4. The settlements and their materials To explain our research, we present some of the sites that we have studied over the years. These are places situated at different distances from the city of Lucus Augusti and with occupations at different periods between the 1st century BCE and 5th century CE (Figure 7.4). 7.4.1. The hillfort of Agra dos Castros (Marcelle, Lugo) This site is located on the actual city of Lugo, close to the ancient Roman city of Lucus Augusti. After studying the

common pottery of the site and considering the previous research on the stratigraphic information (Bartolomé Abraira 2008b), we propose a high-imperial chronology with possible occupations in later times. The reality that is reflected in the hillfort shows a greater dependence or taste for the new Roman forms, confirming an important preference for Roman vessels and those of the common high-imperial subgroup. The pottery of indigenous tradition (Figure 7.5: 1–5) is reduced to a few pots, without other forms that are documented to a great extent in the rest of the sites, such as the bowls. The subgroup of common high-imperial pottery (Figure 7.5: 8–9), which proves the growing hybridization of both traditions, will be especially significant here, with forms not previously documented in Lucus Augusti (Figure 7.5: 8). In this site we also identified Roman vessels (Figure 7.5: 6–7) that are not represented in the other places studied (Figure 7.5: 7). This influence is mainly due to the proximity of the hillfort to the Roman city, allowing greater accessibility to the new productions that were being introduced in the first centuries after the change of Era.

Figure 7.4. Localization of the settlements studied (photograph by author).

85 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Sara Barbazán Domínguez and Hugo Lozano Hermida

Figure 7.6. Common pottery of the hillfort of Saa (1–8) (photograph by author). Figure 7.5. Common pottery of the hillfort of Agra dos Castros (1-9) (photograph by author).

7.4.2. The hillfort of Saa (A Pastoriza, Lugo) In opposition to Agra dos Castros, there is the hillfort of Saa. While everything suggests that is contemporary to Agra dos Castros, it presents a totally different dynamic. This site shows a higher presence of indigenous tradition pottery (Figure 7.6: 1–5) over the Roman pottery, which has been documented marginally (Figure 7.6: 8–9). It may be that its distance from the city caused its influence to take longer to arrive. However, we must consider that we documented a large presence of the high-imperial subgroup of the 1st century AD, with numerous examples (Figure 7.6: 6–7) that can be related to pottery that is also recorded in the city of Lucus Augusti in the 1st century AD. This may be indicative of the beginning of Roman influence in the area, although perhaps in a more subtle way compared to what has been found in Agra dos Castros. 7.4.3. The hillfort of Viladonga (Castro de Rei, Lugo) Last, we have the hillfort of Viladonga, the only site where it has been possible to study contexts between the 1st century BCE/1st century CE and the 5th century CE. This site is an example of change over time in a site located near the city, but not close to it. In this site, it has been possible to verify changes in common pottery throughout the Roman era, documenting here most of the productions collected throughout this research and being

able to establish a varied compendium of types and forms (Barbazán Domínguez et al. 2018). The early phases of Viladonga could be related to the hillfort of Agra dos Castros and the hillfort of Saa since all are contemporary. However, considering the contrast we talked about previously, a greater similarity between the early phases of Viladonga and Saa can be observed. Both are areas with abundant common pottery of indigenous tradition (Figure 7.7: 1–6), a large presence of common high-imperial pottery (Figure 7.7: 7) and a lower incidence of common Roman pottery. In addition, both sites share most of the types identified. Like the hillfort of Saa, Viladonga does not show the early Roman influence that has been observed in Agra dos Castros, perhaps due to its greater distance from the city. When we analyse the late phases of the hillfort of Viladonga, we see how the situation changes over the centuries, with the presence of both indigenous and Roman pottery (Figure 7.8: 3–5) showing greater similarity with Agra dos Castros but with later types indicating that in the case of Viladonga this influence began to leave his footprint from the 2nd century CE. In later moments, the full entry of the site into the Roman world has already been confirmed, with only Roman vessels documented and pieces that look like imitations related to late Roman productions (Figure 7.8: 1–2).

86 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

The Process of Cultural Exchange in the Northwest of the Iberian Peninsula in Roman Age 7.5. Conclusions At the beginning of this work, we explained the different theories through which researchers defined the process by which the conquered territories were integrated into the Roman world. One of those theories points to the total acculturation of those peoples, while others suggest a minor influence of the Roman world on some of the territories integrated into the Empire. With the passing of years, a third branch was born which establishes that, considering the local pre-existing culture and the characteristics of the conquered territory, what developed with the arrival of the Roman world in a territory was a cultural exchange that gave place to a bidirectional process between both societies, producing a hybrid culture. This study aimed to evaluate the changes, continuities, and the presence or absence of forms, techniques, and decorative tastes in the pottery of different deposits of the Hispanic Northwest. Focusing on those located in the conventus lucensis within Gallaecia, we tried to understand the impact, development, and scope of these changes.

Figure 7.7. Common pottery of the hillfort of Viladonga (1–7) (photograph by author).

Figure 7.8. Common pottery of the hillfort of Viladonga (1-5) (photograph by author).

Regarding the collections studied, the productions of indigenous tradition do not present a great formal and technological diversity. The area surrounding the city of Lucus Augusti is constituted by a series of formal groups that repeat from the coast to the interior of the Lugo province, (Lozano Hermida et al. 2015; Vigo García 2007; Ramil Rego 1997; Barbazán Domínguez et al. 2018; Ramil González 2019; López González et al. 2008), from Punta do Castro, hillfort of Zoñán, hillfort of Vixil, hillfort of Viladonga, hillfort of Saa, and hillfort of Castromaior until date. These productions are documented in this study through the 1st century BCE until the 4th century CE, constituting an important pottery collection in the hillforts of this region through the first centuries (1st-2nd century CE) of the Roman domination. The passing of time will not cut down the use of these techniques until well into the Low Empire period, although in this moment continuities linked with this pottery among the Roman types are still documented. Those types will be also changing and adapting through contact with these societies. By the time being, the main body of this production does not appear to be document in the city of Lucus Augusti apart from counted exceptions, and even though it is collected in nearby hillforts like Agra dos Castros, it is done in lesser amount than on the rest of the sites mentioned. All of this points to a strong permanence of this kind of pottery in the hillforts of the area, which reflects an elaborate production for self-consumption among the rural populations. This production will not see its utilization affected by the new productions, at least at the beginning of the Roman period. The subgroup of common high imperial pottery, is verified in all sites studied, and documented also in the city of Lucus Augusti and the west of Asturias (Alcorta Irastorza 2001; Hevia González and Montes López 2009). This is a phenomenon spread across the Northwest of Hispania and one of the principal pieces of evidence of the changes produced through the 1st century CE. This hybridization

87 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Sara Barbazán Domínguez and Hugo Lozano Hermida in the common pottery is not characteristic only of this area, but also verified in others like Zaragoza, (Amaré Tafalla and Aguarod Otal 1987) and La Rioja, (Luezas Pascual 2002) being a good example of the cultural hybridization and the bidirectional cultural interchange mentioned earlier. The identification of these changes in frequently used pottery points to a process of adaptation among the society of the times. On one side the techniques and Roman shapes are slowly being incorporated in the societies closer to the cities or distribution centres. On the other, it seems to exist a desire by local potters to conform to the changes taking place regarding taste, habits, and needs of the population, hence adapting to this demand but continuing the elaboration with the previous techniques. Regarding the Roman productions, its presence into the sites of the city of Lucus Augusti area will be significant, even if not as much as the ones of indigenous tradition, at least until from the 2nd century CE until the end of the 5th century CE. New types and elaboration techniques will be slowly introduced, indicating a gradual and progressive change of tastes and social habits imperative until the moment. Although remains of Roman productions have been documented in previous contexts to the change of Era, this pottery will begin to circulate in a significant way by the end of the 1st and 2nd centuries. In these periods one kind complements another, like on the case of pots and bowls, while in other cases they complete the already existing collections by adding new shapes, like little jugs, glasses, red dishes, or mortars. As the centuries pass, this pottery will prevail over the indigenous tradition, thereby varying its forms and manufacturing techniques, showing more care and a greater diversity, beginning to proliferate, either by importing or imitating productions from other areas of the Empire. Regarding the different realities documented in this study, we can say that the influence of the capital of the conventus is quite important if we consider the information provided by pottery. We appreciate a greater dependence or taste for the new Roman forms in the closest settlements, noting an important preference for Roman containers and those of the high imperial subgroup, while the pottery of indigenous tradition will be reduced to the pots, with hardly any other forms being recorded that they are largely documented in more remote sites, such as the bowls. In Agra dos Castros, its proximity to the Roman city enables greater accessibility to the new productions that were being introduced in the first centuries after the change of the Era, increasing the collections throughout the 1st and 2nd century CE. In more remote areas, such as Saa or Viladonga, we are shown a higher presence of pottery of indigenous tradition in respect to the Roman one throughout the first centuries of the change of Era. However, we must bear in mind that in these sites there is a large presence of the high imperial subgroup of the 1st century CE, with numerous examples that can be related with pottery that are recorded in the

