Image Encounters: Moche Murals and Archaeo Art History 9781477324288

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IMAGE ENCOUNTERS

IMAGE ENCOUNTERS M O C H E M U R A L S A N D A R C H A E O A R T H I S TO R Y

LISA TREVER

UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS PRESS   AUSTIN

This book is a part of the Recovering Languages and Literacies of the Americas publication initiative, funded by a grant from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation. Copyright © 2022 by the University of Texas Press All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America First edition, 2022 Requests for permission to reproduce material from this work should be sent to: Permissions University of Texas Press P.O. Box 7819 Austin, TX 78713-7819 utpress.utexas.edu/rp-form

∞ The paper used in this book meets the minimum requirements of ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (R1997) (Permanence of Paper). Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Trever, Lisa, author. Title: Image encounters : Moche murals and archaeo art history / Lisa Trever. Description: First edition. | Austin : University of Texas Press, 2022. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2021027327 ISBN 978-1-4773-2426-4 (cloth) ISBN 978-1-4773-2427-1 (paperback) ISBN 978-1-4773-2428-8 (PDF) ISBN 978-1-4773-2429-5 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Mochica mural painting and decoration— Peru—Pañamarca Site. | Mochica Indians—Peru— Pañamarca Site—Antiquities. | Mural painting and decoration, Peruvian. | Indian mural painting and decoration. | Indians of South America—Antiquities. | Huacas—Peru. Classification: LCC F3429.3.P34 T74 2022 | DDC 985/.01—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021027327 doi:10.7560/324264

For Stephen and Madeleine

CONTENTS

PREFACE ix

I NTRODU C T I ON

Image Encounters



CHAPT ER 1

Mural Origins and Coastal Corporealities



CHAPT ER 2

Formulating Traditions: Ancestral Divinities,

1 33

Norcosteño Design, and the Aesthetics of

Replication in Moche Mural Art (200–650 CE)



Siting Narratives: Moche Mural Painting and the

CHAPT ER 3



Condensation of a Medium (650–850 CE)



Archaeo-Iconology: An Archaeology of Image

CHAPT ER 4

61 109



Experience and Response

159



On the Huaca

181

CONC LU SI ON

NOTES 185

BIBLIOGRAPHY 206 INDEX 224

PREFACE

M

ore than twenty years ago, as a field school student in Peru, I made the first of what would be many visits to the Moche site of Huaca de la Luna in north-coastal Peru. In 1998, archaeologists had just begun to pull back the sand dunes and fallen adobes to reveal the colossal facade of the Old Temple. As I reflect on this book’s origins and the many debts it has accrued, I realize that its initial spark—my own formative encounter—was that sight of the emerging bodies of warriors in procession and the ranks of gods. In the years and decades that followed, the project directed by Santiago Uceda and Ricardo Morales brought both the Old Temple and the New Temple back into view and made possible the study of their paintings and reliefs. Simultaneously, at El Brujo, Régulo Franco and his colleagues were working to excavate and document the temple of Huaca Cao Viejo. More than ten years ago, when I was a graduate student assisting in Jeffrey Quilter’s archaeological project at the colonial-era site of Magdalena de Cao, which had been built in the shadow of Huaca Cao Viejo, I was able to spend time looking at, photographing, and thinking about that Moche huaca, too. Not long after that, in 2010, I began my own field research at Pañamarca, where my team excavated, conserved, and documented what had been known

of the Moche paintings first published in the 1950s. We had the good fortune to uncover other painted walls that had not been seen since they were interred long centuries prior. More recently, in 2018 and 2019, my fieldwork at Pañamarca has continued, with a different team and with different aims. Our work of mural excavation and conservation was to recommence in 2020—suspended for now by the global pandemic. This book’s gestation has been long, and its debts are many. I have been living with the huacas in my head for more years than I haven’t. The plan for this book began as an envisioned Part 3 of my 2017 volume, The Archaeology of Mural Painting at Pañamarca, Peru. That book was born out of an ethical imperative to publish the full account of the archaeology and conservation of the painted architecture that my collaborators and I opened, documented, and then reburied. Given the uncertainties of any individual human life, that book had to come first, before this one, to present and preserve what we found and were privileged to see at Pañamarca. And indeed, the years since that book’s publication have brought crises, both public and personal, that remind us that life is short and future opportunities are never guaranteed. In initially conceiving of this book, I was guided by the questions: How did the mural paintings of Pañamarca

ix

come to be? How did they relate to the corpus of mural art known elsewhere, at other sites and from earlier eras? What were the artistic traditions and cultures of image making that gave rise to them, and in which their makers participated? Answers to those questions, insofar as they can be answered, and always with the caveat that what we know could change profoundly with the next excavation, take us far beyond Pañamarca. I am grateful to many people and institutions for their support. First and foremost, I thank the communities of Nepeña and Capellanía for their hospitality and collaboration in making the Pañamarca fieldwork possible. I could not have carried out that work without the partnerships of Peruvian collaborators Jorge Gamboa, Ricardo Toribio, Ricardo Morales, and Pedro Neciosup in 2010, and Hugo Ikehara, Jessica Ortiz, and José Ochatoma Cabrera in 2018 and 2019. For his tireless work as the sole Ministry of Culture employee charged with the care and management of Pañamarca, we are all indebted to Adrián Villón. We remember Germán Llupton, whom we lost to Covid-19 in 2020. For their expertise and support in Peru, I thank the late Duccio Bonavia, the late Santiago Uceda, Ricardo Morales, Régulo Franco, and Moisés Tufinio. For their guidance I thank Tom Cummins, Jeffrey Quilter, Joanne Pillsbury, Carol Mackey, and Brian Billman. I am grateful for conversations with many Andeanist colleagues, including Yuri Berezkin, Sue Bergh, Alicia Boswell, Carrie Brezine, Karen Bruhns, Richard Burger, Ari Caramanica, Claude Chapdelaine, David Chicoine, Patricia Chirinos, Marco Curatola Petrocchi, Solsiré Cusicanqui, Carolyn Dean, Chris Donnan, Arabel Fernández, Peter Fuchs, Miłosz Giersz, Andrew Hamilton, Christine Hastorf, Sabine Hyland, Margaret Jackson, Michele Koons, George Lau, Krzysztof Makowski, Luis Muro, Stella Nair, Cecilia Pardo, Elena Phipps, Gabriel Prieto, Dave Reid, Carlos Rengifo, John Rick, Julio Rucabado, Lucy Salazar, Sarahh Scher, Izumi Shimada, Jeffrey Splitstoser, Henry Tantaleán, Matthias Urban, Parker Van Valkenburgh, John Verano, Héctor Walde, Mary Weismantel, Juliet Wiersema, Ryan Williams, and Véronique Wright. This research has been supported by grants and fellowships from the Fulbright-Hays program, the Wenner-Gren Foundation, Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, the Hellman Family Foundation, the Stahl Endowment for Archaeological Research and the Townsend Center for the Humanities at UC Berkeley, the Rust Family Foundation, the Lenfest Junior Faculty Development

x •  Preface

Grant program and the Office of the Provost at Columbia University, and the Rubin-Ladd Foundation as well as the generosity of Bernard and Lisa Selz. The contributions of former and current students, including Kirsten Larsen, Melanie Miller, Sarah Tsung, Gabriella Wellons, Spencer Pao Murphy, Sophia Gebara, and Ivanna Rodríguez Rojas, have been essential, as was the early editorial aid of Amanda Sparrow. I cannot overstate the importance of either my faculty writing group at UC Berkeley, from 2013 to 2018, or the day-long manuscript workshop held at Columbia in the fall of 2019, for challenging and helping refine the ideas in this book. For their roles in the latter, I am grateful to Sarah Cole, Michael Cole, Robert Harrist, Severin Fowles, Rosemary Joyce, Michele Koons, Claudia Brittenham, Terry D’Altroy, Sonia Sorrentini, Katherine McCarthy, and all of the workshop participants. I also thank the graduate students in the “Art, Anthropology, Archaeology” seminar that I co-taught with Severin Fowles in spring 2021 for their comments on the manuscript, as well as Beate Fricke and the Global Horizons in Pre-Modern Art group at Universität Bern for their insightful observations. For their generous help with images, I thank Ulla Holm­ quist, Giannina Bardales, Isabel Collazos, Ignacio Alva, Ricardo Morales, Alyson Williams, Carol Mackey, Heiko Prümers, Yoshio Onuki, Edward Ranney, Santiago Salazar Mena, José Luis Cruzado Colonel, Miriam Kolar, JeanFrançois Millaire, Flannery Surette, Robert Benfer, Koichiro Shibata, Paul Bell, and Tim Trombley and the staff of the Media Center for Art History. I am very happy to be able to include here maps made by Hugo Ikehara and original watercolors made by scientific illustrator Kathryn Killackey. At the University of Texas Press, I thank Kerry Webb for her ongoing support, as well as Andrew Hnatow, Lynne Ferguson, and Derek George, together with freelance editors Nancy Warrington and Amyrose McCue Gill and indexer Sue Gaines, for their talent, skill, and care. I thank my family—my parents, Donna and Joe Senchyshyn; my brothers and their families; my sister-inlaw and her children; my husband, Stephen Trever; and our daughter, Madeleine—for their unflagging support, patience, and love over these long and often difficult years. Finally, I thank the huacas for what they have shown me and taught me. I acknowledge and honor the people who made them, who cared for them, who lived among them long ago, and whose presence remains within them still, as well as all those who care for them now.

IMAGE ENCOUNTERS

0.1. Pre-Hispanic street through the coastal center of Pachacamac. Photograph by Ingo Mehling, provided by Wikimedia Commons through

a Creative Commons license (CC BY-SA 3.0), edited from the original.

I N TR ODUCTION

IMAGE ENCOUNTERS

O N T HE COASTA L ROA DS

T

he foreign captain and his company were on the move under the blaze of the equatorial sun. Upon entering the territory of the Inca Empire, at the town of Tumbes, one of the scribes recorded their astonishment at the sight of the great “temple of the sun,” which was painted “inside and out, with large paintings in rich shades of color.”1 As they continued on their way on the royal roads, on horseback and on foot (figure 0.1), they found relief from the heat along stretches where engineers had planted rows of trees to form canopies or built high walls to offer shade to weary travelers. They marveled at the menagerie of “monsters and fish and other animals” that the indios—as they referred to the people who lived there—had painted on the walls.2 The hundreds of men and women in Francisco Pizarro’s company were traveling in 1532 from what is now Ecuador into northern Peru, and then east to the mountain town of Cajamarca, where they were told the Inca emperor Atahualpa was visiting the royal baths at the nearby hot springs.3 There, with the aid of Indigenous Andean allies, Pizarro and his men ambushed and attacked the Inca forces and took their ruler captive.4 In the months that followed, they ransomed and executed Atahualpa before marching south on the imperial capital

of Cusco and setting off a series of events that irrevocably changed the history of Andean South America. That first confrontation between Pizarro and Atahualpa has become emblematic, not only of the Spanish Conquest of Peru, but also of the clash of European and Inca traditions, values, and visualities that began with those violent events.5 But, on the coastal plains, outside of the highland Inca imperial centers, both prior to Cajamarca and in the months and years that followed, Pizarro and his entourage were confronted with a different world—a world that had only recently been brought under Inca control. This is a book about a pre-Hispanic subaltern world. The ancient coastal centers of pre-Inca Peru and the monumental artistic practices of its early communities are this study’s subject. Its focus is mural art created during the Moche era of about 200 to 850 CE. Moche muralists worked earth, clay, and paint into an extraordinary range of images that included ancestral divinities (figure 0.2), epic battles between an ancient hero and a series of monstrous creatures, scenes of combat between elite warriors (figure 0.3), processions and dances, sacrifices and offerings, and other complex narratives of creation and metamorphosis. Architects and artists adapted this pliable medium to diverse

1

0.2. Detail of a mural at Huaca Cao Viejo. Photograph by the author.

effects and for different groups of beholders within plazas, patios, and the inner spaces of coastal temples (huacas).6 Although the word refers colloquially to ruins or mounds, “huacas” were not simply architecture: over time they became—and continue to be—living monuments and ancient beings with numinous presence within the landscape. As this book demonstrates, the uses of mural art varied considerably during these centuries. Changes to the medium after about 650 CE are so striking, in fact, that the history of Moche mural art should be written as not one history but two. The seventh century was not only a time of transformations in the appearance of mural art. It was a time of social change, as well as a time of changes to the work that images did to shape worlds and to engender both social cohesion and exclusion. In its attention to Moche mural art and its antecedents, this is a book that bridges art history and archaeology. But its purpose is not to force the premodern South American subject into art historical categories developed in and for the West. Rather, it embraces a wide array of images painted, sculpted, and

0.3. Detail of a pair of warriors from a relief at Huaca Cao Viejo. Photograph courtesy of Carol J. Mackey.

2 • IMAG E ENCOUNTERS

scratched on the earthen walls of ancient coastal architecture, both in the creation of formal artistic programs and as more expedient acts of image making. A NCI E NT TE X TUAL ABS E NC E AND CO LONIAL D E SCR IPTI ONS

Given its setting in the deep past of the Peruvian coast, this book is not one that could be written from conventional historical sources. Pre-Hispanic communities of South America did not use writing (defined narrowly as “spoken language that is referenced phonetically by visible marks”);7 instead, they preserved their histories through oral traditions and collective memory, at times aided by meaningful objects like quipus (twisted and knotted cords) that served as ledgers and as mnemonic aids to oral recitation.8 Indigenous texts written in Andean languages during the first decades of Spanish colonization were few. Apart from descriptions of the oracular shrine of Pachacamac, which Hernando Pizarro and others visited and looted in 1533, destroying the “idol” that they said was inhabited by the devil,9 early European eyewitness accounts of the earthen architecture of coastal Peru are rare. Accounts of more ancient, pre-Inca monuments are far fewer still.10 Often it seems that the sixteenth-century scribes and soldiers who recorded their journeys through this landscape lacked the language, and at times the will, to describe the things they saw.11 Their descriptions are spare in detail

(“it was a thing to see”),12 colored by confusion, fear, and condescension, and shaped by their pursuits of personal wealth and glory that they often narrated as a defense of the Catholic faith. More than a century after the sacking of Pachacamac, the Jesuit missionary Bernabé Cobo recalled that its walls had been “plastered with earth and paint of several colors, including many fine works for their style, though these works seemed crude to us. There were diverse figures of animals, though they were poorly formed like everything else these Indians painted.”13 Even when Indigenous temples and monuments survived the blows of invaders and the zealotry of the “extirpators of idolatry,” they suffered the further indignities of foreign denigration in these sparse early colonial accounts. At times, colonial agents unearthed long-buried murals in the process of dismantling ancient monuments in their quests to extract treasures made of gold and silver.14 Occasionally, they recorded what they saw. In one such campaign, in 1602, the “miners” diverted the flow of the Moche River to blast away some two-thirds of Huaca del Sol, a massive Moche-era architectural complex of stepped platforms and terraces made of adobe bricks (figures 0.4–0.6), in order to wash out metal objects concealed within. The Augustinian friar Antonio de la Calancha recounted the hydraulic operation decades later. Near a cache of silver and gold objects, including a large statue that he described as a “bishop,” Calancha recalled the sudden appearance of

0.4. Huaca del Sol in the Moche Valley. Photograph by Pitxiquin, provided by Wikimedia Commons through a Creative Commons license

(CC BY-SA 4.0), cropped from the original.