city of Lucus Augusti from this time, such as the important collection of pots L1 with stamped decoration and arches that may be indicative of the beginning of Roman influence in the area. In sites with a long occupation, such as Viladonga, we can see how reality changes over the centuries. Along the 2nd and 4th century CE, we note the presence of both indigenous and Roman productions, showing a greater similarity with Agra dos Castros. In the later phases of the hillfort, the full entry of the site into the Roman world is already confirmed only by documented Roman vessels and pieces related to late Roman productions. The study of these sites allows us to verify how the distances with the Roman nucleus shortened over the centuries. It shows an integrating process in the Roman world that occurs gradually in the hillforts farther from the city and faster in those closer to it. These three settlements are similar to those in the northern area of the province of Lugo, the Lugo coast or western Asturias. Similarities as the morpho-technological characteristics of the indigenous tradition pottery, the impact of the new Roman techniques with the introduction of forms that have their correlation in the city of Lucus Augusti and the hybridization between both traditions. These similarities disappear as the distance increases, and we analyse the entire Northwest of Hispania. The southern area of Galicia shows a greater relationship with the pottery productions of the Bracarense area (Delgado et al. 2009; Barbazán Domínguez et al. 2019) to the detriment of the Lucense area. Towards the Atlantic coast, as Fernández Ochoa already collected in his studies on Romanization (Fernández Ochoa and Morillo Cerdán 2002, 2015), the dynamics are different, with indigenous groups with morpho-technological characteristics (Rey Castiñeira 1991) quite different from those of the studied area and Roman productions of diverse type and origin. Towards the east, in Astúrica Augusta, the Asturian influence is greater, (Morillo Cerdán et al. 2005) while the pottery of indigenous tradition shows the influence of the pre-Roman populations, as for the Vacceos types of the 2nd Iron Age (Carretero Vaquero 2000). The study of these collections has allowed to confirm the changes in the pottery collections from the area of Lucus Augusti through the Roman period. We can check the influence of the new contributions that entered in the first centuries of the change of Era, and the importance of the regional traditions through the continuity of forms and decorations even on the fully Roman productions. This confirms the cultural exchange theory. The material culture, in this case pottery, doesn`t allows us to sustain the hypothesis of an acculturation of the people that lived here, nor that of a total indifference of the indigenous societies regarding the Roman world. We are faced with a cultural mixture that has a special incidence during the 1st and 2nd century CE, fading off with the passing of the centuries to become a more homogeneous culture as the integration of the Roman dynamics became more progressive.

88 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

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Morillo Cerdán, Ángel, María Teresa Amaré Tafalla, and Victorino García Marcos. 2005. “Asturica Augusta como centro de producción y consumo cerámico.” In Unidad y diversidad en el Arco Atlántico en época romana, III Coloquio Internacional de Arqueología en Gijón, edited by Carmen Fernández Ochoa y Paz García Díaz, 139–161. BAR Internacional Series 1371: Oxford. Olcese, Gloria. 1993. Le ceramiche comuni di Albintimilium. Indagine archeologica e archeometrica sui materiali dell’area del Cardine. Florencia. Paunier, Daniel. 1981. La céramique gallo-romaine de Genève. Société d’Histoire et d’Archéologie de Genève. Genève. Peacock, David. 1977. Pottery and early commerce: characterization and trade in Roman and Later ceramics. Academic Press: London. Ramil González, Emilio. 2019. Limpeza, escavación arqueolóxica en área e consolidación no xacemento arqueolóxico. Castro de saa-A Pastoriza. Terceira Campaña. Unpublished Report. Lugo. Ramil Rego, Eduardo, Carlos Fernández Rodríguez, Carlos Rodríguez López, Catalina López Pérez y Pilar Fernández Pintos. 1995. “El yacimiento de Punta do Castro (Reinante, Barreiros, Lugo). Materiales de superficie y perspectivas.” Férvedes 2: 87–115. Ramil Rego, Eduardo. 1997. “El castro de Vixil (Vilalba, Lugo). Estudio de materiales y nuevas perspectivas.” Férvedes 4: 81–105. Ramil Rego, Eduardo. 2010. “Análisis del objeto arqueológico: morfología descriptiva y tipología.” In Arqueoloxía: Ciencia e Restauración. Vilalba (Lugo), Monografías 4, edited by Ana Jesús López Díaz and Eduardo Ramil Rego, 155–166. Museo de Prehistoria e Arqueoloxía de Vilalba: Vilalba. Rey Castiñeira, Josefa. 1991. Yacimientos castreños de la vertiente atlántica. Análisis de la cerámica indígena. Universidad de Santiago de Compostela: Santiago de Compostela. Sánchez Albornoz, Claudio. 1956. “Panorama general de la romanización de Hispania.” Revista de la Universidad de Buenos Aires I: 149‑187. Buenos Aires (reed. Misceláneas de Estudios Históricos, León, 1979). Sutton, A. David. 2018. At the interface of makers, matter, and material culture: techniques and society in the ceramics of the southern British Later Iron Age. PhD thesis: University of Reading.

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Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Part 3 Ancient Landscapes and Matters of Scaling

93 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

8 Using Open Spatial Data to Investigate the Importance of Salmon Streams in the Indigenous Cultural Landscapes of Southwest Alaska Jonathan S. Lim1 and Gonzalo J. Linares Matás2 University of Oxford, United Kingdom https://orcid.org/0000-0001-9321-7695 2 University of Oxford, United Kingdom https://orcid.org/0000-0002-0429-7636 1

Abstract: The history of human activity in Southwest Alaska is inextricably linked to the exploitation of its many species of salmonid fish. Alaskan salmonids are anadromous, meaning they live most of their lives at sea, only to return to the river in which they were spawned to reproduce— this makes them a reliable seasonal resource in this environmentally marginal subarctic landscape. Salmonids form a major part of the subsistence lifestyle of modern Native Alaskans, and archaeological evidence suggests that their ancestors experienced population booms and cultural shifts coinciding with the adoption of mass fishing techniques. This was done primarily in response to climate changes, and also to sustain burgeoning populations. Analyses of salmonid behavioural patterns are therefore crucial for understanding the lifeways of past peoples in Southwest Alaska. This work outlines a GIS-based methodology for processing an open spatial dataset— the Alaska Department of Fish and Game’s Anadromous Waters Catalog (AWC)— to make it suitable for use in archaeological and anthropological research. AWC shapefiles converted in this manner may be used to identify the most ecologically diverse (and, therefore, productive) anadromous waterways, and the relationship between heritage site distribution and salmon activity along the length of rivers. As a pilot study, we discuss the cultural landscape of the Yup’ik community of Quinhagak in the Yukon-Kuskokwim (Y-K) Delta, and its two active salmon streams— the Agalig (Arolik) and Qanirtuuq (Kanektok) Rivers. There appears to be a strong relationship between the presence of cultural sites associated with fishing (both historic and archaeological) near the mouths of both rivers where the salmon runs begin (the “initial lower course”, or, “ILC”). It also highlights the importance of such rivers as highways to access nonsalmonid resources further inland, including hunting and berry picking spots. This methodology has a strong potential for assisting in the survey and characterisation of heritage sites elsewhere in Southwest Alaska. 8.1. Introduction Note: Exact cultural site locations have been obscured to protect the heritage of the Quinhagak people, on whose lands this research takes place. 8.1.1. Salmonids in Southwest Alaska This chapter describes a pilot study to investigate cultural landscapes in Southwest Alaska, USA with openaccess salmonid activity data, using the Native Alaskan community of Quinhagak as a case study. The southwest regions of Alaska comprise a culturally diverse landscape, with a rich history of human activity dating back millennia (Bever 2001). While there is no official definition for its borders, we conceptualise it as a broadly triangular zone encompassing the Aleutian Archipelago to the west, the

Kodiak Archipelago to the east, and the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta in the north (Figure 8.1). This region has an abundance of wildlife and flora that belies its often-marginal subarctic climate. Subsisting on these natural resources on a seasonal basis, and processing them for long-term storage, allowed the past inhabitants of Southwest Alaska, and their modern descendant communities, to survive and thrive (Betts 2016). However, few other comparable resources have been as instrumental to the florescence of ancestral Native Alaskan culture and population continuity as the salmonids. Salmonids (Salmonidae) are a family of fish that includes salmon, trout, and whitefish (Table 8.1). Salmonid exploitation played an integral part of the lifeways of many past populations in Southwest Alaska.

95 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Jonathan S. Lim and Gonzalo J. Linares Matás

Figure 8.1. Map depicting the southwestern regions of Alaska, USA, including the localities mentioned in the text (Copyright by authors).

Salmon are keystone species in the freshwater ecosystems of this region (Quinn 2005), where lakes and extensive river systems sustain a rich biodiversity that attracts and nurtures a wide range of species. All salmonid species present in Southwest Alaska are anadromous, meaning they are born in fresh water and subsequently migrate to sea where they attain their full size, and then return to freshwater to spawn (Quinn 2005). The near-unerring ability of anadromous salmonids to return (or, ‘home’) to their river of origin makes them a predictable and abundant seasonal food source for bears and enterprising humans alike (Helfield and Naiman 2006). Their socio-economic relevance encourages the development of cultural references that could provide insights on the nature of this process and their direct implications for the success of the community. On the Yukon River, for example, the presence of a constant, northwest wind during spring is often considered an early indicator of an abundant salmon run over summer (Fienup-Riordan 2020). The phrase ‘salmon run’ is used here to refer to this time of the year when the homing takes place, as well as to the action of

mass migration of salmonids upriver to their spawning grounds (Leggett 1977; Stouder 1997). The dynamic archaeological record of the region is replete with evidence for large-scale salmonid fishing, since these fish species constituted a reliable and predictable resource that provided suitable returns on investments in capture technologies. For example, the faunal assemblage of the c.18th century Agayadan Village site on Unimak Island in the Aleutian Archipelago is dominated by salmon fins and vertebrae, suggesting the storage of fillets and backbones for later consumption (Hoffman et al. 2000). Likewise, sites of the so-called Norton culture in the northern Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta, extant c. 300 BC – AD 1000, showed a preference for situating sites near river mouths with productive salmon runs—there is also consistent presence of net sinkers on such sites, suggesting mass fish capture during the salmon spawning season (Dumond 2016). Furthermore, the rivers hosting anadromous salmonids were important avenues for mobility and acted as visual references for navigating the landscape.