Introduct ion • 3

a wall, crudely painted, he wrote, with images of bearded men on horseback bearing swords and lances.15 Although Andean men typically removed their facial hair with tweezers, Moche warriors were often depicted with black facial paint and could have appeared “bearded” to seventeenthcentury eyes (see figure 0.3). But there were no horses in South America prior to European landfall. That this detail cannot be so easily explained away as Eurocentric misunderstanding is precisely the point. Indeed, what the author explicitly claimed to have seen within the destruction of the inner (i.e., incontrovertibly pre-Hispanic) construction of Huaca del Sol were, impossibly, images of Spaniards. Calancha interpreted the ancient mural as evidence of an ancient Andean prophecy—either as a warning from the devil or a revelation from heaven—of the coming of foreigners who would conquer Peru but also “open the door to the salvation of their souls.”16 Such apocryphal interpretations of things seen in the Americas—like claims for the apostolic presence of Saint Thomas or Saint Bartholomew17—reveal more about evangelical agendas and the historical imaginations of colonial authors than they tell us about the physical realities of pre-Hispanic monuments.

0.5. Pedro Azabache, Mochera con la Huaca del Sol, 2006, oil on

canvas, 62 × 50 cm. Collection of Wilbor Oliveros, Trujillo, Peru. Photograph courtesy of Santiago Salazar Mena.

0.6. Plan and elevation views of Huaca del Sol, in Martínez Compañón, Trujillo del Perú, 1780s. Real Biblioteca (Madrid), II/351 [vol. 9],

fol. 7r. © Patrimonio Nacional.

4 • IMAG E ENCOUNTERS

0.7. Charles F. Lummis, At Chan Chan: An Adobe Wall with Bas Relief Sculpturing, 1893, cyanotype. Braun Research Library Collection,

Autry Museum, Los Angeles; P.31810.

DISAPPEARANCES AND SCARCE SIGHTINGS

The paucity and the unreliability of these earliest Spanish accounts, together with the physical destruction of invasion and religious zealotry, have been further compounded by problems of material preservation. On the Peruvian coast, pre-Hispanic monumental architecture was often made of adobe bricks or packed earth. Early muralists did not work with the more durable materials of stucco or fresco, as in other parts of the ancient world including some areas of Mesoamerica (e.g., Teotihuacan). The soluble media of adobe, clay, and paints made from plantbased binders are especially vulnerable to desert winds and to episodic El Niño Southern Oscillation (ENSO) rains.18 When left exposed, their substance is not permanent but ultimately ephemeral if not tended to and maintained by human hands. Ancient coastal architects were certainly well aware of these inevitabilities. Most murals that have survived have only done so because they were interred in their own time, often covered by subsequent construction that encased earlier buildings.19 With the passage of time and the forces of nature, walls left uncovered were quickly effaced and the imagery of mural art soon vanished.

Already by the beginning of the eighteenth century, few traces of painted or sculpted images remained visible on standing architecture that had been built prior to Inca control of the coast. In his 1780s survey of northern Peru, the bishop of Trujillo, Baltasar Jaime Martínez Compañón y Bujanda, and his staff recorded local ruins in detail, apparently inspired by the interests of the Bourbon king of Spain, Charles III, in the Vesuvian excavations of Naples.20 The bishop’s plans and elevations—including those of Huaca del Sol (see figure 0.6), as well as the later palaces of the Chimú kings of Chimor at Chan Chan—are detailed and carefully annotated, but they lack any sign of mural art.21 It would not be until the nineteenth century that foreign explorers and the first scientific archaeologists would begin to systematically reveal and record the earthen reliefs that lay beneath the surface at Chan Chan (figure 0.7).22 Elsewhere, in colonial cities and towns, aspects of pre-Hispanic traditions continued in the geometric patterns of adobe painting that one can still see today on the walls of the casonas built for the Spanish settlers of Trujillo.23 Those wall paintings are, however, only a specter of the Indigenous art forms that had once been.

I ntr oduc tion  • 5

0.8. View of a fragmentary mural uncovered at Pañamarca in 1958. Photograph by Hans Horkheimer. Ministerio de Cultura, Museo Nacional

de Arqueología, Antropología e Historia del Perú, Lima.

In the twentieth century, chance discoveries of murals continued to occur, paradoxically, through architectural destruction as treasure seekers tore through ancient structures with pickaxes and spades, or as earthquakes and ENSO rains loosened the coverings of later layers of construction (figure 0.8). At times, archaeologists were able to step in to study and record what had been revealed. Yet in the absence of systematic protocols for the conservation of decorated adobe architecture, many of these murals soon perished as well. Only rarely, in the most arid places, like the coastal Inca center of Tambo Colorado, has

6 • IMAG E ENCOUNTERS

mural painting or earthen relief survived to the present on standing architecture left exposed.24 By 1974, so few examples of ancient Peruvian mural painting remained visible that the foremost authority on the subject lamented: “Little is known. Documentation is almost nil, and direct evidence virtually nonexistent. Time and human neglect have erased all.”25 MO NU MENTAL REE MERG ENCES

And yet, despite all odds, archaeology of the last decades has proven that pessimism wrong. Up and down the coast

of Peru, a world of monumental imagery has resurfaced at centers built from at least four thousand years ago until the time of the Incas. Unlike in prior centuries, the most extensive of these recent projects have been directed by Peruvians and carried out by Peruvian teams, sometimes with foreign collaboration and support. We now can see that, when first built, the walls of temples, palaces, and plazas of many coastal centers were arrayed with abundant figures and designs like those remarked upon in passing at Tumbes and along the Inca roads in 1532. Only now can we begin to comprehend the scale, the scope, and the longevity of these monumental traditions of ancient American image making. Perhaps the most vibrant of these were the Moche traditions. Between the 1910s and the 1970s, a handful of Moche mural paintings came to light at places like Huaca de la Luna (within the Huacas de Moche complex), Pañamarca, and Pampa Grande.26 With the watershed events of the discovery in 1987 of the royal tombs of Sipán,27 which brought renewed attention to Moche archaeology,

large-scale and long-term field projects commenced within the Moche huacas.28 The most extensive of these have been at the El Brujo archaeological complex, begun in 1990, and at Huacas de Moche (also known as Huacas del Sol y de la Luna), which began the next year (figure 0.9).29 These herculean programs of excavation, conservation, and research have made possible wide vistas of the painted architecture that had not been seen since the pre-Hispanic era. Smaller-scale projects at other Moche sites, including my team’s work at Pañamarca (figure 0.10),30 have added to the growing corpus discussed in the pages of this book. A MEDIU M RE DEF IN ED

The corpus of Moche murals has expanded dramatically in the last thirty years, but this artistic tradition has only rarely been the subject of art historical study. The only survey of the medium appeared before that expansion and was limited to flat wall painting.31 Yet, as I demonstrate in this book, it was clay relief—not flat wall painting—that was the more ancient medium in coastal Peru, and arguably the

0.9. View of the stepped facade and corner room within the plaza of the Old Temple of Huaca de la Luna. Each tier of the facade measures

about three meters high. Photograph courtesy of the Huacas del Sol y de la Luna Archaeological Project.

I ntr oduc tion  • 7

0.10. Pedro Neciosup illustrating a painted pillar at Pañamarca in 2010. Photograph by the author.

more important medium for millennia. Flat paintings were comparatively rare in the earliest settings. Even fewer were entirely planar. Many mural paintings were created by first sketching the image onto the wall with shallow incisions that created a rough surface of micro relief. Although the seemingly base materiality of earth (barro, or “mud”) has been a liability in art historical valuations, earth and clay are exceedingly plastic media that enable extraordinary creativity. At times, Moche muralists alternated between mural painting and painted relief—or what one might think of instead as “relief painting,” since they always used color whether the surface was planar or not32—and then back again, without apparent distinction. It is more productive, and more authentic to the ancient subject at hand, to regard murals with and without relief as one medium, rather than divide them a priori. My definition of mural art in this book is more expansive still in its embrace of figures, motifs, and patterns drawn on or scratched into the surfaces of walls

8 • IMAG E ENCOUNTERS

either after they had been painted or sculpted, or where no painting or sculpture otherwise appeared (i.e., “graffiti”). A broad interest in image making, pictorial meaning, and visual response takes precedence here over art historical commitments to connoisseurship or to etic aesthetic criteria in this capacious definition of mural art. S O U TH AM ERICA N “PRE H ISTORY,” O R,   H ISTORY W ITH O U T WR ITING

In a strict sense, all of the events and traditions of human history in South America prior to the arrival of Europeans in the late 1520s belong to “prehistory,” a term that first came into scholarly usage in the middle of the nineteenth century,33 and one that Indigenous writers have deemed inappropriate in contemporary usage.34 This characterization is dictated by the dominance of the written word (narrowly construed) in modern conceptualizations of what “history” is and can be, especially in colonized places,35

but it is also constrained by Americanist anthropology’s traditional claims to dominion over archaeology,36 typically to the exclusion of more historicist or humanistic possibilities.37 The implications of some communities’ possession and others’ dispossession of history have deleterious effects on comprehension of the past and contribute to ongoing inequities in the present. To write more ample histories with greater depth and dimension, we must take seriously the authority of multiple modalities of how the past is remembered and made manifest: in the materialization of landscapes and things, in the vitality of the spoken word, and in the inscription of both words and images. If “prehistory” does not exist, except as a hegemonic tool of division, we can then see the millennia of South America’s past (as for other precolonial places) for what they are: history without writing, conceived of elsewhere as the longue durée, deep history, big histories, and so on.38 These narratives of early history are not written from conventional archives—themselves sites of institutional power and selective preservation—but from social memory and from the “material texts” of archaeologically recorded monuments, built environments, assemblages, and individual objects.39 The endeavor to “read” ancient history from material remains is not, in some ways, a new pursuit. Already in the seventeenth century, European scholars, faced with the discovery of ancient traditions of a rapidly expanding world that could no longer be interpreted through biblical or classical history alone, began to suggest that objects could equal the evidentiary capacities of texts for writing world histories.40 In the nineteenth century, the British geographer and historian Clements Markham, for example, proposed to read the ruins of Inca and other “megalithic” architecture of the Andes as a form of historical documentation, though his interpretations depended on evolutionary assumptions about architectural morphology.41 Like Markham, the US diplomat and proto-archaeologist E. George Squier read the Spanish histories of the Americas with a skeptical eye. He designed his own inquiries in Peru “mainly to the elucidation of its aboriginal monuments, the only positive and reliable witnesses of the true condition of its ancient inhabitants.”42 The narratives that Squier wrote from the testimonies of those architectonic witnesses had their own imperialist effects, like others of his day,43 in denying local communities as the inheritors of the ancient monuments that he celebrated.44 The critical breakthrough that distinguishes current practices of reading the past through nontextual materials

from earlier endeavors was the “radiocarbon revolution” of the mid-twentieth century. With it, time could be measured independently of texts and monuments by reading the “earth clocks” of the slow radioactive decay of the remains of plants and other carbon-based life forms that bore witness to the deeper past.45 Radiometric dating and later advances in carbon dating with accelerator mass spectrometry (AMS) have equipped archaeologists with powerful tools for reading the deep past.46 Modern chronometric technologies have had a liberating effect on “prehistoric” studies. That is—with independent means of dating—ceramics, architecture, and other forms of art and material cultural production are freed from prior teleological models of social evolution and from the tautological burden of serving as their own chronological proxies.47 A meticulous chronology of ceramic forms does not, after all, yield a concomitant history of a society, but only “an incomparable history of pottery.”48 With this methodological refinement, historicist attention to the dynamics of invention, response, and archaism becomes newly possible in pre-Hispanic material culture and image studies. Modern archaeological practices provide the fundamental coordinates of space and time required for deep historicization (figure 0.11). The definition of chronologies, however, remains a question not only of measurement but also of political allegory.49 The terms that archaeologists have used to order time in the central Andes have, since the 1960s, been tailored to specific, a priori prioritizations of centuries-long “horizons” (and ensuing “intermediate” periods) as evidenced by the widespread and roughly synchronic presence of recognizable styles of material culture.50 These chronologies begin with Archaic or Preceramic periods (ca. 5000–1800 BCE), followed by Formative and Initial periods (the latter term in reference to the advent of ceramic technology, although that was not a simultaneous event everywhere), and then proceed to be divided by the spread of an early religious tradition (Chavín, the Early Horizon, overlapping with Formative in some models) around 800 BCE, and the territorial expansions of two pre-Hispanic empires: Wari (or Huari) beginning around 600 CE (the Middle Horizon) and Inca around 1400 CE (the Late Horizon). As these chronologies and the social narratives that motivated them have been revised over the last half century, with refined temporal control and greater resolution of political organization on the ground, it has become possible to write in terms of centuries, or even decades, in real time.

I ntr oduc tion  • 9

Valdivia

COLOMBIA

ECUADOR

Tumbes

PERU

Santa Ana La Florida

Jaén Chongoyape

Kuélap Revash

Batán Grande Sipán Eten San José de Moro

BRAZIL

El Brujo Cajamarca

Chan Chan TRUJILLO

Chavín de Huántar

Huacas de Moche Pañamarca

Kotosh Castillo de Huarmey Caral Áspero Vichama

LIMA

Wari

Garagay Buenavista Pachacamac Manchay Bajo

CUSCO Quelccaya

Tambo Colorado Paracas Ánimas Altas Cahuachi

Toquepala

PACIFIC OCEAN

BOLIVIA

Ilo Tiwanaku Chinchorro Wila-Kkollu

CHILE

Antofagasta

0.11. Map of the Andean area from southern Ecuador to northern Chile. The limit of the Inca Empire is indicated with a dashed line.

© Hugo Ikehara.

M OC HE WIT H IN TH E LO NGUE D URÉE

The longue durée of central Andean history is critical to understanding the genealogies of image making, materiality, and intermediality that are found in Moche art. Important antecedents of ancient coastal figuration,51 and human figuration in particular, can be located, I argue, in the very deep past of the fifth to second millennia BCE. The iconography of Moche art, however, often includes revivals of their own more recent past of 1200 to 450 BCE in esoteric imagery of menacing predators with eccentric proliferations of serpents and fanged faces from

Cupisnique, Chavín, and related religious traditions (figure 0.12).52 That era was one of social integration, expanded routes of economic exchange, the rise of new monumental centers, and the cultivation of religious practices that seem to have drawn, at least in part, on Amazonian concepts of predation and perspectivism.53 At the close of this era, during the Final Formative or Salinar period, the archaeological record shows a marked increase in violence, political conflict, and social fragmentation.54 By the first centuries CE, social cohesion, architectural monumentality, and shared forms of material and visual culture

0.12. Flat relief panel of a snarling figure grasping Strombus and Spondylus shells from Chavín de Huántar, 900–550 BCE, granite,

58.3 × 53.5 × 18.3 cm. Museo Nacional Chavín, Peru, MACH-00542. Photograph courtesy of José Luis Cruzado Coronel.

Intr oduc tion  • 11

returned, though in new ways, on the north and central coast of what is now Peru. It was in this setting that what archaeologists call Moche style and culture emerged, around 200 CE, both from and amid societies known as Gallinazo, Virú, and Vicús.55

0.13. Slit tapestry fragment with interlocking catfish design (detail),

200–600 CE, cotton and camelid fiber, 28 × 11.5 cm. Excavated at Huaca Santa Clara, Virú Valley, Peru, HSC 97i. Photograph by Flannery Surette, courtesy of Jean-François Millaire.

Moche visual culture drew, in part, on aspects of the tradición norcosteña, or north-coastal tradition, a “popular substrate” shared with its contemporaries.56 Norcosteño styles were based on textile-derived aesthetics of repeating patterns of interlocking, geometricized images of aquatic life, including catfish, manta rays, and seabirds (figure 0.13),57 as seen, for example, in the Gallinazo relief of Huaca Licapa in the Chicama Valley (figure 0.14).58 Rectilinear designs, including the ubiquitous wave with step-fret designs were, and continue to be, common to Indigenous Andean textile traditions more broadly.59 In many places, Gallinazo material culture preceded the appearance of Moche material culture, but then also continued to exist alongside it, perhaps evidencing social heterogeneity and hierarchies within these communities. At its maximum expanse, the ancient Moche world occupied a stretch of 700 kilometers along Peru’s coastal desert—from Piura in the north to Huarmey in the south (figure 0.15). Each coastal valley contained Moche settlements, cemeteries, and centers—from the coast to the foothills of the Andes Mountains at mid-valley. The histories of these communities were closely tied to the development, maintenance, and defense of water sources and irrigation

0.14. Painted clay relief of stylized aquatic life on a wall at the site of Huaca Licapa (or Mocan) in the Chicama Valley.

12 • IMAG E E NCOUNTERS

ECUADOR

Piura

Loma Negra

PERU

Batán Grande (Huaca Facho)

yeque Lamba

eche

Huaca Bandera

La L

Pampa Grande Huaca Ventarrón Sipán

Cajamarca

Zaña

Úcupe

San José de Moro Pacatnamú Dos Cabezas La Mina Huaca Colorada

Marcahuamachuco

e tepequ

Jeque

am hic

a

C

Huaca Licapa El Brujo Huaca Prieta Mocollope Pampa la Cruz

Huacas de Moche Caballo Muerto Galindo

PACIFIC OCEAN

che

Mo

Pashash ú Vir

Chao

Yayno Santa

Gallinazo Group Huancaco

Cerro Blanco

ña

Nepe

Huancarpón Tomeque Casma

Guadalupito El Castillo de Santa

Caylán Pañamarca Huaca Partida Punkurí

Chinchawas

ras

leb

Cu

Chavín de Huántar

ey

Huarm

Sechín Bajo Cerro Sechín Moxeke

0.15. Map of northern Peru. Major culture areas for the period of 200 to 850 CE are shaded: Moche (red), Vicús (purple, based on Makowski,

Vicús), Cajamarca (gold, based on Toohey and Chirinos, “La tradición cajamarca”), Huamachuco (green, based on Topic, “Settlement Patterns”), and Recuay (blue, based on Lau, “Intercultural Relations”). © Hugo Ikehara and Lisa Trever.

systems that fed agricultural fields. The expansion of arable land in the coastal valleys created internal social and political stratification,60 an abundance of material wealth, and control of specialist labor. Early theorizations of Moche political organization appeared in the 1930s in the scholarship of Rafael Larco Hoyle. Larco was the first to designate this archaeological culture as “Mochica” (elsewhere, Moche).61 He envisioned the world of the Mochicas as a unified state with its capital at Huacas de Moche. It was largely from the painted and sculpted vessels that he and his father, Rafael Larco Herrera, collected from their estate in Chiclín (Chicama Valley) and surrounding areas that Larco developed his theories of ancient political formation and chronology. The ceramics that he identified as Mochica were primarily bichrome—red ochre on cream slip. He argued that the

depiction of militaristic themes, together with the evidence of complex infrastructure, indicated a unitary, expansionist state.62 Larco’s five-phase ceramic chronology (Moche I to V) swiftly gained currency and is still in use.63 Larco’s early conceptions of Moche history have been challenged in two principal ways in recent decades. First, the view of a unified Moche state has broken down in favor of more heterogeneous models of political and social organization.64 The first crack in the monolithic view formed in the early 1990s, when archaeologists proposed an alternative theory of two states: north and south.65 It has continued to dissolve into a more complex picture of a network of individual polities (city-states or chiefdoms) that forged strategic alliances at times (as confederacies or dynasties) and, at other times, were engaged in conflicts.66 Longterm archaeological projects in northern areas like the

Intr oduc tion  • 13

0.16. Recuay vessel, 250–650 CE, ceramic, 20 × 17 × 22 cm. The

0.17. Moche bottle in the form of a coca chewer (chacchador de

Recuay “Dragon” (also known as the Moon Animal) appears in two dimensions on the surface of the vessel. Ministerio de Cultura, Museo Nacional de Arqueología, Antropología e Historia del Perú, Lima, C-63979.

coca), 300–600 CE, ceramic, 18.8 × 13 × 18 cm. Reportedly from the site of Pur Pur, Virú Valley, Peru. Museo Larco, Lima, Peru, ML001064.

Jequetepeque Valley have revealed complex intra-Moche negotiations.67 By contrast, models of a single state still tend to prevail in studies of the southern valleys.68 As in the north, though, so too in the south: ongoing field research is creating a picture of greater variability in local material and visual culture that may reflect social and political heterogeneity there as well.69 Second, advances in chronological analyses have challenged the utility of Larco’s five-phase ceramic sequence, especially outside of his core area of focus in the Chicama and Virú Valleys. Moche I and II ceramic styles are now understood to be local to the Chicama and Jequetepeque Valleys. In some areas, they postdate Moche III. Elsewhere, styles overlap or are missing altogether in local sequences. Moche IV and V were roughly contemporaneous, not

sequential, in most places.70 Reassessment has shifted the previously accepted date range for Moche, of about 1 to 700 CE, back to 200 to 850 CE.71 Larco’s sequence still has relevance in broad strokes. Moche I, II, and III styles are mostly associated with the early to middle periods of 200 to 650 CE, whereas Moche IV and V styles mostly date to the later period of 600 to 850 CE, with the important exception of Huacas de Moche, where Moche IV forms appeared by 500 CE. This break in the ceramic sequence occurred at a time of widespread social and artistic transformation during the seventh century. Moche artists synthesized aspects of ancestral coastal religious imagery; widespread norcosteño design; and their own inventions of elaborate imagery of elite splendor, martial culture, religious spectacle, and heroic narratives.

14 • IMAG E E NCOUNTERS

Warrior iconography, in particular, distinguished Moche art from its antecedents and from the imagery of neighboring traditions. Artists and their patrons developed this iconography, however, during a period of relative internal stability, perhaps recalling memories of the widespread violence several generations before.72 Ambivalent relationships remained between Moche communities and their highland neighbors in Cajamarca, Huamachuco, Recuay, and other areas to the east (see figure 0.15).73 At times, Moche artists incorporated select motifs from highland art—for example, the image of the creature that has been called the Recuay “Dragon” or Moon Animal (figure 0.16).74 Often, Moche artists depicted highland figures, sometimes as their enemies in battle,75 and other times as partners in economic exchange or as religious practitioners (figure 0.17).76 The representation and maintenance of social difference—both within their society and between themselves and “others”—were central concerns in Moche art.77 What caused the end of the Moche era by the ninth century remains unclear. Archaeologists once hypothesized a collapse in the seventh century, due to the invasion of armies of the Wari Empire from the southern Peruvian highlands; an extended period of drought followed by catastrophic floods from ENSO events; or a combination of these political and environmental factors. The evidence for thirty years of droughts in the sixth century (563–594 CE) and floods in the seventh (602–635 CE) has come from ice cores from Quelccaya in southern Peru.78 Yet some have cautioned against the extrapolation of this environmental data to the north coast, where the effects of El Niño vary widely from valley to valley. More granular data are needed to assess the interrelated histories of societies and climatic events on the local and regional levels.79 But even if these climatic events affected the entirety of the north coast in the sixth and seventh centuries, they did not cause a widespread societal collapse. Absolute chronologies show that although some Moche centers like Dos Cabezas waned after about 600 to 650 CE,80 others like Huacas de Moche weathered this period reinvigorated,81 and still others like Guadalupito and Pañamarca in the south rose to prominence precipitously during the seventh century.82 Recent environmental research demonstrates that ancient farmers anticipated floods and designed irrigation systems to take advantage of dramatic increases in rainfall when they happened.83 This research has shown that ancient agricultural engineers were fully capable of creating opportunity out of climatic events, even though similar events

can spell disaster for modern settlements based on ad hoc urban sprawl. Earlier views on a Wari conquest as the cause of a Moche collapse have shifted as well.84 It is now clear that the Wari Empire (if it was in fact an empire) never claimed territorial control of north-coastal Peru, although it may have exerted hegemonic control or a form of indirect rule in some areas beginning in the seventh century. The Middle Horizon is better understood as “a time of intense dynamism,”85 effected by the growing social and economic influence of Wari through trade routes, the emulation of foreign styles, and later—after 800 CE—the importation of foreign goods, as local elites on the north coast and in the northern highlands selectively adopted and manipulated aspects of the southern culture. At some Moche centers, like San José de Moro, archaeologists have found imports of foreign-made Wari ceramics, emulations of the Wari style by local potters, and the incorporation of polychrome slip painting and other Wari traits into late Moche ceramics found in elite tombs.86 Late Moche elites of San José de Moro developed a taste for Wari and Wari-style objects as markers of prestige. The evidence from San José de Moro suggests not conquest, but willful incorporation of aspects of Wari art and culture, via Cajamarca and later along the coast from Pachacamac, into the lives (and deaths) of the local elite. Beyond ceramics, Recuay and later Wari weavers excelled in the creation of exquisitely fine tapestry with sophisticated abstractions of human and zoomorphic beings (figure 0.18).87 By about 500 to 550 CE, Moche weavers began to incorporate more aspects of highland textile traditions.88 It is increasingly apparent that the political, economic, and aesthetic relationships among Moche, Wari, and intermediary communities of Pachacamac, Recuay, Huamachuco, and Cajamarca were more complex than earlier narratives allowed. Rather than a narrative of “collapse” or an abrupt end to the Moche era, the picture that is emerging from field archaeology is one of transformations of Moche material culture, burial practices, and settlements into different forms and political structures. In the north, this transformation became what archaeologists call Lambayeque (or Sicán).89 In the south, post-Moche communities and the styles of material culture that they produced have been called Casma,90 as well as other names including Huari Norteño, followed in the tenth century by the rise of the Chimú Empire of Chimor, with its capital at Chan Chan. Around 1470, the Incas of Cusco brought the north