96 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Using Open Spatial Data to Investigate the Importance of Salmon Streams Table 8.1. Primary salmonids present in Southwest Alaska. Eight are present in the Quinhagak focus area landscape, to be discussed below Common Name

Latin Name

Other names

Present in Quinhagak

Notes

King Salmon

Oncorhynchus tshawytscha

Chinook

Generally, the largest and most important subsistence species because of its size and fatty oil content.

Yes

Pink Salmon

Oncorhynchus gorbuscha

Humpy

The most abundant salmon species in the region.

Yes

Sockeye Salmon

Oncorhynchus nerka

Red, Blueback

Second most abundant salmon species regionally, but the most abundant in the Quinhagak focus area.

Yes

Chum Salmon

Oncorhynchus keta

Dog

Third most abundant salmon species.

Yes

Silver Salmon

Oncorhynchus kisutch

Coho

–

Yes

Atlantic Salmon

Salmo salar

–

An introduced species that is only present in the Aleutian Islands and Lake and Peninsula District.

No

Arctic Char

Salvelinus alpinus

–

–

Yes

Dolly Varden

Salvelinus malma

–

Often confused for Arctic Char, above, and vice versa.

Yes

Rainbow Trout

Oncorhynchus mykiss

Steelhead

Anadromous throughout Southwest Alaska except in Bristol Bay

No

Whitefish

Various

–

Many species

Yes

However, coastal Southwest Alaska is experiencing rapid landscape transformations in the face of climate changedriven erosion and permafrost loss (Hollesen et al. 2018; Hillerdal et al. 2019). There is, therefore, an urgent need for collaborative archaeological studies to model landscape use, empowering Native Alaskan communities with tangible data to safeguard their heritage and cultural practices before it is lost. In this regard, a spatio-temporal examination of the behaviour of anadromous salmonids —a staple in the local diets and an important source of income for indigenous fishing communities— and the distribution of fish procurement and processing camps becomes a crucial component towards our understanding of the indigenous cultural landscapes of Southwest Alaska. 8.1.2. Focus Area: Quinhagak, Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta The Yukon-Kuskokwim (Y-K) Delta of Southwest Alaska (Figure 8.1) is one of the largest river deltas in the world, formed from where the Yukon and Kuskokwim rivers flow into the Bering Sea. It is the homeland of the Yup’ik people, whose 23,000 members live across 55 traditional communities situated along the winding rivers and windswept coasts of this expansive subarctic landscape. This region is very sparsely investigated by archaeologists, owing to its remote location and often-adverse climatic conditions (Shaw 1998). As such, very little is known about the history and archaeology of the Yup’ik (pl. Yupiit) people, whose ancestors (members of the so-called Thule culture) moved into the region around AD 1000 (Admiraal

et al. 2020). Until recently, only two minor excavations of precontact (i.e., before contact with Western powers in the late 18th century) Yup’ik archaeological sites had ever been documented in detail (Oswalt 1952; Kowta 1963). Since 2009, archaeologists have been working alongside the Yup’ik community of Quinhagak to excavate a nearby ancestral archaeological site that they have named Nunalleq, which means “the Old Village” in the Yup’ik language. Indeed, this site represents the remnants of a precontact ‘winter village’, occupied from c. AD 1350– 1675, that was destroyed by fire in an attack (Knecht and Jones 2019). Ethnographic accounts and Yup’ik oral history tell us that Yupiit of the past lived a semi-sedentary lifestyle (Fienup-Riordan 1995). They would roam the landscape in small groups during warmer months to follow the seasonal movements of fish and game but would reconvene in winter villages with the onset of winter; they sheltered in ‘sod houses’, semi-subterranean structures made of blocks of tundra sod and a superstructure of wood (Fienup-Riordan 2007). Excavations at Nunalleq have revealed that its inhabitants relied on what MassonMaclean et al. (2020) term a ‘tripartite resource base’ dominated by salmonids, followed by marine mammals and caribou. Artwork depicting salmonids are present on the site, most commonly as attachments for ceremonial masks— once used in ritual dances to increase the abundance of prey animals (Mossolova et al. 2019). An apparent reduction in salmon remains between the final two occupational phases of the site (c. 1620–1675) may reflect climatic instability caused by the Little Ice Age. On

97 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Jonathan S. Lim and Gonzalo J. Linares Matás Table 8.2. Fish life-cycle categories used by the AWC Fish Lifecycle

AWC Given Definition

Notes

Present

“Documented occurrence of anadromous fish in specified water body through direct observation or due to extrapolation downstream from observation and documentation of spawning or rearing anadromous fish in a specified water body or water bodies located upstream”

The most common lifecycle designation for AWC entries, a general indication that a species is present.

Spawning

“The deposition or fertilization of fish eggs, including preparation for deposition or fertilization.”

Useful for inferring the final destination of salmonids on the salmon run.

Migration

“The predictable, purposeful, or seasonal movement of fish, unrestricted by other than natural influences”

A designation that is not commonly assigned, possibly defunct.

Rearing

“The developmental life phase of a fish from fertilization of eggs to adult.”

In Quinhagak, there are no known accounts of Yupiit targeting non-adult salmonids.

Kodiak Island, a corresponding fall in salmon population is evident during the same period (Finney et al. 2002). Nunalleq was destroyed in a conflict known in Yup’ik oral history as the Bow-and-arrow Wars (Fienup-Riordan and Rearden 2016); Although Native Alaskan narrators often cite revenge as the driving force behind this conflict, individual violent events during this period are stated to involve disputes over resources (Fienup-Riordan and Rearden 2016, 63, 69, 73), highlighting the consequences of resource instability. Although today’s world is socially, economically, and environmentally different from that of their ancestors’, the 700-member strong Yup’ik community of Quinhagak still rely heavily on the summer salmon runs for survival. The Yup’ik word for ‘fish’, neqa, also means ‘food’. Salmonid fishing methods are even more intensive now than in the past. Elder Martha Mark remembers using small, hand-held fishnets to seine for salmon in the mid-20th century, with one person holding the net on the boat and another wading in shallow water (Rearden and Fienup-Riordan 2013, 268). Conversely, most fish nowadays are caught with large stationary gill nets set at the mouths of rivers by motorised boats, with many fish being sold commercially in early summer (ibid). Community members then disperse to seasonal fish camps far upriver, where smaller-scale fishing techniques like rod-and-reel are used (Knecht pers. com.). The salmon that are not immediately eaten fresh are processed for long-term storage for consumption over winter in their hundreds— dried on outdoor racks then smoked. Modern refrigerators are now also used, where once fresh fish were once stored in grass baskets to be frozen over winter (George Pleasant, in Rearden and Fienup-Riordan 2014, 282). For the Yupiit of Quinhagak, the act of salmonid procurement is a well-choreographed practice that has been taking place every summer at sites throughout the landscape, potentially over hundreds of years (Warren Jones in Rearden and Fienup-Riordan 2014, 228). In this paper, we present two salmonid procurement and processing camps documented in a 2019 archaeological survey of the cultural landscape of Quinhagak, and explore how open spatial data can be used to help infer relationships between the communities of southwest Alaska and their bountiful salmon rivers.

8.2. Methodology The Anadromous Waters Catalogue (AWC) is an open dataset maintained by the Alaska Department of Fish and Game (ADF&G 2021), showing all known bodies of water used by anadromous fish. Waters listed on the Catalogue are protected by law (AS 16.05.871), mandating that any development impacting the body of water must be approved by the ADF&G beforehand. It is available to the public as vector shapefiles for viewing in Geographic Information Systems (GIS) software. However, the AWC shapefile data structure is convoluted, as it consists of overlapping line features of different lengths representing the recorded spatial extent of individual anadromous fish species, and their lifecycle stage (Table 8.2). We propose a methodology to make it more suitable for landscape-scale cultural analysis in Southwest Alaska using GIS software. State-wide Alaskan anadromous fish quantities are not universally available and need to be requested or located for individual rivers. In lieu of this information, we argue that high species richness40 of anadromous salmonid in rivers is desirable for subsistence reliability, and will therefore strongly influence cultural site placement decisions. When multiple salmonid species utilise a single river for spawning, they each evolve to begin the salmon run at different times, ostensibly to avoid interspecies competition for resources and space, and to capitalise on narrow temporal windows of ideal environmental conditions like water temperature (Quinn 2005). Therefore, although certain species are preferentially targeted, a river with many salmonid species is a more reliable source of sustenance throughout the summer than one with only a few species. In some Yup’ik communities, salmonids have different preferred subsistence roles: king salmon are stored for the winter or immediately consumed, silver salmon heads are fermented in pits, chum salmon are used to feed dogs, and so on (Fienup-Riordan 2020). A Python-based workflow (available for download below) can be used to process the AWC data in ArcGIS Pro 2.7 to better display anadromous fish diversity and may be Number of species present, independent of abundance and distribution (Moore 2013). 40 

98 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Using Open Spatial Data to Investigate the Importance of Salmon Streams Table 8.3. Resultant processed shapefiles to be used in spatial analysis of salmon streams Process

Description

RiverRichness_Identifier

Comprised of a line feature for every river system, displaying an attribute field showing the maximum number of anadromous species present.