Intr oduc tion  • 15

0.18. Wari tunic, 600–900 CE, camelid fiber and cotton, 100 × 92.5 cm. Ministerio de Cultura, Museo Nacional de Arqueología, Antropología

e Historia del Perú, Lima, RT-1650. Photograph courtesy of Daniel Giannoni.

coast within their domain, with a series of conquests of Chimor and other polities north into what is now Ecuador, which would become the northern quarter (Chinchasuyu) of the Inca empire.91 Throughout their visual culture, the Incas and their allies embraced abstract design (figure 0.19), although coastal elements survived in local material

16 • IMAG E E NCOUNTERS

culture produced under their control.92 It was just decades after the Inca conquest of Chimor that Pizarro’s company marched into the region and went on to usurp Inca sovereignty with the aid of northern communities that had resisted or that resented the domination of Cusco. This long post-Moche coastal history—from social

transformations to invasions and colonization by the Incas and then by Europeans—complicates endeavors to cast ethnohistoric and ethnographic perspectives from the sixteenth to twenty-first centuries onto the precolonial past. After the onset of the Spanish colonial period, violence and disease brought demographic collapse and cultural erasure.93 After 1532, the coast became a place of even greater social complexity as a region significant to African and Asian diasporas, both during the Spanish colonial period and after Peru’s declaration of independence in 1821. Neocolonial political and economic structures continued in the postindependence period of urbanization and agro-industrialization, as some former Spanish haciendas changed hands to foreign economic control. In twentiethcentury Peruvian literature, the coast has been associated with modernity, whereas the highlands have been pictured as a place of enduring Indigeneity and a favorite subject of indigenismo.94 What it means to “be Moche” today, as compared to mestizo, or in addition to mochero, trujillano, or chimbotano, and so on, entails entangled issues of identity, belonging, and what Anishinaabe writer Gerald

Vizenor has called “survivance” in North American contexts.95 Indigenous identity on the coast—as for Indigeneity at large96—is not a stable category but one that has been and is continually being negotiated, especially as Moche art, culture, and language have been actively revived and reinvented since the 1990s.97 LO COSTEÑO: TH E ALTERITY OF THE COAST

One of my principal arguments in this book is that within “ancient Andean” art,98 early coastal traditions cannot be fit entirely into interpretations derived from later highland perspectives. Compared to the cultural and artistic traditions of the Incas and other Quechua speakers—both before and after the Spanish conquests—there is an alterity of the coast. That is, there is an Indigeneity of coastal practices that have been subjugated not to one set of invasions and conquests, but to at least two. There was a cohesion to the ancient world of the Pacific coast of what is now Peru that was demonstrably different from that of neighboring communities in the Andean highlands. These distinctions were particularly marked between the north

0.19. Inca-style painted chullpas or burial towers (restored), Wila-Kkollu, Sajama National Park, Bolivia. Photograph courtesy of Paul Bell.

Intr oduc tion  • 17

coast and the south-central highlands, which was the Wari and Inca homeland. Geographic, bioarchaeological, and linguistic evidence reinforces, in overlapping ways, the cohesion of the coast and its irreducibility to highland cultural models of the Incas. Although ongoing “vertical” exchange and social ties among the coast, highlands, and tropical forest of the Amazon were essential to ancient Andean economies,99 as people and goods moved across environmental zones as a matter of course, there was greater ease of movement north and south, along the coast, than from the coast upland to the cordilleras.100 That lateral, or “horizontal,”101 mobility allowed for the development of an interconnected world, united on land by ancient coastal roads and by sea on watercraft that moved offshore along what is now Chile, Peru, and Ecuador, and from there even farther north. That interconnectivity was not necessarily continuous; the visual and material culture of ports and trading partners— as can be seen to the north in areas of Ecuador, Panama, Costa Rica, and West Mexico—could be more similar to one another than to that of more proximate neighbors on land.102 Studies of biodistance and stable isotopes in human remains from Moche tombs have yielded important perspectives on biological relationships between ancient individuals and communities, as well as the mobility of individuals across geographic zones through their lifetimes, respectively. Emerging research based on paleo­genomic modeling is producing another view of differences between coastal and highland communities. Initial findings suggest that populations became genetically distinct in the northern and southern Andes by 5800 to 4100 years ago, during the Late Preceramic period. Gene flow between the north coast and the northern highlands, and between the northern highlands (Peru, Ecuador, and Colombia) and the southern highlands (Peru, Bolivia, Chile, and Argentina), slowed after 2000 BP (around the beginning of the first millennium CE, or two hundred years before Moche) as these areas became internally more homogenous. These areas remained genetically distinct until just before European colonization.103 What may be most surprising is the finding of greater genetic relatedness between ancient populations of the northwest Amazon and those of the north and central coast of Peru, which appear closer than those between that lowland area and the northern Peruvian highlands.104 The lower mountain ranges of northern Peru and southern Ecuador would have formed a bidirectional

18 • IMAG E E NCOUNTERS

corridor for the movement of people, things, and ideas. This northern traverse across the Andes is important to understanding affinities between these areas as demonstrated, for example, by the very early similarities of ceramic vessels—including stirrup-spout bottles—found in the Mayo Chinchipe area at the Santa Ana–La Florida site in the Ecuadorian lowlands and those of Peru’s north coast.105 Linguistic evidence offers a comparable picture of ancient north-south divides, coastal continuities, and hints of longer-range connections both north and south. The Indigenous languages of the Central Andean area were remarkably diverse.106 North-coastal communities spoke various languages—Tallán, Sechura, Quingnam, Muchik (also called Mochica, Yunga, Chimu), and others—that were morphologically distinct from those of the southern Andean highlands (figure 0.20).107 Linguistic documentation for the north coast is notably sparse and largely takes the form of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century ecclesiastical texts as well as nineteenth- and early twentiethcentury ethnography.108 Tallán and Sechura (or Sec) were spoken in the far north of Peru around Piura. Muchik was spoken on the coast from Piura south to at least the Chicama Valley,109 overlapping from the Jequetepeque Valley south with Quingnam (perhaps the same as the lengua pescadora), which was spoken as far as Lima.110 On the coast south of Lima, the linguistic picture was entirely different.111 The best-documented of the north-coastal languages is Muchik, which was still spoken in northern communities at the end of the nineteenth century and, in Eten, by some elders in the 1920s.112 These languages shared little with Quechua and Aymara—the languages of the southern highlands—beyond loan words. The coastal languages had more in common with the languages spoken in the northern highlands (e.g., Culli), and with the languages of the eastern Andes and the upper Amazon (e.g., Chacha and Hibito-Cholón),113 than they did with those of the south.114 Shared words suggest early contact between the peoples of the north coast of Peru and those of Ecuador and Colombia, as well as possible maritime connections as far south as the Atacama region of Chile.115 The question of which language was spoken within Moche communities of 200 to 850 CE remains unresolved,116 although multi­lingualism seems likely.117 Quechua only spread to the coast later, either with the Wari expansion out of Ayacucho or via the Inca conquest.118 Considered together, these multiple evidentiary lines— each partial on its own—create a more cohesive picture of

Quechua Tallán

Chirino Copallín Bagua

Sechura

ik ch Mu

Den

Quechua

Chacha Cat

Hibito Cholón

Culli

TRUJILLO

m

na

ing

Qu Quechua

LIMA

Quechua & Aimara Puquina

Puquina & Aimara PACIFIC OCEAN

Puquina Aimara & Quechua

0.20. Map of Indigenous-language areas around 1600, based on Cerrón-Palomino, “Contactos y desplazamientos lingüísticos”; Lau, “The

First Millennium AD”; Urban, “Is There a Central Andean Linguistic Area?”; and Urban, Lost Languages. © Hugo Ikehara.

an ancient social world. This is not to conflate language, genetics, and society as if they were either monolithic or coterminous,119 but rather to suggest that they were complementary in their overlap. The modern borders of Peru, redrawn after the War of the Pacific (1879–1883) and still contested in places since then, have created false contiguities as well as false divisions within ancient South American studies. On the one hand, distinct regions of coast, mountains, and tropical forest have been lumped together within a construction of “ancient Peru.” On the other, broad continuities beyond modern boundaries have often gone unobserved. Attention to these relays of affinities among what may seem at first to be far-flung sites and traditions—from Mayo Chinchipe to northern Chile—allows for an “un-bordering” of this ancient coastal geography and the diversity of its societies and their traditions. And yet, Inca models—even more so than modern nationalism—continue to dominate interpretations of the more ancient past throughout the territory of what became their empire, including interpretations of Moche and other coastal traditions.120 Recourse to Spanish colonial texts about the Incas has been, at least in part, a pragmatic move. Most of the written accounts that historians and anthropologists use to interpret ancient Andean art and culture are based on the Incas or other highland Quechuaor Aymara-speaking communities. Twentieth-century ethnography has similarly been skewed to the highlands, with far less attention paid to the Indigenous traditions of the coast. But there are political consequences to the pragmatism of this analytical method. These extrapolations require the transferal of interpretive models across thousands of kilometers, multiple language groups, and more than a thousand years of history to reach their research subject.121 Such interpretive leaps often rely on the presumed steadfastness, if not fossilization, of pan-Andean culture located in the idea of lo andino, first articulated in Lima in the 1920s within the context of indigenismo,122 as projected backward through time. To force the interpretation of ancient art and culture from the entirety of the diverse region of “the Andes” into expectations set by the example of the Inca Empire, despite so much evidence of regional difference, is—to state it plainly—to reenact imperial subjugations in the name of scholarship. At the same time, Moche art has been singled out for its emphases on figuration, verisimilitude, and narrative. Moche potters demonstrated masterful handling of the plasticity of clay in using it to render the contours of human

20 • IMAG E E NCOUNTERS

faces, plants, and animals with great sensitivity (see figures 0.23 and 0.24). Ceramic painters arrayed the surfaces of other vessels with exquisitely detailed fineline scenes of zoomorphic and anthropomorphic figures that at times appear to offer narrative sequences (see figure 0.29a–c). Like other coastal traditions of Cupisnique and Vicús in the north, and Paracas and Nasca in the south, Moche ceramic artists excelled at rendering human and other bodies in clay, with carefully observed mimetic detail and volumetric effect. By contrast, Andean art at large—as defined chiefly through Inca examples—has been characterized as nonfigural and nonnarrative. Its artists have been portrayed as more concerned with cosmic alignments and internal essences than with human drama or the external imitation of life forms.123 In the twentieth century, modernist artists reinforced this image of Andean abstraction as they sought the Indigenous roots of their own practices in the bold geometries of both Inca and Wari art.124 What one sees in Moche art does not conform to either Inca visual rules or modernist aesthetics. But instead of promoting a narrative of Moche exceptionalism, or of an outlier Andean tradition “swimming against the tide,”125 more aligned with the worldly values and naturalistic aesthetics of ancient Mesoamerica, I offer a different view. Rather than reading sixteenth- and seventeenth-century accounts of the Incas and other Quechua speakers backward in time onto Muchik- and Quingnam-speaking communities many centuries prior, I want to approach Moche art on its own terms, with perspectives gained from its coastal antecedents, rather than privilege voices from its colonized future. MO CH E ART, TH E ALLU RE OF ICO NO G RA PH IC DECIPH ERM ENT, AND  TH E  LIMITS O F LEG IB ILITY

The Moche era was a time of vertiginous developments in the arts. Artists mastered diverse media—metalwork, lapidary arts (figure 0.21), painted and sculpted ceramics, wood carving, and textiles (figure 0.22).126 This profusion of artistic production was tied to the emergence of social stratification based on growth in the agricultural economy of the lower valleys, as well as systems of longdistance exchange—north and south along the coast, east into the cordilleras, and into the upper Amazon. The rise of the ruling classes of the Moche polities corresponded to the development of distinctive art styles and visual ideologies that centered martial culture, epic battles, and

0.21. Pair of Moche ear ornaments with winged runners, 400–700 CE, gold, turquoise, sodalite, shell, 9.5 × 9.8 × 8.3 cm. Metropolitan Museum of

Art, New York, Gift and Bequest of Alice K. Bache, 1966, 1977, 66.196.41. Photograph provided through a Creative Commons license (CC0 1.0).

0.22. Detail of a late Moche textile excavated at Pacatnamú, Jequetepeque Valley. Photograph by William Conklin. Moche Archive,

Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection.

spectacles of social practice related to blood sacrifice. Luxury arts reveal extraordinary investment in individual ornamentation and personal glorification, both in life and beyond.127 That investment, and the conspicuous displays of wealth and the symbols of power that it engendered, may have been fueled by political competition between centers or rival alliances,128 as well as ambivalent relationships with non-Moche communities to the east. Although there is clear physical evidence for human violence within the Moche world, where young men engaged in hand-tohand combat and were sometimes sacrificed in bloody spectacles,129 the frequent choice to depict warriors in combat and other martial themes was a calculated one. The emphasis on martial visual culture was based on elite preferences for how Moche patrons chose to represent themselves and others rather than a transparent recording of events as a matter of fact.

Moche art appeals to modern eyes for its fine craftsmanship and material splendor, as well as for the apparent accessibility of its figural imagery, especially in the ceramic arts. Since the field’s scholarly beginnings, images of plants and animals, men and women (figure 0.23), warriors and prisoners (figure 0.24), and anthropomorphic deities engaging in combat with zoomorphic enemies have enticed researchers with the allure of legibility and prospects of iconographic decipherment. Scholars have classified and inventoried figures and creatures, each often according to their own taxonomies. Some have argued for the identification of specific historical individuals, or sometimes ethnic types, in the mold-made faces of portrait vessels.130 Recurring “themes” of burial, combat, sacrifice, and offering—loosely based on Panofskian iconographic method131—have been identified and named as scholars have sought to bring order to the profusion

0.23. Moche “portrait” bottle, 400–800 CE, ceramic, 35.6 × 24.1 cm.

0.24. Moche jar in the form of a captive, 300–800 CE, ceramic,

Art Institute of Chicago, Kate S. Buckingham Endowment, 1955.2338. Photograph provided through a Creative Commons license (CC0 1.0).

h. 24.8 cm. Art Institute of Chicago, Gift of Nathan Cummings, 1958.392. Photograph provided through a Creative Commons license (CC0 1.0).

22 • IMAG E E NCOUNTERS

a

b

0.25a and b. Moche bottle painted with two battles, 500–800 CE, ceramic, h. 28 cm. (a) British Museum, London, Am1909,1218.120. (b) Drawing by Donna McClelland (no. 0223). Moche Archive, Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection.

of figural imagery.132 Some have hypothesized ways that individual scenes might be united as episodic visual narratives.133 Others have made important observations of correspondences between imagery and materials, contexts, and monuments recovered archaeologically.134 The figures depicted in Moche ceramic and mural art have been linked directly to elite men and women who were entombed in elaborate regalia at centers like Sipán, San José de Moro, and El Brujo, but the inevitable slippages between painted representation and lived reality in these oft-invoked associations have received far less critical attention than they deserve.135 Without ancient Muchik or Quingnam texts to read, some archaeologists and art historians have instead sought to decode ancient imagery as symbolic communication, semasiography, or proto-writing.136 Although certain themes depicted on fineline painted ceramics have dominated the English-language study of Moche iconography (i.e., the Presentation Theme, later renamed the Sacrifice Ceremony), in Peru and elsewhere, greater emphasis has been placed on the deeds of a recognizable fanged figure with snake belts. He was often depicted with his frequent companions—a small dog and an iguana man—and in combat with various monstrous foes, many from the sea (figure 0.25a and b). Larco dubbed this character Ai-Apaec,137 a colonial neologism for “Creator,” which he took from Muchik vocabularies compiled to aid in the Catholic evangelization of the north coast in the

seventeenth century.138 Whereas the Presentation Theme, the Burial Theme, and other complex narrative themes are principally found on late Moche ceramics, created from the sixth century CE onward,139 the images of this fanged hero appear throughout Moche history. Other scholars since Larco have given the same character different names (table 0.1).140 Some have argued that Ai-Apaec was not a single being but a set of twins, or a greater multiplicity of beings. The potential multiplicity of numinous Andean beings is found, for example, in the Huarochirí Manuscript (ca.  1598–1608). In that text, which was composed by Quechua speakers in the highlands to comment on the world of the coast,141 its authors describe how the huaca Pariacaca was born from five eggs that hatched into five falcons, which then turned into five men.142 Nor is it precise to speak of an ontological separation between humans and gods, or between the natural and the supernatural. Instead, in this book, I use “supranatural” to refer to “divinities” (huacas) that encompassed and exceeded the usual powers of living beings. In some images, the Moche hero appears alongside an otiose divinity located in the mountains, who shares many of the same attributes. As Elizabeth Benson proposed in her discussion of the “god who came down from the mountains,” there may have been an ontological or genealogical relationship between this ancestral being of the mountain (glossed elsewhere as the Divinidad de las Montañas) and the other who was an

Intr oduc tion  • 23

Table 0.1. Multiplicity of names that scholars have given to manifestations of the Moche being that Rafael Larco Hoyle identified as Ai-Apaec,

from the 1970s to the present (not exhaustive) NAME

SOURCE

SEE ALSO

Ai-Apaec (“Creator” in Muchik)

Larco 1938, 1939

Pardo and Rucabado 2016

The fanged god of the coast (“God who came down from the mountains”)

Benson 1972

The creator god in the mountains (“deus otiosus”)

Benson 1972

Wrinkle Face (Cara Arrugada)

Donnan and McClelland 1979

God A

Berezkin 1980

God B

Berezkin 1980

God C

Berezkin 1980

Mellizos de ancestros de cinturones de serpientes (Ancestor twins with serpent belts)

Hocquenghem 1987

Dios inmóvil (Unmoving god)

Hocquenghem 1987

Personaje antropomórfico con cinturones de serpientes or PACS (Anthropomorphic figure with serpent belts)

Castillo 1989

Decapitator (Degollador)

Cordy-Collins 1992

Quismique (“Old One” in Muchik)

Golte 1993 (children’s book)

El dios F (God F)

Golte 1994 (after Lieske 1992)

El adversario T (Adversary T)

Golte 1994 (after Lieske 1992)

Demonio de las Cejas Prominentes (Demon with Prominent Eyebrows)

Campana and Morales 1997

Mellizos Divinos (Divine Twins): Mellizo Terrestre (Terrestrial Twin)

Makowski 2000

Mellizos Divinos (Divine Twins): Mellizo Marino (Marine Twin)

Makowski 2000

Divinidad de las Montañas or Dios de las Montañas (Mountain God)

Uceda 2001

Dios intermediador or Divinidad F (Intermediary God or Divinity F)

Golte 2009

Dios de la Vía Láctea (God of the Milky Way)

Golte 2009

Snake-Belt God

Benson 2012

El héroe moche (The Moche hero)

Rucabado 2020

Zighelboim 1995; Bourget 2006

De Bock 2003; Giersz and Prządka 2005

The shaded names correspond to, or include, “Ai-Apaec” in his form as the protagonist who appears in images of epic battles like those painted on the pillars at Pañamarca (see chapter 3). Note the complex discordance that has resulted from this proliferation of names since the 1930s.

24 • IMAG E E NCOUNTERS

active intermediary in the world of the coast and sea.143 To further complicate matters, the hero could apparently transform to take on characteristics of plants and animals, even appropriating aspects of his enemies. Without independent textual sources or surviving oral accounts, however, it is difficult to interpret these ancient pictorial narratives with certainty.144 In such contexts, iconographic interpretation risks devolving into flights of fantasy.145 It may be that the study of Moche iconography, as it has conventionally been practiced with unprovenienced collections‚ is approaching its interpretive limits. A painted ceramic bottle in Berlin—generally unknown outside of specialist literature—serves as a particular case in point (figure 0.26).146 The red-on-cream bichrome bottle with a broken “stirrup” spout was painted with two scenes, one on either side of the globular body. In the rollout drawing, the two hemispheres are laid flat (figure 0.27).147 On one side, we see a male figure—recognizable as the hero described above—within a gabled structure. He strikes an ecstatic pose and presses the palms of his hands together in a gesture that elsewhere in Moche imagery appears as one of devotion or reverence. The scene is filled with a bevy of creatures and writhing lines that enervate the atmosphere. On the opposite side, the same figure appears again, larger though still with his head thrown back, riding on the back of a double-headed centipede, and tended to by a hooded woman. A narrative relationship is implied by the repetition of the main figure between the two scenes,

0.26. Moche bottle with fineline painting, 400–800 CE, ceramic,

19.8 × 15.4 cm (broken spout). Ethnologisches Museum, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, V A 3187. Photograph by Martin Franken, courtesy of bpk Bildagentur / Art Resource, NY.

0.27. Wilhelm von den Steinen, rollout drawing of the imagery on the bottle in the previous figure, ca. 1900. Image from Kutscher,

Nordperuanische Keramik, pl. 75.

Intr oduc tion  • 25

but the spherical form of the vessel denies a certain beginning or end. A knife tied with a rope that transforms into a fox-headed snake joins one scene to the other (appearing twice in the illustration, though only once on the painted bottle). Various iconographers have proffered complex interpretations of this unusual vessel. In doing so, each has written a different story.148 One saw a “king beset by demons.”149 Another described a shaman preparing the body of an ancestor; the body of the centipede was the Milky Way and the activity within the structure was the ancestor’s burial, guarded by the iguana and a crested feline.150 Another interpreted the painted images as depicting the deeds of the Terrestrial Twin within the depths of the earth, as indicated by the thin lines of the spider’s thread; the fanged face within the dark cloud was the Owl Warrior, who held the twin captive, but he escaped with the

0.28. Moche bottle in the form of a fanged woman with small,

human-like creatures clinging to her body, 400–800 CE, ceramic, 20.9 × 17.4 × 13.4 cm. Museo Larco, Lima, Peru, ML002308.

26 • IMAG E E NCOUNTERS

aid of the centipede and the vulture woman.151 Another saw the Intermediator Divinity arriving at the temple of the Nocturnal Divinity within the realm of the dead; the darkness and the moth marked the underworld. The intermediator prayed to the god of night, who elevated him upon the centipede as his injuries were tended to by the healer.152 Others have narrated the scene as the wounded hero, Ai-Apaec, treated by an owl healer who applied a bandage made of spider silk. On the other side, the hero was trapped within a cocoon temple, where he had visions of nocturnal creatures as he began his passage into the world of the dead.153 Interpretations have proliferated as iconography turns cacophony. The work of Moche iconography has become fraught by a level of discordance rare among other subfields of ancient art history. But there are larger lessons to learn from the multiplicity of pictorial readings. Like all Moche art, the painted bottle in Berlin was created within an oral culture. It would have been used as a mnemonic object to prompt the recollection and oration of stories now lost to us. It is often the iconographer’s desire to recover the voices of silenced objects like these. And, indeed, the painted vessel may yet have a will to speak.154 A form of ventriloquism occurs in our encounters with it.155 But it is not we who cause the vessel to speak. Rather, it is the vessel that time and again throws its voice, compelling human lips to move and, now, authors’ hands to write. Even more than a millennium since its creation, this bottle in Berlin continues to animate its human beholders for its original purpose: to tell stories. What might be perceived as an unsettling din of competing interpretive voices may be precisely what the bottle wants. It drives people to tell tales that are, whether one wishes this to be the case or not, flexible and adaptable (as oral narratives are), not closed and certain (as written texts are thought to be). That is, the modern desire to decipher a single master narrative from a painted vessel may be misdirected from the outset. Even when scholars have identified later colonial texts that seem to offer compelling explanations for aspects of Moche imagery, historical distance between image and evidence poses fundamental problems.156 One type of mold-made ceramic bottle that depicted a seated, longhaired individual (figure 0.28) would seem to find its interpretation in Calancha’s seventeenth-century Corónica moralizada.157 The figure was dressed as a woman, but her crossed fangs indicate a supranatural being. Several small creatures cling to her body. The Moche image appears to

a

c

b

0.29a–c. Moche bottle painted with the Burial Theme, 600–850 CE, ceramic, h. 25.4 cm. (a) RISD Museum, Gift of Mrs. Jesse H. Metcalf,

15.222. Photograph provided under a Creative Commons license (CC0 1.0). (b, c) Drawing by Donna McClelland (no. 0093) and detail of the exposed female body. Moche Archive, Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection.

accord with a legend that Calancha recorded of a sorcerer called Mollep (“the lousy one”) who prophesied that the people of the region would multiply just like the insects living on his squalid body.158 Calancha’s colonial history has also been used to explain the appearance of an exposed female body—her vulva visible and her body attacked by

carrion birds—painted in what has come to be known as the Burial Theme (figure 0.29a–c).159 The author described male healers (Oquetlupuc) who were put to death as punishment for the loss of a patient.160 A failed healer’s body would be tethered to the burial site of the deceased and left to be devoured by vultures (the antithesis of proper

Intr oduc tion  • 27

burial treatment). Although the female body painted on the ceramic bottles is not visibly bound, its situation within the burial scene suggests a comparable practice. Despite these resonances, the direct plotting of the colonial chronicle onto the much earlier Moche images cannot explain the evident sex and gender discrepancies. The exposed figure of what might be a punished healer and the sculpted image of a Mollep-like figure were demonstrably female—one’s sex made anatomically explicit, the other’s gender identity conveyed by dress and hairstyle—whereas Calancha’s subjects were male. Over the course of nearly a thousand years of conquest, population collapse, and evangelization, the ancient female subjects were stripped of their statuses as mythical progenitors and healers. The recognition of female religious authority may have fallen victim to the forces of foreign colonization, if indeed these ceramic images were antecedents to the accounts recorded in the seventeenth century. Early modern histories provide critical insights into preHispanic life and coastal traditions,161 but they must be historicized as the colonial documents that they are. So, too, should care be taken in mapping contemporary practices directly onto ancient objects.162 In coastal Peru, a continuous “purity” of tradition cannot be presumed, even if Spanish or other foreign traditions could be “separated out”163 from an earlier Indigenous substrate. Extrapolations of later historical and ethnohistorical sources are invaluable but, as Carolyn Dean has stated, when applied back in time to more ancient contexts, they “cannot be taken literally, [though] they ought to be taken seriously.”164 Given these interpretive challenges, the most productive way forward—as has long been the case in other areas of art history, ancient or otherwise—is to move “beyond iconography,”165 to post-iconographic methods for image study.166 By post-iconographic I do not mean a repudiation of iconography (that would be anti-iconographic, whereas my commitment is more precisely supra-iconographic). Rather, the burgeoning contextual information generated by recent field archaeology, as well as archival data from earlier excavations and legacy collections, at places like Huacas de Moche, Huaca Cao Viejo, and Pañamarca, now empower Moche art studies to build on prior iconographic findings in order to enrich interpretations of images within the dynamic parameters of space, time, and social difference. Although conventional iconographic studies for the ancient Andes have been largely concerned with the construction of ancient cosmologies, in the form of master