Species_Details

The AWC is divided into a sequence of overlapping 1km line features with attribute fields showing the species present, and their lifecycle stage

Local_Richness

The AWC is divided into a sequence of non-overlapping 1km line features with attribute fields showing the number of species present

adapted for other software packages. The entire AWC dataset, or a smaller geographical subset (if desired), can be processed in this manner, depending on the research in question. Retain the three resultant shapefiles for further analysis (Table 8.3). It is suggested that the research proceed over two phases: Phase 1: Identify the most biologically diverse streams. 1. Change symbology of RiverRichness_Identifier to reflect the magnitude of salmonid (and/or other important subsistence fish) biodiversity, so that the most biologically diverse streams can be identified. These are more likely to have been utilised by past peoples. Phase 2: Identify what fish are active along certain stretches of the rivers of interest, and their lifecycle stage. 2. Change the symbology of the Local_Richness feature to reflect the magnitude of salmonid diversity over 1 km stretches of the rivers of interest. The corresponding Species_Details layer can be used to query what species are present, and their lifecycle stage. 3. Use in conjunction with sources of data showing known sites, e.g., site reports, journal articles, online repositories, etc., to identify activity patterns and suggest hypotheses. Two sources of known cultural sites were used to correlate salmonid presence with human activity in Quinhagak. The first is the Office of History and Archaeology’s ‘Alaska Heritage Resources Survey’ (AHRS), a restricted repository of reported sites that is accessible by researchers upon application. The other source is a document compiled by the community of Quinhagak themselves, Joseph Pleasant’s (1999) “Traditional Names and Places of Native Village of Kwinhagak’’ listing sites in their cultural landscape with traditional Yup’ik names. This report was compiled from interviews with community

Elders,41 this report was commissioned by Quinhagak’s then-mayor Willard Church to resist outsiders imposing Western names on traditional places; it is a snapshot of some of the most important sites to the community in 1999. To examine the statistical degree of cultural site clustering, sites were digitised and then aggregated into 2 km hexagonal cells intersecting the rivers, then subjected to two independent spatial clustering analyses— Spatial Autocorrelation (Global Moran’s I) (Getis and Ord 1992) and Average Nearest Neighbour (David 1985). This study also draws upon J.L.’s fieldwork in the Quinhagak area, particularly a 2019 archaeological prospection survey. 8.3. Results and Discussion 8.3.1. Primacy of the “Initial Lower Course” Using the RiverRichness_Identifier line feature layer generated for this study (Figure 8.2), several anadromous streams are evident in the Quinhagak cultural landscape study area, with several showing high levels of taxonomic salmonid richness. The majority of known cultural sites (152 of 228, or 66%) are present within a 5 km buffer zone around these rivers, demonstrating a clear preference for placing cultural sites in response to salmonid species diversity and activity. Many of these sites are explicitly stated to involve salmonid fishing by Pleasant (1999), but it is likely that the actual number of cultural sites involved in salmonid fishing and/or processing is higher— the level of detail used in site-use descriptions varies throughout Quinhagak’s placenames catalogue. While undoubtedly useful as the basis for preliminary cultural landscape studies, the fidelity of the AWC dataset should be addressed; Johnson (2015) estimates that less than 50% of actual anadromous watercourses are listed. Nevertheless, the results from this pilot study are tangible and intriguing. They illustrate that, just like the inhabitants of the ancestral winter village of Nunalleq, the people of Quinhagak still rely heavily on anadromous salmonids as a subsistence resource and on the rivers themselves as avenues for mobility and as visual aids for navigating the landscape. The two salmon rivers closest to Quinhagak —the Qanirtuuq (Kanektok), upon which Quinhagak is built, and the Agalig (Arolik)— are of particular interest for contextualising our survey results. Both river systems play a paramount socio-economic role in the subsistence strategies of the region, and they feature heavily in the oral histories and contemporary stories of the community, which underpins their cultural significance (Rearden and Fienup-Riordan 2013). Seven species of anadromous salmonid are present in both rivers during the salmon run, In the context of Yup’ik culture, certain people may be as accorded the honorific of ‘Elder’. This is not simply an indicatorof advanced age, but also a recognition of the title bearer’s wisdom and contributions to their communities. Elders are widely considered to be gatekeepers of traditional cultural knowledge. 41 

99 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Jonathan S. Lim and Gonzalo J. Linares Matás

Figure 8.2. Location and taxonomic richness of watercourses in the Quinhagak landscape employed by anadromous salmonids during their migratory cycle (AWC 2020).

and cultural site distributions along their banks strongly correspond to salmonid activity. As seen in Figure 8.3, both rivers record the highest returning salmonid diversity at the initial lower course of the river (henceforth ILC)— we define it as the stretch of river starting from the river mouth and ending where the river starts to flow into different tributaries, potentially resulting in fewer salmonid numbers once they select different pathways to travel. The ILC funnels salmonids returning to spawn every summer, showing the highest numbers and variety of salmonids. At the ILC’s of both rivers, it is clear that there is a correspondingly high clustering of sites (Figure 8.3), including sites that are explicitly stated or known to be associated with fishing activity (Table 8.4, Figure 8.4). The z-scores of the Spatial Autocorrelation and Average Nearest Neighbour analyses are 11.93413 and -9.038274 respectively, both indicating a less than 1% likelihood that this clustering is due to random chance.

These site-placement decisions may have served to safeguard against predictable salmonid shortages; For example, on the Yukon River, Yup’ik fishermen recognise that king salmon populations decline every fourth year (Fienup-Riordan 2020). Ergo, having access to multiple species helps mitigate the starvation risk, should one type of salmonid population become scarce— “They used to cut many king salmon. Then when there were no longer any kings around, they’d fish for chums” (Elder Martha Mark of Quinhagak, in Rearden and Fienup-Riordan 2013, 266). As salmonid populations are particularly susceptible to climate change (Finney et al. 2000) —an unprecedented heatwave in Alaska in 2019 killed thousands of salmon before they spawned (Figure 8.5)— scarcity does occasionally strike, with several instances recorded in living memory. For example, in 1919, the king salmon did not return to the Yukon River, and “people ate so much wild rhubarb that their mouths turned green” (Fienup-Riordan 2020, 131). More recently, the collapse of the king salmon fishery at Emmonak on the Yukon River during a cold snap in 2009

100 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Using Open Spatial Data to Investigate the Importance of Salmon Streams

Figure 8.3. Map depicting the distribution of cultural sites in the Quinhagak landscape, with a particular emphasis on fishing camps and fish processing localities. Note considerable site clustering along the Initial Lower Courses of the Qanirtuuq and Agalig rivers compared to the river course beyond (Copyright by authors).

Figure 8.4. Bimodal distribution of salmonid species present throughout segments of the Agalig and Qanirtuuq. The highest level of biodiversity (7) is well-represented in both rivers and is explained by the salmonid’s utilisation of the ILC and main courses of the river to travel to their spawning grounds. Quinn (2005) describes how salmonids travel to specific tributaries to spawn, and this is reflected in the distribution above, with large number of tributaries utilised by only 1 – 3 species to reproduce. (Copyright by authors).

101 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Jonathan S. Lim and Gonzalo J. Linares Matás Table 8.4. Table demonstrating that the ILC’s are preferred for the placement of cultural sites like fishing camps, with a high percentage of cultural sites concentrated here Total Length

Total Sites

ILC Length

Sites in ILC’s, with % of all sites

Qanirtuuq

336 km

61

30 km

31 (50.8%)

7

4.31

Agalig

286 km

36

8 km

15 (41%)

7

3.36

River System

Species present Average species in ILC richness

area they were in. This was used as an fish camp in fall and stayed there all winter. They stayed there and hunt geese, birds, all animals such as minks, reindeer, all kinds of salmon, black berries, crown berries, and animals that live within that location. People also stayed there ovemite [sic] when hunting or passing through when there used to be houses that were standing but nowadays theres no staying overnite [sic] within the near location”. In other words, as with ancient Quinhagak, it is plausible that past peoples chose to construct a winter village here along the ILC of the Qanirtuuq for its abundant resources and its easy access to salmonids, and also to the sea.