28 • IMAG E E NCOUNTERS

narratives,167 it is increasingly possible to examine the changes (as well as the meaningful continuities) in image making, the social uses of objects and monuments that bore imagery, and the legacies of images as they varied through space and time, as seen historically through the archaeological record. With the expanded “archive” of the “material texts” of archaeology, greater geotemporal understanding of images, objects, and monuments and their meanings—that is, the development of a history of art in deep time—can take shape.168 ARCH AE O ART H ISTORY AND ARC HAE OICO NO LO GY: IM AGE EN CO U NTERS I N T HE D EEP PAST

Because so much of what scholars know, or think we know, about the Moche world has come from modern readings of ancient imagery, it is surprising that more attention has not been given to the critical interpretation of image making, visual rhetoric, and reception, which are mainstays of the contemporary practice of art history and visual studies. In ancient and contemporary settings alike, It is a mistake to take either a text or an image at face value for what it states or claims to represent. A work of art is neither a window nor a transparency that allows a clear picture of ancient life without distortion, but rather a “membrane having its own properties and qualities.”169 Like my broad definition of “history” as the human past, either textually recorded or not, my use of the word “art” in this book is equally ample.170 The work of art history is to call attention to those “membranes” and to examine how art and images worked (and continue to work), whom they served and whom they affected, and what their lasting implications (or foreclosures) were. At the same time, the work of art history does not end at the border of the material image, but extends philosophically into the world from the realization that “images do not derive from reality. They are, rather, a form of its condition.”171 Locating a practice of art history in pre-Hispanic South American studies further pushes the discipline beyond its methodological dependence on textual sources to explicate images. Ancient American art history offers what Patricia Victorio has called “critical-historical” (histórico-crítico)172 approaches to the visual forms of the deep past, as contextualized within material records. It resists anthropological archaeology’s territorial claims to American antiquity and its “tendency to use art history as its disciplinary foil.”173 The corpus of murals (a richly contextual medium) of

the Moche period (a time of exuberant artistry) serves here as the setting for a series of interlaced studies of image making set during an era of South American history without writing.174 The temporal, geographic, and analytical scales of these image studies shift from chapter to chapter. But each is based on a method of art historical scrutiny of form, facture, and visual effect that is coupled with broader perspectives on cultural traditions, geopolitical dynamics, built environment, and historical change that are afforded by field archaeology, together with perspectives derived from geography, bioarchaeology, and linguistics. I gloss this grafting of art historical inquiry and archaeological data as archaeo art history.175 The compound form of “archaeo” + “art history” is more effectively rendered in Spanish as arqueohistoria del arte.176 In some forensically rich settings, archaeo art history can take the more specific form of what I call archaeo-iconology—the study of image perception and meaning making as evidenced by the physical traces of acts of image engagement and response. The settings of Moche murals make possible archaeoiconological study of what I refer to as “image encounters.” These words also require introduction. On the surface, the word “image” serves pragmatic purposes as a basic term for the visual representation of figures, motifs, or patterns in paint, clay, or other “plastic” media: what W. J. T. Mitchell diagrammed as “graphic” images in his family tree of images (together with the “optical,” “perceptual,” “mental,” and “verbal”),177 though associations of material image with spiritual likeness (the imago dei )178 cannot be presumed for the pre-Hispanic Americas. The ontology of images on the north coast of Peru during the first millennium CE is not a matter limited to area studies, but one of broad theoretical interest. At the heart of this book are questions of what images were (not simply what they represented),179 how making corresponded to knowing,180 what images did,181 what desires they expressed (and on whose behalf),182 what responses they provoked,183 and what legacies they engendered or denied. In American settings that benefit from greater recourse to Indigenous languages, emic concepts of “image” can sometimes be defined. Mesoamerican concepts of ixiptla (likeness, image, delegate, substitute, a deity’s living “impersonator”) from Nahuatl,184 and baah (body, self, image, portrait) as read from Maya inscriptions,185 suggest that through likeness, the presence of the divine or the royal subject filled its material host and was made manifest. In South America, concepts derived from Quechua

indicate different attitudes toward image making. There, material representation was generally not a matter of creating surface likenesses, but rather one of drawing out the inner, animating essence (camay) of matter.186 In Inca art, presence did not require likeness, but materiality and metonymy.187 It is far more difficult to derive conceptual perspectives from the Indigenous languages of the Peruvian coast, none of which are spoken today in their pre-Hispanic forms. In her proposal for the existence of rebus devices in Moche imagery, Margaret Jackson referred to a Muchik word for sun (xian) that, according to Isidora Isique’s 1929 testimony to Walter Lehmann in Eten, was also used to name a type of crab with natural markings that look like a sun on its shell.188 This association between sun and crab is not attested in earlier documentation of the seventeenth, eighteenth, or nineteenth centuries. It appears to be idiosyncratic, not a foundational concept for the relationship between word and image. In most other Muchik word lists, the word for “sun” (xllang) is more often associated with the verbs “to hide” and “to bury” and with the noun “tomb” (xllangir).189 Sunset was literally “blood sun” (cul xllang).190 Between 1906 and 1910, Brüning recorded various Muchik words for “crab” (cangrejo), including llang lláncaj (cangrejo de agua dulce [negro]), which Isique may have later conflated with xllang.191 Some linguistic insights on concepts of “image” can be found in the Muchik words c’häpmong and quellca. In his evocative, if often fanciful, essay on Moche aesthetic vocabulary, the architect and historian Emilio Harth-Terré defined the former as “imagen, retrato, estatua” (image, portrait, statue).192 His reading was based on Ernst Middendorf’s nineteenth-century definition of c’häpmong as Bildnis, Bildsäule.193 The German glosses translate roughly into English as “portrait” (but in the sense of a sculpted effigy) and “effigy column” (or carved column, a kind of statue). It is interesting that Middendorf did not simply use the word Bild (image, picture). One might therefore infer that the Muchik word for “image” did not imply a twodimensional picture but rather a sculptural form—perhaps in the sense of the carved staff, or “idol,” from Pachacamac,194 or Catholic sculptures of the saints. The only word that approaches the idea of a two-dimensional image in Muchik is quellca (or kélyka), a borrowing from the Quechua quillca (marked surface),195 which came to be used in Muchik, at least by the early 1900s, as a term for “paper.”196 The more ancient Muchik word for “image” conveys instead

Intr oduc tion  • 29

a sense of the priority of the sculptural image. The earliestknown programs of mural art in coastal Peru were, in fact, sculpted reliefs, not flat images, which may accord with this thin linguistic survival. The material physicality of murals retains evidence of encounters between people and images. An “encounter” is relational.197 It is an event that is mutually transformative. It is interactive, sensorial, and affective. It precedes, or occurs in the absence of, intellectual “recognition.”198 Through sensitive attention to the material surfaces of murals, as well as their archaeological surrounds, one can perceive traces of these past encounters, as well as— in some cases—suggestions of what Mitchell called “perceptual” or “mental” images that were generated through those encounters. Archaeo–art-historical approaches to ancient image studies can pose questions of how pictorial programs were conceived of, created, and encountered through space and time—even when specific personages or narratives depicted cannot be fully identified or deciphered.199 This approach is necessarily formalist, contextualist, and phenomenological. It also requires a critical inversion of the typical relationship of art to archaeology as practiced in the Americas. Rather than regard ancient imagery as source material to be mined as illustrations of past ways of life or religious beliefs, this method leverages evidence produced through archaeology to write narratives of image making, image encountering, and image experiencing.200 It requires one to abide Cecilia Pardo’s interdisciplinary call to “set aside the old and false opposition between art and archaeology,”201 and develop what Julia Guernsey has described as a “choral voice” for interpretation.202 Such approaches are, of course, not limited to ancient America,203 or even to the deep past, but can be applied to any period in which marginalized and otherwise uninscribed traditions might be recovered instead from material remains.204 In this way, scientific inquiry may aid the “humanistic aim,” as George Kubler wrote, “to recover those fragile tissues of meaning and value of which only faint traces adhere to the spare frame of archaeological history.”205 T HE FO RM O F T HE BO O K

In developing an archaeo art history of Moche murals, this book moves through a series of studies, organized in four chapters. The analytic scales—in terms of time and space—change from one chapter to another: from broad panoramas of image making on the ancient Pacific coast of

30 • IMAG E E NCOUNTERS

South America (chapter 1), to formal and spatial analyses of Moche murals on Peru’s north coast during the period of 200 to 650 CE (chapter 2), and then during the shorter, late Moche era of 650 to 850 CE (chapter 3), to more particular, archaeo-iconological incidents of image perception, experience, and response (chapter 4). With each shift in scale, each chapter also foregrounds a different aspect—bodies, replications, narratives, and textures—to guide passage through these encounters with ancient mural art. In chapter 1, I assess the origins of figuration and mural art in western South America at large, and more specifically on the Pacific coast. Although there is some evidence for mural painting’s emergence out of more ancient practices of rock painting (i.e., pictographs), the origins of the broader category of mural art, which includes both painting and earthen relief, are more complex. Most of the very earliest murals created on the Pacific coast of Peru around 2300 to 2000 BCE were unpainted images of humans and animals modeled in clay at life size. I argue that the origins of these planned programs of mural sculpture cannot be found in rupestrian models, but may be located instead in raw clay works, including handheld figurines and complex mortuary sculptures from the coast of southern Peru and northern Chile. The antiquity of emphatically figural image making on the Pacific coast demonstrates the deep ancestry of figuralism found in Moche art, which has previously been considered an anomaly within the region. Presentations of bodies in Moche murals do not offer a single perspective on “the ancient body” but rather multiple forms of sculptural corporeality that accumulated in the genealogy of early coastal mural art from about 2300 BCE to 650 CE, which, I argue, was founded on core metaphors of flesh and clay, bone and armature, and nuanced understandings of dialectical relationships between exteriority and interiority. In chapter 2, I proceed to problems of defining the artistic foundations of Moche mural art for the period of about 200 to 650 CE. In the mural programs of the temple complexes of Huaca de la Luna and Huaca Cao Viejo, shared practices of image making were based on common models of architecture and design. At these centers and others, artists invoked images of ancestral fanged deities associated with the mountains, as well as shared forms of norcosteño design, as they called upon affiliations with the past and the present. Mural programs of courtyards and temple facades demonstrated a marked “aesthetics of replication.” Repetitive friezes were based on the compositional

logic of the reproducible image (from the loom, the mold, and other early technologies of mechanical reproduction), even though murals themselves were laboriously sculpted and painted by hand. At critical times, visual programs of the huaca were replicated in their entirety, both on site and elsewhere over the foundations of other huacas. In chapter 3, I examine major social and artistic transformations that took place on the north coast during the seventh century CE. Old temples were abandoned, some were dramatically expanded, and others—like the New Temple of Huaca de la Luna and the monumental center of Pañamarca—were built anew. In the seventh-century renewals of the Moche world, mural art was transformed from what had come before. Gone were the fanged predator gods of the past, the shared norcosteño design, the aesthetics of replication, and the investment in sculpted relief. The re­invented artform became planar, was executed more quickly and with more economical means, and emphasized figural scenes of warrior processions and enduring narratives of Moche ideology. These later murals seem to have served new social purposes, as Moche culture spread farther and developed with new intensity, especially in the southern valleys. In late Moche mural painting, one finds the condensation of the medium, in technique and style. Mural artists responded in different ways at Huacas de Moche and at Pañamarca to increased social and economic pressures during the ascendancy of Wari from the south, relationships with communities from the northern highlands, and Moche communities’ own desires to remember and affirm the narratives that shaped internal belonging. In chapter 4, I pivot from archaeo art history to archaeoiconology (archaeo art history in a narrower sense). This chapter begins with a deep dive into the visual and material density of the remains of a pillared temple documented during my project’s fieldwork at Pañamarca. The archaeological stratigraphy, architectural sequences, and material evidence for offerings, libations, burning, and ancient graffiti constitute a multisensorial material history of the

monument, its images, and the social life that it once held. At Pañamarca, our excavations paralleled what I interpret as evidence of ancient excavations of the painted pillars that revealed multigenerational awareness of what lay hidden beneath the surface. My team’s own encounters with those twice-unearthed images were but the latest in a long continuum of image encounters. Attention to the textured surfaces of murals at Pañamarca, in the Old Temple of Huaca de la Luna, and elsewhere reveals traces of how individuals who saw these images responded to them, in antiquity, and how meanings were made through those encounters. The frequent occurrence of figural “graffiti” (or “image acts”) recalls rupestrian practices of marking surfaces with paint or incision. Recursive practices of scratching reduced-scale images, extracted from the subject matter of murals, into backgrounds and pictorial borders can be seen at several Moche centers. These scratched figures can be understood as a counterpoint to more formal programs of mural art over a longue durée. This book is founded on certain commitments that exceed my particular focus on Moche murals: that history need not be limited to the written word; that meanings of images can be suggested, even if not definitively proven, from fragmentary evidence that survives from the deep past; that archaeology need not be limited only to anthropology, just as art history need not be limited to connoisseurship or artist biography; that narratives of the ancient American past need to be written; and that our world needs them now because, to borrow words from Donna Haraway: “The open future rests on a new past.”206 Taken as a whole, as a culmination of layered perspectives on mural art, the chapters of this book work together in pursuit of the objectives of archaeo art history as laid out here. This endeavor is part of a wider effort to write a humanistic history of meanings, values, creative acts, and things done long before the domination of the Pacific coast by the Incas or the fall of the first European foot on South American soil.