Figure 8.5. One of the authors (Jonathan Lim) on archaeological fieldwork at Quinhagak, Alaska in 2019 during a devastating heatwave, in which thousands of salmon died before spawning, washing up on beaches and riverbanks. Copyright by Allen Hard.

caused great hardship, sparking a national philanthropic relief effort (Fienup-Riordan et al. 2013). 8.3.2. Salmon river ILC’s as residential hubs The Qanirtuuq River is particularly entwined with the identity of Quinhagak— the Elders say that its mouth has shifted on five occasions before coming to rest at its current location, and the community has moved with it every single time, highlighting the cultural centrality of this river for subsistence practices, and its symbolic cultural importance (Rearden and Fienup-Riordan 2013). Thus, the modern Native Alaskan community of Quinhagak has its origins as a potentially centuries-old precontact winter village (Tiller 1996). From this prime location at the mouth of a major salmon river, they had easy access to the bountiful yearly salmon run, as well as the marine resources of the coast (Rearden and Fienup-Riordan 2013; MassonMaclean 2020). There is archaeological and oral history evidence for six other winter villages on the Qanirtuuq, with all but one being in the ILC zone; consider, for example, the site of Pug’uilnguarmiut (AHRS designation GDN-241), located only 14km upriver from Quinhagak. Archaeologist D. Curtis, from the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA), reported multiple abandoned sod structures in 2001 (AHRS 2021), and its cultural and historical significance is vividly recorded by Pleasant (1999, 84): “This was the site that was used as a village by the people that had used it to do subsistence harvesting of animal [sic] within the

This pattern is evident at other rivers in the study area. ‘Agalig’ means ‘Ashes’, a name reputedly bestowed upon this river by the survivors of the Nunalleq attack, after it was burned to the ground c. 1675 (Fienup-Riordan et al. 2015). The survivors founded a winter village at the mouth of the Agalig, known as Agaligamiut (trans. “People of the Ashes”). In 1880, according to the US census, Agaligamiut (GDN-010) had a higher population than Quinhagak, although it was completely abandoned by 1905. Takiqaratmiut (GDN-226) is likewise an abandoned village with archaeological remains by the mouth of Cripple Creek at the southern periphery of the study area; Although this creek system is much shorter than the Agalig and Qanirtuuq at c. 34km, it flows directly into the sea and has a comparable salmonid species richness of six. It is therefore evident that the mouths and ILCs of salmonbearing rivers were prime locations for past Yupiit to form places of permanent or semi-permanent settlement. 8.3.3. Salmon rivers as loci for seasonal fishing camps Salmonid exploitation is an integral part of the lifeways of many past populations in southwest Alaska, and their seasonal arrival is a paramount period in the scheduling of socio-economic activities in the region. On the basis of the approximate number of salmonids that returned to the Qanirtuuq River in 2014 to spawn, it is clear that sockeye salmon is the most prevalent species in terms of numbers and estimated biomass (Table 8.5). Although all salmonids are harvested to a certain extent, king salmon (kiagtat in Yup’ik) are the most deeply prized salmonid amongst the Yupiit of the Y-K Delta, who preferentially capture them because of their large size and fat content. Speaking of his childhood in the Lower Kuskokwim during the early 20th century, when people still fished with gill nets made of willow-tree bark,

102 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Using Open Spatial Data to Investigate the Importance of Salmon Streams Table 8.5. Salmonids quantities on the Qanirtuuq river in 2014 (after Hansen et al. 2016). No comparable data exists for the Agalig. Individual weight data used to estimate the total biomass derived after Ruggerone and Irvine (2018) and Quinn (2005). Arrival and abundance estimates by the Alaska Department of Fish and Game had been calculated by counting the number of fish that swam past a weir from 27th June to 15th August, located at 59°46′3″N, 161°3′37″W, just outside the Qanirtuuq ILC zone. Daily peak arrival date was used as an approximate indicator for the start of individual species’ spawning run on the Qanirtuuq, but further field research is required to verify actual arrival dates. Despite the apparently overwhelming abundance of sockeye, Quinhagak oral histories still express a preference for exploiting king salmon (Rearden and Fienup-Riordan 2013) Species Sockeye

2014 Total 256,969

Daily Peak Arrival Date and Apparent Order in 2014

Comparable Order of Arrival at the Yukon River

Daily Peak Number of Individuals

Average Individual Weight (kg)

Estimated Total Biomass (kg)

8th July (1st)

4th

19,173

2.6

668,119

Coho

4,786

15th August (5th)

3rd

1,165

5.4

25,844

Chum

18,586

16th July (3rd)

2nd

964

3.4

63,192

King

3,594

12th July (2nd)

1st

234

9

32,346

Pink

25,718

1st August (4th)

5th

2,156

1.5

38,577

Dolly Varden (Trout)

45,592

5th July (N/A)

N/A

6,096

4.5

27,432

Elder Wassilie Berlin says, “People considered a man who caught twenty king salmon [in one summer] to have caught plenty” (Fienup-Riordan 2007, p. 178). This quote demonstrates the utility of these salmonids, considering how just a few of these large salmonids might sustain a population for a year. While the sockeye is the most abundant species in the Qanirtuuq river, the inhabitants of Quinhagak express a cultural and socio-economic preference for the king salmon run, which is reflected in in their cultural taxonomy, with terms referring to nuances in the timing and directionality of their arrival (FienupRiordan 2020). For example, aciirturtet are the first king salmon to arrive, being visible under the ice just before it melts (Rearden and Fienup-Riordan 2013)— they are too fatty to be dried for storage and are a less desirable catch: “These first ones, when they take too long to dry, the meat comes off from their skins. They’re not as good to eat when that happens” (Michael Hunt in Fienup-Riordan 2020, p. 142). Conversely, the most popular and bountiful king salmon run is the third wave to arrive. These salmons are allirkat (lit., “mitten palms” for their white pectoral fins) for the Yupiit on the Yukon River— they are large, have an optimal amount of body fat, and represent the most abundant king salmon variant (Fienup-Riordan 2020). Therefore, understanding the nature and spatial distribution of sites involved in fishing activities through collaborative and community-based archaeological approaches can offer invaluable insights into past indigenous landscape use patterns in Southwest Alaska. In 2019, while conducting an archaeological survey of the Quinhagak region, J.L., alongside Dr. S. Gleason (Hampden-Sydney College) and H. Strehlau (Zentrum für Baltische und Skandinavische Archäologie) recorded two very morphologically different ‘fish camps’ in the ILC’s of both the Qanirtuuq and Agalig rivers, where the salmon run is at its most populous. These camps were specialised activity areas for the mass capture and processing of king salmon and other salmonids.

Site GDN-268 is located on the periphery of Quinhagak town, on an elevated river terrace at the mouth of the Qanirtuuq on the southern bank. It is meters away from a beach known as Tengluk, which is a verb meaning “to punch”— oral histories say this was the location of the community’s first contact with an Orthodox missionary, who was welcomed with a punch to the face (Jones, Knecht, pers. comm., July 2019). A cluster of around 26 c.1m-wide square and irregular shallow depressions were encountered (Figure 8.6). Many community members we encountered were not able to identify these features, but in an informal interview Elder Annie Cleveland (pers comm., 16th July 2019) recalled the presence of a fish camp with fish racks in her youth. This was later confirmed by Pleasant’s (1999, 110) entry on Tengluk and the river terrace: “This was the location of the fishracks of Sam Carter”. Ethnographic observations by Knudson et al. (2004) of contemporary Cu’pik —a cultural sub-group of Yup’iit from the Chevak region— fish camps on the Aprun River north of Quinhagak, notes two types of pits being used: shallow pits for short-term fresh fish awaiting processing for drying, and deeper ones for fermenting fish heads, to produce a delicacy known as tepet, or ‘stinkheads’. It is evident that both types of fish processing pits are present at GDN-268. Complete excavation of one of the pits, C2, revealed a 1m-deep irregular deep pit with a flat bottom lined by grass— matching Fienup-Riordan’s (2007) description of tepet-making pits— and fish remains in the form of scales, fatty residue, and apparent maggot pupae. The pit truncated several horizontal worked wooden logs and rods covered in fish scales, possibly the remains of collapsed fish racks. A lead fishing weight was recovered from the fill, suggesting continuity of use into the early 20th century. C4 was a rectangular pit holding filled with discarded worked wood and the alluvial infill was excavated to 30cm, marking it as a shallow fish storage pit. GDN-267, however, is something altogether different. Approximately 6km upriver from Agaligamiut and the

103 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Jonathan S. Lim and Gonzalo J. Linares Matás an alignment of four 20cm x 20cm apparent shallow post depressions suggests the presence of a collapsed fishrack. GDN-267 and GDN-268, described above, are two morphologically different types of fish camp recorded in the ILC’s of both rivers. Although it makes sense for fish camps to be situated at the ILC’s, where the volume of salmonids are highest during the salmon runs, an inspection of Pleasant’s (1999) list suggests a third type of fish camp, characterised by their considerable distance away from the ILC. For example, approximately 100km upriver of Quinhagak, the Qanirtuuq branches off southward into Klak Creek. Along this creek, there is a camp recorded by Pleasant (1999) as “Apaculum Nunallra”, or “Old Land of Apaculum”. Although Klak Creek only has four species of salmonid present, the processed AWC data indicates it is a known spawning ground for king salmon. Was the camp placed here to capitalise on this? There is one argument working against this: the further the salmon travel upriver to spawn, the leaner they become, since they rely on stored energy throughout their spawning migration (cf. Quinn 2005; Hendry and Beal 2004), a phenomenon recognised by Yupiit on the Yukon (Fienup-Riordan 2020). Therefore, the king salmon caught in more distant fishing camps should, in theory, be a less desirable catch in terms of fatty acids content than those caught at the river