Intr oduc tion  • 31

1.1. Three of the prisoners sculpted on the facade of Huaca Cao Viejo. Photograph by the author.

a

b

1.2a and b. Incisions on the bodies of the naked prisoners, Huaca Cao Viejo. Photographs by the author.

CHA P TER 1

MURAL ORIGINS AND COASTAL CORPOREALITIES

S

culpted of clay and painted with red ochre, a line of male prisoners filed along the facade of Huaca Cao Viejo (figure 1.1), a temple within the archaeological complex now known as El Brujo (The Sorcerer) on the north coast of Peru.1 The naked figures loomed just larger than life size, frozen against the plain white background of their mural support. The thick rope that bound them one to another was sustained by a warrior who led them along their eternal march. Their feet lifted and fell along the elevated groundline, as if the syncopated rhythm of their forced movement had been caught in stopmotion. When newly made in the early seventh century CE, these clay representations of prisoners of war would have been remarkably mimetic images, exemplars of Moche mural art that evoked the corporeality of living bodies of defeated warriors. In fact, not long after they were made, someone slashed the painted surfaces of the legs and erect phalluses of some of the earthen bodies (figure 1.2a and b);2 the lifelike potency of their exposed flesh seems to have provoked virtual acts of violence. Evidence of bodily presence was palpable in other ways Please note that this chapter contains photographs of human remains.

in the frieze on the next, higher tier of the stepped platform’s facade. There, artists sculpted a register of broadchested men clasping hands (figure 1.3). Above them, only a fragment of the next tier of the temple facade survives. There, colossal spiders with human arms wielded golden crescent-shaped tumi knives (figure 1.4), linking the scenes of pageantry below to a supranatural realm of aggression above. Wearing the decorated tunics and elaborate gold headdresses and earspools of Moche lords, the men holding hands faced the plaza, just above the prisoner parade, as if surveilling the martial procession below. Their bodies were stiff and staid—a marked contrast to the pathos of the vanquished figures below. What was most remarkable about them was their feet. Sculpted in high relief, their feet protruded farther from the wall than any other parts of the body, and the weight of the modeled clay required internal support. But unlike friezes made within other spaces at Huaca Cao Viejo, these areas of highest relief were not modeled over cane or sticks. Here, sculptors used bone. Both human and deer long bones protrude from the wall where the feet of the figures have eroded (figure 1.5).3 Among the bones was a “human femur, with cut marks indicating that it was taken from a fleshed body,” not from the dried bones of a skeleton.4 Human prisoners and

33

1.3. Moche men holding hands in the frieze on the second tier of the facade, Huaca Cao Viejo. Photograph by the author.

1.4. Remains of the frieze of spiders with human arms bearing tumi knives, Huaca Cao Viejo. Photograph by the author.

34 • IMAG E E NCOUNTERS

1.5. Exposed bones embedded in the feet of a figure on the second tier of the facade, Huaca Cao Viejo. Photograph by the author.

deer were often conflated in Moche visual culture, and perhaps the inclusion of the bones of both held a similar symbolic charge. When the frieze was intact, these bones would have been concealed within the painted clay. In the sculpted images of prisoners and their captors, the muralists of Huaca Cao Viejo effected bodily presence—both seen and unseen—through external figural mimesis and through internal materiality. In this chapter, I trace genealogies of artistic practice on the Pacific coast from Peru to Chile, in search of the ancestral roots of figural mimesis seen in Moche art and in murals more specifically, as exemplified by these friezes of Huaca Cao Viejo. To that end, I begin with beginnings. Instead of starting with the first Spanish colonial accounts from the sixteenth century, and then casting those understandings backward through antiquity, I start in deep time. This recentering is not only temporal but also spatial. Instead of relying on models set by study of the Incas of Cusco, in this chapter I focus attention along the coast—from

northern Peru, south through the central coast, all the way to the north of what is now Chile—following the maritime trade routes and faint evidence of ancestral relationships attested by linguistics and bioarchaeology (see introduction). The ancient Pacific coast constituted an area distinct in many ways from that of the Andean highlands, although dynamic interactions among peoples across both areas were common. In tracing the coastal roots of figuration— and the roots of mural art more specifically—I assemble a “patchwork quilt of archaeological evidence,”5 pieced together from the earliest earthen reliefs, rock art, handheld clay sculpture, and elaborately formed “mummies” created as early as 5000 BCE. Although knowledge of later histories and traditions can shed important light on ancient art forms and practices, in this chapter I intentionally de-privilege Spanish colonial histories and highland Quechua or Aymara ethnographies in order to recenter the Indigenous foundations of coastal art and image making as gleaned from the material histories of deeper antiquity.

M ural Origins and Coastal Corporealitie s  • 35

The earliest-known mural art on the coast consisted of clay and earthen relief, most often unpainted. These works created tangible presences in high relief, unlike some later murals that provided planar surfaces for the projection of two-dimensional imagery perceptually removed from the “real spaces” of lived experience.6 Flat painting—as seen at Huaca Ventarrón and Buena Vista—was rare in early settings, but even there paintings were not just superficial images. Early mural art demonstrated the primacy of relief, the centrality of bodies, and nuanced understandings of the relationships between exterior appearances and internal structures that may resonate with, but cannot be reduced to, later highland Andean concepts of interior essence.7 The dialectical entanglement and, at times, the perceptible contiguity of external image and internal form, which are witnessed in early murals and in other forms of bodily image making, suggest that the use of bone as armature and clay for flesh was not accidental at Huaca Cao Viejo. Rather, I propose that this material conflation manifested a core “conceptual metaphor” of coastal art, making, and embodiment.8 In this chapter I explore the great time depth of corporeal image making on the ancient Pacific coast. It is not my intention, however, to flatten the necessary polyvalence of the word “corporeal” or to naturalize discussion of an objectified “body” as a universal human phenomenon.9 Rather, I approach the body as “a culturally variable entity, demanding philosophical and critical attention.”10 By “corporeality” I mean salient artistic approaches to and conceptualizations of bodily presentation and representation. Bodies, both real and depicted, are mutually constituted “as metaphor[s] for society, as instrument[s] of lived experience, and as surface[s] of inscription.”11 Close attention to materiality, form, and facture offers perspectives on the ancient work that figural images were made to perform, as well as insights into aspects of being, subjectivity, and embodied experience. Moche art revealed ancient commensurabilities between the plasticity of clay and the mutability of the human body that have much more ancient antecedents. This was not, however, a simple matter of direct descent or continuous tradition. Rather, what I see in Moche figuration is an accretional, accumulated genealogy that is attested in suggestive glimpses of shared material meaning across the long coastal corridor and through profound depths of time. What I perceive in these Moche bodily images are at least three tendencies: inherited practices

36 • IMAG E E NCOUNTERS

of re-creating ancestral presences of the living (and no longer living) that began in the Late Preceramic period (ca. 2300–1600 BCE); the deliberate invocation of colossal predators as divine aggressors that threatened violence from Cupisnique, Manchay, Chavín, and related traditions (ca. 1200–400 BCE); and, in their own time (ca. 200–850 CE), Moche makers’ own emphases on the masculinity of martial bodies in spectacles of combat, arraignment, and sacrifice. That is, Moche corporeality—as exemplified in the friezes at Huaca Cao Viejo seen here—can be characterized by a particular emphasis on political power and violence in an explicitly male form of the human body, as informed by earlier modes of coastal embodiment that were both inherited and actively revived. TH E ORIG INS OF FIG U RATIO N AN D TH E  BEG INNING S OF MURA L ART

The earliest instances of figuration in ancient South America can be traced to scenes that hunter-gatherers painted and engraved on walls of rock shelters and caves (also called parietal or rupestrian art) at least twelve thousand years ago.12 By the third millennium BCE, figural and geometric image making emerged as widespread traditions in other formats and media as well, including unfired clay sculpture, pyroengraved gourds, and textiles.13 It was also during the Late Preceramic period, around 2000 BCE, that mural art first took form in the Andean region, both on the coast and in the highlands. In his 1985 book, Mural Painting in Ancient Peru, Duccio Bonavia asserted that mural painting was “undeniably a continuation of [rock art] within a single tradition,” though he did not thoroughly interrogate the transmedial genesis he imagined or its implications.14 Rock art throughout the greater Andean region includes paintings of guanaco (a wild camelid related to llamas and alpacas) hunting, for example, in Toquepala, Peru, where images of such hunts as well as other motifs including human figures, most no more than five to ten centimeters in size, were painted on cave and rock shelter walls (figure 1.6).15 By the time of the Cupisnique visual tradition, beginning around 1200 BCE, imagery in later recognizable cultural styles began to appear in rock art as well. Agnathic faces with pronounced upper fangs and figures adorned with serpents were painted in bright hues within the caves of Monte Calvario and carved into rock at places like Alto de la Guitarra in northern Peru.16 The smooth transformation of pictographs into mural painting can be seen in an image from

a partially collapsed mausoleum at Puente Utcubamba in Chachapoyas (figure 1.7). The rock face of the cliff and the inner surfaces of the walls were both painted with images of quadrupeds and humans, some with feathers or solar rays emanating from their heads.17 At the cliff-side mausoleums of Revash and elsewhere in Chachapoyas,18 painters blurred boundaries between built structures and natural surfaces, as architecture became continuous with living rock and wall painting became essentially indistinguishable from rock painting. But these examples, which constituted the clearest continuity of painting traditions, and which demonstrate the artifice of their academic separation, were made late in the history of pre-Hispanic Peru (ca. 1000–1450 CE). Bonavia’s rupestrian suggestion provides only a partial explanation for the beginnings of mural art, which can be seen to have had more complex origins. KOTOS H

1.6. Rock painting at Toquepala, Peru. Replica by Pedro Rojas Ponce.

Writing in the 1980s, Bonavia identified the earliest mural paintings in ancient Peru as isolated figures on the walls of the Late Preceramic temple architecture at Kotosh.19 In the early 1960s, a team of archaeologists from the University

1.7. Paintings on rock and masonry of a mausoleum, Puente Utcubamba, Chachapoyas. Drawing from Langlois, “Utcubamba,” fig. 41.

M ural Origins and Coastal Corporealitie s  • 37

of Tokyo had excavated wide tracts of ancient architecture at Kotosh, near the city of Huánuco in Peru’s central highlands.20 They recorded small images of a stylized serpent and the upper body of a person (figure 1.8a–d), which had been painted within some of the earliest Mito-phase temples dating to about 1950 BCE.21 These images were made by daubing white pigment onto the pale earthen surfaces of the buildings, creating very low contrast between figure and ground. The half figure was a smudged silhouette, just twelve centimeters in height, set between two niches within the Templo Blanco (ER-27). Its arms were raised, one bent over the head, perhaps mimicking the devotional gestures of those who long ago entered the temple. Nearby, along a twisting stairway at the northeast corner of the Templo de las Manos Cruzadas (UR-22), the archaeologists recorded a slightly larger drawing of a stylized serpent that was formed with a single white line. Within that temple they recorded other miniscule images of animals at either side of a large niche on the north wall.22 These white figural markings qualified as mural paintings only in the narrowest sense of the term. Neither their isolated placement nor their scale indicated that they belonged to planned pictorial programs. They appeared to be additive, perhaps spontaneous, marks made on the otherwise smooth surfaces of the plastered walls. In this sense, they were in fact more like pictographs—their white color and intimate size reminiscent of rock art at Toquepala (compare to figure 1.6), their subject matter also recalling rock art near Huánuco and farther afield in the Andes.23 Although Bonavia did not discuss these affinities in his book, the figures at Kotosh were exactly what one might expect of a transposition from rock face to wall face. The white pigment may have been the same material that builders used when they interred the architecture and prepared the area for new construction (see figure 1.8c). If so, the same people might have marked the walls with these images just prior to that interment, as a step in the process of the temple’s closure, not as part of its original decoration. Where there was a planned program of mural art at Kotosh was in the sculpted clay reliefs that gave the Templo de las Manos Cruzadas its name (figure 1.9a–c). With his exclusive attention to flat painting, Bonavia omitted discussion of these equally ancient images in his survey of mural painting. The pairs of crossed hands (really, crossed forearms) set beneath narrow niches within the temple have become iconic in Andean archaeology.24

38 • IMAGE EN COUNTE RS

The placement of the arms (right over left, left over right) and their slight difference in size (one slightly bigger) have led to various interpretations of binary symbolism of gender,25 cosmology, or social organization based on sixteenth-century models of Andean moieties.26 Nowhere, however, did the sculptors of Kotosh mark the sex, gender, or other aspects of social identity of the inferred body of either set of arms. Nor is it certain that the difference in size was intentional, or that the reversed placement of the arms was symbolic—and not aesthetic—in their mirrored symmetry.

a

b

c

d 1.8a–d. Small white figure with raised arms, as seen between the niches on the south wall of the Templo Blanco at Kotosh. Photographs courtesy of Yoshio Onuki.

a

b

c

1.9a–c. The two pairs of crossed forearms discovered at Kotosh in 1960 (left, destroyed by 1963) and 1963 (right, removed the same year).