Figure 8.6. a: GDN-268, a cluster of fish-processing pits recorded in 2019 on an elevated river terrace at the edge of Quinhagak. B: Aerial photograph of survey team at GDN268, facing South-West c. Possible photo of the site in use in the early 20th-century, approximately where the person is crouched, surrounded by fish-drying racks. From Rearden and Fienup-Riordan (2013), courtesy of Rhoda and Bill Thomas, and Chet Williams.

mouth of the Agalig, the remains of three abandoned sodbuilt structures atop a natural sandy mound were recorded (Figure 8.7). Test pits in the largest structure yielded a very thin “house-floor” cultural layer of 2 cm, indicating it was only seasonally occupied for one or two years (Knecht, pers. comm., July 2019). Artefacts recovered included a small stone adze, a piece of worked antler, and a low-fired ceramic sherd with a Thule-style rim, suggesting it is a pre-contact site roughly contemporary with the Nunalleq site. Quinhagak community member James Williams (pers. comm., July 24th, 2019), who was guiding the survey, remarked that the elevated position of this site close to the river made it perfect for a fish camp. There were no indications of large-scale fish processing features like the pit cluster at GDN-268, implying that if fish were indeed caught here, they would be brought back to the winter village at Agaligamiut for processing. However,

Figure 8.7. Site plan sketch of GDN-267 (Not to scale), a precontact Yup’ik seasonal fish camp on the Agalig, situated on an elevated natural sandbank surrounded by downhill shrub and low-lying trees. The archaeological remains bear the hallmarks of abandoned sod-built structures— a slight central circular depression with 30cm-tall banks (copyright by authors).

104 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Using Open Spatial Data to Investigate the Importance of Salmon Streams mouth or ILC. However, other factors like suitability for open-air drying and storage also need to be considered. Furthermore, it is not implausible that past Yupiit, or perhaps the eponymous Apaculum, chose to place a camp here to more-easily isolate and capture the much-prized king salmon. Potentially, this may have been done as they enter the narrower creek using the “seining” fishnet technique— offsetting possible concerns of meat quality with sheer quantity of individuals caught. More remote camps like GDN-267 and Apaculum Nunallra were likely to be “cangyunarqellria”, or places where fish could be reliably caught (Fienup-Riordan 2007). Fish camps were intended to be occupied for days or weeks at a time, but the latter’s long distance from the ICL implies the need for a more self-sufficient configuration. This may manifest itself as archaeological evidence of both fish processing pits and fish drying racks, which were practically absent from GDN-267. Further ethnographic and archaeological investigation is required to verify if this is the case. 8.4. Salmon rivers as highways to inland resources, and as landmarks An inspection of the remaining, non-fishing related, cultural sites outside the ILC of the Qanirtuuq paints a vibrant image of life in this seasonally abundant landscape. A cluster of sites near the source of the river at Kagati Lake may have had access to a reduced variety (and quantities) of salmonids, but were placed there to give past Yupiit access to a wide range of other resources: big game animals like brown bear (Ursus arctos), black bear (U. americanus), moose (Alces alces), and caribou (Rangifer tarandus); waterfowl like duck and geese (Anatidae); fur-bearing mammals such as the Arctic ground squirrel (Urocitellus parryii), foxes (Vulpes vulpes), otters (Enhydra lutris), and beaver (Castor canadiensis) to make warm clothing, berry picking sites for cloudberries (Rubus chamaemorus) and blackberries (Empetrum nigrum), and many others besides (Pleasant 1999). The sheer abundance of subsistence resources highlights the usefulness of salmon rivers, not just as places to harvest salmonids, but as conduits of travel to access terrestrial resources further inland. Indeed, for the Yupiit of today and their ancestors from pre-contact times, watercourses were the preferred avenues of mobility across the landscape, enabled by the use of watercraft technology. By the mid-20th century, traditionally-constructed kayak (sleek, single-person hunting boat) and umiak (larger, flatbottomed skin-covered vessels for transporting people and goods) were outdated, in favour of skiffs with outboard motors (Fienup-Riordan 2007). Traversing the Y-K Delta is very difficult on land because of the marshy terrain, and it is only feasible in winter when the ground is covered by snow with the assistance of dog-sleds and —in modern times— snowmobiles. Salmon rivers are nitrogen-rich due to salmon life-cycle activity, and this is known to affect vegetation growth along its banks (Bartz and Naiman 2005). Further work in Quinhagak might focus on using remote-sensing based techniques to quantify these vegetation differences

(cf. Fenger-Nielsen et al. 2019), and understand their relationship with known berry-picking spots along salmon rivers. This would also require further ethnographic enquiries, as berry picking localities— and other sites involving traditionally female-dominated activities (Fienup-Riordan 2007)— are under-represented in Pleasant (1999), since all the Elders interviewed were male. When characterising the role of watercourses in the spatial distribution of fishing camps and other foraging localities in Southwest Alaska, we need to consider the fact that targeted or episodic food searches —involving specific routes from and to the point of origin (i.e., a base camp)— demand a degree of wayfinding prowess rooted in local landscape knowledge to minimise the risk of getting lost (Golledge 2002). In both prehistory and in modern times rivers and streams may serve as landmarks in a landscape that is otherwise topographically uniform (Tilley 1996), such as the Arctic tundra, since these external aids can assist cognitive wayfinding processes by helping structure routes along the otherwise relatively homogeneous tundra. For example, a creek known as Sayagtuli is described by Pleasant (1999) as such: “The creek is a land mark that is known to hunters and can tell where they are located at by using this land mark in winter and summer” (p. 94). Since intentional landscape knowledge for wayfinding is acquired through the learning of embedded spatial concepts (cf. Golledge 2002, 26), the use of traditional and culturally-transmitted Yup’ik place names can further aid in this process, by encoding history, land-usage, and mythological references in the name of the landmark itself (Donald 1991). For example, a creek north of Quinhagak is named Qanirtuuller, which means “Old Quinhagak”— supposedly the old mouth of the Qanirtuuq before it shifted (Rearden and Fienup-Riordan 2013). This would have helped small foraging parties navigate between camps, or to return to the winter village. 8.5. Conclusions In Southwest Alaska, anadromous salmonid watercourses represent paramount components of indigenous cultural landscapes, as sources of high-ranked dietary staples, as avenues of mobility, and as wayfinding landmarks. Our study confirms their socio-economic relevance, since, at least among the Yup’ik of Quinhagak, there is a preference for placing fish procurement, fish processing, and even non-fishing sites within the Initial Lower Courses (ILCs) of rivers. While the different activities involved in smallscale subsistence fishing often took place in one location (such as Apaculum Nunallra), our survey documented that the different stages of larger-scale fishing activities were sometimes spatially structured across the landscape in specialised localities, such as GDN-267 (a fishing camp at a favourable procurement spot) or GDN-268 (a mass fish processing area). While king salmon is the preferred salmonid species overall, the variable temporalities and reliabilities of the spawning migration runs of different species could have further influenced site location patterns. In other words, the preferential exploitation

105 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Jonathan S. Lim and Gonzalo J. Linares Matás of streams with high taxonomic diversity served as as a buffer mechanism to enhance the predictability of fishing returns. Additional research in Quinhagak, in the form of collaborative ethnographic enquiry and archaeological investigation, is required to better understand the socioeconomic practices associated with seasonal salmonid behaviour in this landscape, and how the nature and temporalities of their arrival relate to the morphology and distribution of cultural sites. Lastly, this methodology may be deployed on a wider temporal and geographical scale, to infer spatial relationships between multiple cultural groups and salmonid activity and diversity in prehistoric Southwest Alaska. Supplementary Data The Python-based geoprocessing workflow script for processing this data natively in ArcGIS Pro 2.7 can be downloaded from https://doi.org/10.5287/ bodleian:bxzJmOMAo Acknowledgements We are grateful to the community of Quinhagak and Qanirtuuq Inc. for their kindness and support, especially Warren Jones, Willard Church, Annie Cleveland, John Smith, James Williams, and John Foster. We are indebted to the staff, students, and volunteers of the University of Aberdeen’s Quinhagak Archaeological Project, especially Dr. Rick Knecht. Thanks also to J.L.’s external supervisor Dr. Sean Gleason (Hampden-Sydney College) and Hannah Strehlau (Zentrum für Baltische und Skandinavische Archäologie) for their guidance and expertise in the field. Figure 8.6c. is reproduced in this article with the kind permission of Dr. Ann Fienup-Riordan (Calista Elders Council). We are grateful for the comments and feedback from Prof. Rick Schulting and Dr. John Pouncett (School of Archaeology, University of Oxford), which greatly improved the quality of this chapter. The research of J.L. is supported by the Royal Anthropological Institute’s Emslie Horniman Scholarship Fund, a Heritage Seed Fund grant from The Oxford Research Centre in the Humanities, and Meyerstein Award grants from the School of Archaeology, University of Oxford. His 2019 field research was funded by the Keble Association. The research of G.L.M. is supported by the Arts and Humanities Research Council [grant number AH/ R012709/1] through a Baillie Gifford AHRC Scholarship (OOC-DTP program) for his DPhil in Archaeology at St. Hugh’s College, University of Oxford (UK). References Admiraal, Marjolein, Alexandre Lucquin, Lea Drieu, Simone Casale, Peter D. Jordan, and Oliver E. Craig. 2020 “Leftovers: The presence of manufacture-derived

aquatic lipids in Alaskan pottery.” Archaeometry, no. 2: 346–361. https://doi.org/10.1111/arcm.12515. Alaska Department of Fish and Game, 2020. “Alaska Anadromous Waters Catalog”. Accessed February 13, 2021. https://hub.arcgis.com/datasets/adfg::alaskaanadromous-waters-catalog Bartz, Krista K., and Robert J. Naiman. 2005. “Effects of Salmon-Borne Nutrients o Riparian Soils and Vegetation in Southwest Alaska.” Ecosystems 8 (5): 529–45. Betts, Matthew. 2016. “Zooarchaeology and the Reconstruction of Ancient Human-Animal Relationships in the Arctic.” In The Oxford Handbook of the Prehistoric Arctic, edited by T. Max Friesen and Owen K. Mason. https://doi.org/10.1093/ oxfordhb/9780199766956.013.8. Donald, Merlin. 1991. Origins of the Modern Mind: Three Stages in the Evolution of Culture and Cognition. First Edition. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Dumond, D. E. 2016. “Norton Hunters and Fisherfolk.” In The Oxford Handbook of the Prehistoric Arctic, edited by T. Max Friesen and Owen K. Mason, Kindle Edition, 230–41. New York: Oxford University Press. Fenger-Nielsen, Rasmus, Jørgen Hollesen, Henning Matthiesen, Emil Alexander Sherman Andersen, Andreas Westergaard-Nielsen, Hans Harmsen, Anders Michelsen, and Bo Elberling. 2019. “Footprints from the Past: The Influence of Past Human Activities on Vegetation and Soil across Five Archaeological Sites in Greenland.” Science of The Total Environment 654 (March): 895–905. https://doi.org/10.1016/j. scitotenv.2018.11.018. Fienup-Riordan, Ann. 1995. Boundaries and Passages: Rule and Ritual in Yup’ik Eskimo Oral Tradition. University of Oklahoma Press. ———. 2007. The Way We Genuinely Live. University of Washington Press. ———. 2020. Nunakun-Gguq Ciutengqertut/They Say They Have Ears Through the Ground: Animal Essays from Southwest Alaska. Fairbanks, AK: University of Alaska Press. Fienup-Riordan, Ann, Caroline Brown, and Nicole M. Braem. 2013. “The Value of Ethnography in Times of Change: The Story of Emmonak.” Deep Sea Research Part II: Topical Studies in Oceanography, Understanding Ecosystem Processes in the Eastern Bering Sea II, 94 (October): 301–11. https://doi. org/10.1016/j.dsr2.2013.04.005. Fienup-Riordan, Ann, Alice Rearden, and Melia Knecht. 2015. “Irr’inarqellriit/Amazing Things: Quinhagak Elders Reflect on Their Past.” Alaska Journal of Anthropology 13 (2): 37–70. Finney, Bruce P., Irene Gregory-Eaves, Marianne S. V. Douglas, and John P. Smol. 2002. “Fisheries

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Using Open Spatial Data to Investigate the Importance of Salmon Streams Productivity in the Northeastern Pacific Ocean over the Past 2,200 Years.” Nature 416 (6882): 729–33. https:// doi.org/10.1038/416729a. Finney, Bruce P., Irene Gregory-Eaves, Jon Sweetman, Marianne S. V. Douglas, and John P. Smol. 2000. “Impacts of Climatic Change and Fishing on Pacific Salmon Abundance Over the Past 300 Years.” Science 290 (5492): 795–99. https://doi.org/10.1126/ science.290.5492.795. Getis, Arthur, and J. K. Ord. 1992. “The Analysis of Spatial Association by Use of Distance Statistics.” Geographical Analysis 24 (3): 189–206. https://doi. org/10.1111/j.1538-4632.1992.tb00261.x. Golledge, Reginald G. 2002. “Human Wayfinding and Cognitive Maps.” In Colonization of Unfamiliar Landscapes: The Archaeology of Adaptation, edited by Marcy Rockman and J Steele, 25–43. London: Routledge. Helfield, James M., and Robert J. Naiman. 2006. “Keystone Interactions: Salmon and Bear in Riparian Forests of Alaska.” Ecosystems 9 (2): 167–80. https:// doi.org/10.1007/s10021-004-0063-5. Hendry, Andrew. P., and Edward Beall. 2004. “Energy Use in Spawning Atlantic Salmon.” Ecology of Freshwater Fish 13 (3): 185–96. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.16000633.2004.00045.x. Hillerdal, Charlotta, Rick Knecht, and Warren Jones. 2019. “Nunalleq: Archaeology, Climate Change, and Community Engagement in a Yup’ik Village.” Arctic Anthropology 56 (1): 4–17. https://doi.org/10.3368/ aa.56.1.4. Hoffman, Brian W., Jessica M.C. Czederpiltz, and Megan A. Partlow. 2000. “Heads or Tails: The Zooarchaeology of Aleut Salmon Storage on Unimak Island, Alaska.” Journal of Archaeological Science 27 (8): 699–708. https://doi.org/10.1006/jasc.1999.0492. Hollesen, Jørgen, Martin Callanan, Tom Dawson, Rasmus Fenger-Nielsen, T. Max Friesen, Anne M. Jensen, Adam Markham, Vibeke V. Martens, Vladimir V. Pitulko, and Marcy Rockman. 2018. “Climate Change and the Deteriorating Archaeological and Environmental Archives of the Arctic.” Antiquity 92 (363): 573–86. https://doi.org/10.15184/aqy.2018.8. Johnson, J. 2015. “Documenting and Protecting Salmon Streams, Anadromous Waters Atlas and Catalog.” 2015. http://www.adfg.alaska.gov/index. cfm?adfg=wildlifenews.view_article&articles_id =717&fbclid=IwAR1z6RInDtB9vTrg1unqkr45_ AhJfHsxP3pZzOL0hZjf9pC6Sc-O_bpcS5E. Knecht, Rick, and Warren Jones. 2019. “‘The Old Village’: Yup’ik Precontact Archaeology and Community-Based Research at the Nunalleq Site, Quinhagak, Alaska.” Études Inuit Studies 43 (1–2): 25–52. https://doi. org/10.7202/1071939ar.

Knudson, Kelly J., Lisa Frink, Brian W. Hoffman, and T. Douglas Price. 2004. “Chemical Characterization of Arctic Soils: Activity Area Analysis in Contemporary Yup’ik Fish Camps Using ICP-AES.” Journal of Archaeological Science 31 (4): 443–56. https://doi. org/10.1016/j.jas.2003.09.011. Kowta, M. 1963. Old Togiak in Prehistory. University of California. Masson-MacLean, Edouard, Claire Houmard, Rick Knecht, Isabelle Sidéra, Keith Dobney, and Kate Britton. 2020. “Pre-Contact Adaptations to the Little Ice Age in Southwest Alaska: New Evidence from the Nunalleq Site.” Quaternary International, Longterm perspectives on circumpolar social-ecological systems, 549 (May): 130–41. https://doi.org/10.1016/j. quaint.2019.05.003. Moore, J.C. 2019. “Diversity, Taxonomic versus Functional.” In Encyclopedia of Biodiversity, edited by Simon A Levin, Second Edition, 648–56. Waltham: Academic Press. Mossolova, Anna, Rick Knecht, Edouard MassonMacLean, and Claire Houmard. 2019. “Hunted and Honoured: Animal Representations in Precontact Masks from the Nunalleq Site, Southwest Alaska.” Études Inuit Studies 43 (1–2): 107–36. https://doi. org/10.7202/1071942ar. Oswalt, Wendell H. 1952. The Archaeology of Hooper Bay Village, Alaska. College: University of Alaska. Pleasant, Joseph. 1999. “Traditional Names and Places of Native Village of Kwinhagak.” Quinhagak: Native Village of Kwinhagak, Quinhagak IRA Council. Prior, Ryan. 2019. “The Water Is so Hot in Alaska It’s Killing Large Numbers of Salmon.” CNN. 2019. https://www.cnn.com/2019/08/16/us/alaska-salmonhot-water-trnd/index.html. Quinn, Thomas P. 2005. The Behavior and Ecology of Pacific Salmon and Trout. 1st ed. University of Washington Press. https://www.jstor.org/stable/j. ctvcwnvv1. Rearden, Alice, and Ann Fienup-Riordan. 2013. Erinaput Unguvaniartut: So Our Voices Will Live: Quinhagak History and Oral Traditions. Fairbanks, AK: Alaska Native Language Center. Ruggerone, Gregory T., and James R. Irvin. 2018. “Numbers and Biomass of Natural- and HatcheryOrigin Pink Salmon, Chum Salmon, and Sockeye Salmon in the North Pacific Ocean, 1925–2015.” Marine and Coastal Fisheries 10, n. 2: 152–68. https:// doi.org/10.1002/mcf2.10023. Shaw, Robert D. 1998. “An Archaeology of the Central Yupik: A Regional Overview for the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta, Northern Bristol Bay, and Nunivak Island.” Arctic Anthropology 35 (1): 234–46.

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Jonathan S. Lim and Gonzalo J. Linares Matás Stouder, Deanna J., Peter A. Bisson, and Robert J. Naiman. 1997. Pacific Salmon & Their Ecosystems: Status and Future Options. Boston: Springer US. Tiller, Veronica E. Velarde. 1996. American Indian Reservations and Trust Areas. Economic Development Administration, U.S. Department of Commerce. Tilley, Christopher. 1996. “The Powers of Rocks: Topography and Monument Construction on Bodmin Moor.” World Archaeology 28 (2): 161–76.

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9 In the Shadow of the Mountain: The Funerary Landscape of Pre-Roman Abruzzi (Italy) Elena Scarsella Cambridge University, United Kingdom https://orcid.org/0000-0002-0379-9618 Abstract: In this paper I will briefly talk about a part of my current PhD research, namely the relationship between landscape and funerary areas during the Iron Age in Abruzzo, Central Italy (9th – 5th century BC). The area, mostly mountainous and climatically harsh, has had a strong pastoral vocation since the Bronze Age, giving preference to transhumant animal husbandry over agriculture. Indeed, this latter had little or no role in the economy of the local Iron Age communities, and most of the valley floors, potentially good for farming, were occupied by cemeteries, often along important roads. The connection with settlements is rarely obvious and the cemeteries can be divided in two main typologies: the small nucleus, composed by no more than ten tombs, and the extensive funerary areas, which counted between 300 and 500 tombs, and in one case (Bazzano), even 1600. Interestingly, each valley floor of the area has its own main cemetery, for a total number of four wide sites, all of them in highly visible pivotal points, such as main roads and river crossings. While the importance of cemeteries as landmarks is relatively clear, the same cannot be said of their role in relationship with the settlement pattern and the growing definition, during the Late Iron Age, of territorial compounds and eventually of a Central-Italian koinè. 9.1. Introduction This paper aims to explore the role of funerary spaces from a landscape perspective, without excluding the data coming from material culture, but integrating them within a broader, holistic, framework. Indeed, fragmented and scattered landscapes, such as those of the Mediterranean mountains, pose many challenges and many of the commonly accepted paradigms of pre-Roman funerary archaeology here cannot be applied. The harshness of the geomorphology and the peculiarity of the environment create a difficult ground for proto-urban compounds and the process of centralisation suffers from a discontinuous visual and connective network. The liminality and the marginality of mountainous areas is not unknown to archaeological theory. In King’s words, drawing on Scott’s (2009) formulation: “Mountains present rugged, broken terrain often at great distances from centres of governance, which inhibits or prevents centralizing efforts such as large-scale crop cultivation, transport systems and communication.” (King 2017, 536) Mountains then are a special landscape, where phenomena of colonisation, globalisation, and normalisation happen at a different pace, where they happen at all. They fall in the category of frictional landscape, where the constraints of the environment allow local communities to negotiate Author Note: Address correspondence to Elena Scarsella, Darwin College, Silver Street, Cambridge, United Kingdom, CB3 9EU.

their identity and resist to the overwhelming power of State authority and colonialism (Scott 2009). As a result of this frictionality, funerary sites are of strategic importance and play a crucial role in conveying messages and in negotiating identity, as ownership of the land, statement of a common ancestry and assertion of various levels of ethnic identity. Ethnicity indeed is only one of the many layers of identity and, especially in such a peculiar environment as mountains, it intersects in many aspects with landscape (Loupa Ramos et al. 2016; Antrop 2005). Without venturing here in a detailed discussion of the concept of identity (on which the academic debate is wide and still lively, see: Popa & Stoddart 2014; Stoddart & Cifani 2012), the role of necropoleis in stating identity cannot be discarded, although it should be contextualised. Cemeteries and grave goods have always played a crucial role in Iron Age archaeology, mainly due to the abundance of data, but also to the undeniable fascination that Iron Age material culture exerts on the modern common imagination. The data they provide, though, cannot be taken without a proper consideration not only of what these objects are, but also what they represented for the people who deposited them in the graves. In short, they are a heavily biased source of information, and for this reason they should be treated with caution: there is not a universal way of approaching funerary evidence, as this is the result of the belief system of the community that produced it (Parker Pearson 1999). Indeed, the disposal of the dead reflects not only the value system of their social group, but it also projects the invisible geography of the living in relationship with the dead on the landscape. In this way, positioning the dead is also an

109 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Elena Scarsella act of positioning the living and claiming ownership on the land (Parker Pearson 1999, 132–36). The repeated use of a cemetery can be also interpreted as a statement or a reinforcement of the identity of a community. Self-ascription to a real or fictive genealogical or mythological kinship is a display of belonging, hence, not only to a clan or a tribe, but also to the territory. Indeed, this statement of belonging happens through a real or fictive genealogical reconstruction of the lineage and creates a larger ideological community that includes the dead and the living together (Wright 2013, 406–7). In this perspective, the construction of highly visible and monumental graves creates landmarks that modify and anthropise the landscape. Visibility and a common narrative around a landmark (such as stories and legends around the putative owner of the grave) contributes to the creation and the establishment of a genius loci, that gives an identity to the place and to the people living, but also dying, in it (Tilley 1994, 30). Land then becomes owned by the living also by virtue of the dead buried in it, and this is continuously reaffirmed and signified by the use of monumental graves and clusters of smaller burials around them. The case-study used in this paper in order to explore this topic is the Aterno Valley between the beginning of the 8th to the end of the 3rd century BC, in Abruzzi, between modern L’Aquila and Popoli. Here, the huge amount of funerary data which has emerged in the last 30 years thanks to the activity of the Soprintendenza dei Beni Culturali, creates

the perfect dataset to look not only at the grave goods, but also and primarily at the micro and macro topography of the cemeteries and their place within the landscape. Although the area under investigation is relatively small (about 90,000 hectares) the number of tombs found here ascribable to the pre-Roman period reaches around 4,000 unities, clustered in necropoleis of different dimensions, typologies, and life spans. Through the combined analysis of their visibility, clustering patterns, and elements of display and prestige, this paper investigates the role of funerary areas in a scattered and de-centralised landscape. 9.2. The landscape and the dataset The area taken as a case study in this paper is interesting for many reasons, mainly thanks to its complicated setting within the wider landscape of Central-Italy. The Aterno Valley and its neighbour the Tirino Valley, loosely oriented North-West to South-East, create a corridor between Sabina and the Adriatic, connecting the two sides of the peninsula. On the other hand, it also constitutes a barrier, thanks to its harsh morphology, narrow valleys, high mountains, and hard winter climate, with the result of isolating some of the most internal areas. According to Roman and Greek writers, the area, attributed to the Vestini Cismontani, is enclosed between the Praetutii to the north, Vestini Transmontani to the east, Paeligni, Marsi, and Aequi to the south, and Sabini to the west (Figure 9.1). As

Figure 9.1. The territory of the case-study and its morphology (map elaborated in QGis by the author).

110 Prezioso, Emanuele, and Marcella Giobbe. Innovative Approaches to Archaeology: Proceedings of the Graduate Archaeology At Oxford Conference 2020. E-book, Oxford, UK: BAR Publishing, 2022, https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407359915. Downloaded on behalf of University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

 In the Shadow of the Mountain for the ethnonyms, the reliability of tracing these names to a period prior to the written sources is highly problematic, but they will be adopted here as modern label to indicate territories, without any ethnical significance. Looking into the detail and going from north clockwise (Figure 9.1), the internal territory of the Vestini Cismontani and the coastal side of the Praetutii are divided by the Gran Sasso range, in a single and mostly unsurmountable rocky wall. South-east, the mountains decrease into a range of lower reliefs, with just a couple of passages, such as Forca di Penne and the gorges of Popoli. Due to the combination of narrow and deep fluvial valleys and high peaks, the southern front of the case-study becomes harder to draw neatly. The border with the Paeligni is indeed the most articulated one, at the meeting point of three rivers, three valleys, and the final parts of both the Gran Sasso and the Majella groups. Proceeding toward the middle Aterno Valley, westward, the erosive activity of the river created an alternation of narrow valleys and steep sides. The landscape of the last front, to the west, is nowadays completely altered by modern occupation, making hard to have a clear sight of the ancient morphology. The area so far outlined can be further divided, as proposed by D’Ercole, into four zones, on a morphological basis (D’Ercole and Martellone 2010) (Figure 9.2). The L’Aquila Valley (zone I), with the middle part of the Aterno river as its main geographical feature, is an alluvial valley, open and articulated on a north-west to south-east orientation, with an opening toward South. At its centre, Mount Cerro, with its roughly 300 metres of elevation, stands out on an

otherwise plain area. The passage to Zone II is marked by a chain of reliefs crossed by narrow passages prone to ambushes in historical times (Galeota 2018, 17). This second zone, with an elongated shape oriented north-west to south-east and dominated by the plateau of Navelli, is around 750 metres above sea level and it is surrounded by a crown of mountains. North-east of it, separated by a barrier of mountains, lays Zone III. This is the Tirino Valley, crossed by its eponymous river and distinguished by a Mediterranean micro-climate that makes it more similar to the coastal areas than the mountainous ones. The fourth, at an altitude between 1300 and 1700 metres above the sea level and last of the zones, has a completely different environment and landscape. Here the geo-morphology is typical of high mountains, with a rugged landscape and a skyline that continuously changes according to the point of view. Here, Campo Imperatore, around 80 square kilometres of the plateau of glacial and alluvial origins, between 1700 and 1900 metres above sea level is still today able to host a huge number of flocks during the summer. Looking now at the organization of hillforts and oppida within the borders, as a general pattern, a three-stepped model has been observed in the dimensions of the hillforts: those larger than 3 ha occupy central positions in direct visual contact with minor settlements (2–1 ha) and indirect connection with outposts and watch tower (