The reliefs appeared below niches on the north wall of the Templo de las Manos Cruzadas. Photographs courtesy of Yoshio Onuki.

Although much has been written about the possible binary symbolism of the “crossed hands,” little has been said about other effects that these reliefs may have had as they would have been encountered within the temple. Within one of the niches, the archaeologists found fragmentary animal bones (llama or deer, and guinea pig).27 The placement of headlike objects—gourds, baskets, clay sculptures, or even real curated heads of ancestors or vanquished foes—within the niches would have created more complete, though still fragmentary, bodily images. The lifesize proportions of the arms and the smoothed contours of the modeling of their flesh added to their mimetic effect.

The Kotosh reliefs simulated human presences (be they living or dead), even in their bodily fragmentation. In their fragile earthen materials, the reliefs evoked the vulnerability of human bodies. Before the temple was covered over and the Templo de los Nichitos was constructed above it, the builders of Kotosh brought in black sand to bury the sculptures before the entire structure was “entombed,”28 thereby ensuring their preservation for what would be nearly four thousand years.29 As an early highland center with significant mural art, Kotosh was unusual. Its artists’ embrace of clay relief was more typical of coastal practices. Other highland sites

Mural Origins and Coastal Corporeali ties • 39

might also have once been settings for similar works that either have not survived or have not been unearthed. The builders of Kotosh were not the only ones to practice temple “entombment” in the Andean highlands, as subsequent work by the Tokyo project and others has demonstrated.30 Given the extent of that practice, one would expect that traces of other images would have been found in other excavations of highland temples, had they existed. If very early clay reliefs were made elsewhere in the Andean highlands but quickly perished, they could not have constituted the same long-lasting, proximate source for cultural memory—to be seen, returned to, and reencountered—as their coastal analogues. Material transience may not have allowed for the same reflexive, at times archaizing, traditions of mural art found on the arid coast, where conditions favor subterranean preservation of vulnerable media. To date, Kotosh stands alone as an unusual highland manifestation of earthen relief in the Preceramic Andes. HUACA V E NTARR Ó N

The mural art of Kotosh is no longer the oldest-known example in the ancient Andes. Sculpted and painted images that are even older have been found at coastal sites like Huaca Ventarrón, located in the Lambayeque region of northern Peru. Although the temple’s matching pair of mural paintings of deer caught in a net, made around 2000 BCE, have garnered the most attention, the more ancient works of mural art were images of fish and a small marsupial that artists sculpted on the temple walls around 2300 to 2035 BCE.31 At Huaca Ventarrón, as in many of the earliest coastal settings, clay modeling preceded flat painting in mural art. The Preceramic temple of Huaca Ventarrón was built and rebuilt several times over the course of centuries. Beginning with its original foundation on bedrock, the temple contained an interior hearth with a circular chimney. Builders later added an earthen bench to the hearth. On its vertical face, archaeologists found an earthen relief of a pair of fish, about forty-five centimeters high, sculpted from clay with grass inclusions (figure 1.10).32 One of the fish appeared head up and the other head down. They may have been part of a larger program of relief sculpture that has not survived. As for the reliefs of Kotosh, subtle differences in the size and appearance of the two fish have been interpreted as symbolic, although it is not clear if those differences were intentional or not.33 Elsewhere within the temple interior, another animal, about twenty-nine

40 • IMAG E E NCOUNTERS

1.10. Pair of fish modeled in clay on a bench near the large hearth

within Huaca Ventarrón. Photograph courtesy of Ignacio Alva.

centimeters high, was modeled in clay with faint traces of yellow paint (figure 1.11). The life-size image of what archaeologist Ignacio Alva has identified as a zarigüeya (a type of opossum) appeared on the temple wall in the space between a rounded bench and the vertical imprint of a wooden post that would have supported a roof or canopy.34 The creature was formed with an exaggerated snout, open mouth, round eye, upright ears, and downturned tail. Like the deer painted in the temple’s later murals (figure 1.12), it was also rendered with a hook-shaped line that descended from the throat and terminated near the creature’s lower back. A similar curved line appeared within the body of a zarigüeya in the petroglyphs of nearby Cerro Mulato.35 The line may have referenced the digestive tract or the female marsupial’s pouch. These earliest images at Huaca Ventarrón appeared immediately next to the covered seat (or throne) and along the hearth’s bench, both important sites within the lived space of the temple. They would have been within arm’s reach of—perhaps even sculpted by—whoever sat upon the seat and whoever tended the temple fire. In his

1.11. Small animal (zarigüeya, “opossum”) modeled in clay near a bench within the earliest phase of Huaca Ventarrón. Photograph courtesy

of Ignacio Alva.

1.12. The west deer mural within Huaca Ventarrón. Photograph courtesy of Ignacio Alva.

M ural Origins and Coastal Corporealitie s  • 41

1.13. Reconstruction of Huaca Ventarrón in its second architectural phase. Image by Manuel Olivos, courtesy of Ignacio Alva.

discussion of these early clay figures, Alva likened them to petroglyphs.36 But those affinities are limited to iconography and do not extend to facture. The petroglyphs were made through subtractive processes that exposed the lighter and brighter color of unoxidized stone below the surface. These earthen reliefs were formed through an additive practice of building up the images from surfaces of the walls. Modeling the creatures in clay—especially at their own natural life size, produced a more supple, organic form of bodily likeness. When the early temple of Huaca Ventarrón was decommissioned, a new temple was built directly over the first. Its exterior was incised with a broad zigzagging band and painted white and red, perhaps suggesting the mouth of a jaguar or caiman. The builders also created an adjacent room on a ground plan reminiscent of what is known as the Andean cross (chacana)—the building itself was

42 • IMAGE EN COUNTE RS

a monumental earthen sculpture—with walls painted in broad areas of red, blue-gray, yellow, and white. The extraordinary saturation of color that covered the walls of the temple, in this phase and in the green and white exterior of its subsequent phase, distinguish Huaca Ventarrón within what is known of Preceramic architecture.37 Within the second temple, artists created two L-shaped murals, nearly mirror images that framed a low platform to create a proscenium-like space at the front of the earthen riser (figure 1.13).38 Both murals bore images of running deer painted with legs drawn up toward their elongated bodies. A pale gray line—similar to the internal form of the zarigüeya—descended from the neck of each creature, passing through the abdomen, and then turned sharply toward the front of the belly. Seen on the deer, this line was certainly not a marsupial pouch. It might have alluded to digestive organs of the body or, perhaps more likely given

its appearance across species, each of these visceral lines may have represented the inner vitality of the depicted creatures, without reference to specific anatomy.39 The muralists of Huaca Ventarrón used broad strokes of black, gray, and white to create the images of the deer over a black net that they drew over an energetic background of colorful stripes. They painted vertical yellow lines at the edges of the panels and along the inner corners. Diagonal yellow lines—mostly unmarked by the black net—connected the verticals. These yellow elements can be interpreted as the posts and stretchers of a frame, constructed of cane or wood, across which the polychromatic span of a net appeared as if it had been mounted. The diagonal stretchers and the weave of the textile rose from right to left in the west mural, and from left to right in

the east mural. Their symmetry would have drawn the eye to the center of the dais, which was framed by the corner murals like the wings of a stage. These dynamic paintings would have served as a dramatic framing for the platform, for the individuals or things that occupied that privileged space, and for the actions that occurred there. Imagery of deer hunting—often seen alongside similar nets stretched on rigid frames as traps in the landscape— was a frequent subject on Moche ceramics painted more than two thousand years later.40 In that later tradition, both deer hunting and sea lion clubbing were metaphors for military combat and for the taking of political prisoners on the battlefield.41 Although Moche rhetoric of deer hunting as military metaphor cannot be projected back to 2000 BCE on the basis of iconographic similitude alone,

1.14. View of the west deer mural of Huaca Ventarrón from above, revealing the presence of its interior posts. Photograph courtesy of

Ignacio Alva.

M ural Origins and Coastal Corporealitie s  • 43

the prominent placement of these images of deer flanking the platform suggests that these were also cogent symbols related to institutions of authority at Huaca Ventarrón.42 The prominence of the vibrant nets in these murals attests to long-standing affinities between textiles and mural designs, which can be seen here to have begun by 2000 BCE, and which continued to varying degrees throughout the history of mural art in pre-Hispanic Peru and the Spanish colonial period.43 Among the earliest art forms in South America, cotton textiles decorated with both geometric and figural imagery were uncovered in Late Preceramic contexts of about 2500 BCE at Huaca Prieta.44 Utilitarian textiles, including fishing nets, have been found at a number of very early coastal sites as well. Textiles have been afforded a special place in Andean studies, both for the antiquity of their production and for their roles as bearers of symbolic imagery and as materializations of wealth.45 It is not surprising, then, that textile designs often dictated the appearance of mural art. But in this very early example, the woven pattern was a backdrop—perhaps a trap—for the leaping bodies of the deer, not the primary decorative form. The imagery of these early murals did not exist only at the surface. The internal structures of the walls were also registered in the painted images. The lateral panels of both corner murals were painted directly onto the temple wall. The supports for the medial panels, however, were separate architectural elements: thin walls built along the platform, perpendicularly abutting the temple walls. The painted imagery wrapped around the edge of each jamb, calling attention to the physicality of the mural support (see figure 1.12). This dimensionality created an appearance of portable, perishable furniture—movable screens of stretched fabric—made permanent in earthen form. The inner form of vertical posts within the medial panels was visible from above in the excavations (figure 1.14). The builders at Huaca Ventarrón had set a row of slender posts into the ground and packed them with earth and clay. The concealed posts were then referenced by the vertical yellow lines painted on the surfaces of the murals. In a practice parallel to the much later use of bone as armature for bodily images at Huaca Cao Viejo, the form and the materiality of the inner structures were made manifest in the external images. The muralists of Huaca Ventarrón established an early precedent for recursion between exterior representation and interior materiality. Their work points to interests in underlying conceptualizations of image and form that

44 • IMAG E E NCOUNTERS

are also demonstrated in Preceramic murals made on the central coast at Buena Vista and Vichama. B UENA VISTA

Coastal artists created various kinds of images in mural art during the Late Preceramic period, but three-dimensional earthen forms—in relief, as well as in the round—were most consequential. At the site of Buena Vista in the Chillón Valley, archaeologists found a remarkable unpainted earthen sculpture of a circular head (more than a meter high) flanked by a pair of four-legged animals (figure 1.15). This sculpture within the Templo del Disco Amenazante has been dated to about 2030 BCE.46 The low sculpted wall was part of an unusual structure built within the temple. The sculptors formed the image of the “menacing disc” with mud mixed with grass temper, similar to the materials used in the early reliefs of Huaca Ventarrón. They smoothed a layer of clay over the rough surface to create the finished form.47 The round head was set between what the archaeologists identified as a pair of foxes. Based on the appearance of their upturned tails, these creatures might instead be interpreted as deer. Although the bodies of each creature faced the colossal head, their own heads turned away, as if to guard this strange orb from external threats. Two short walls extended from the front surface of the sculpture, at left and right, to form a shallow enclosure. The team that excavated the Disco Amenazante observed that it faced the west (294°), on axis with the setting sun of the winter solstice.48 The Buena Vista sculptors contoured the earthen head to form a sagging forehead hanging over the brow, hooding the vacant sockets of the eyes. They framed the downturned mouth within the lower recessed portion of the noseless face. Archaeologist Robert Benfer has interpreted the face as a mask;49 as the earth, moon, sun, or a mythical being;50 and also as a dualistic manifestation of the sun and the moon.51 The alignment with the hibernal solstice supports a solar association,52 but the hooded eyes and the fallen mouth do not convey the image of a vibrant, radiant being, but rather a death’s head. Celestial associations must be paired with attention to the appearance of the sculpture as a lifeless head without a body: a severed head. In ancient South American visual culture generally, the bodiless heads of ancestors were often understood as metaphoric seeds of renewal.53 The heads of enemies were sometimes taken as trophies. Not until the Spanish colonial period, though, were the sun or the moon widely depicted

1.15. The earthen sculpture of the Templo del Disco Amenazante at Buena Vista. Photograph courtesy of Robert Benfer.

as orbs with humanlike faces. Solar associations in the Buena Vista sculpture need to be understood with respect to this deathly imagery: the “deceased” sun (“blood sun,” cul xllang, in the Muchik language of the north coast),54 setting in midwinter, and poised for the renewal of the solar cycle that was about to commence. Other remarkable images have also been found at Buena Vista.55 Not far from the Disco Amenazante, archaeologists located the remains of an earthen sculpture in high relief of a life-size human figure blowing a shell trumpet or whistle (ocarina).56 The lively sculpture of the musician was positioned near the rear entrance to the temple,57 seated on a bench to imitate the posture of a living person. Within the earlier Templo del Zorro (ca. 2200 BCE), artists created images of superimposed creatures wrapping around doorjambs (figure 1.16a and b). The archaeologists interpreted the smaller animal as a fox, incised within the painting of a larger animal, which they identified as a llama.58 The curve of the smaller creature’s lower body and tail followed the shape of the larger animal’s swollen abdomen. Benfer interpreted the image as a fox nestled within the uterus of a llama, both of which he linked to later Andean myths and constellations. Nowhere

else in ancient visual culture or later myths, though, is this interspecies procreation attested. Instead of a fox, the incised animal might more plausibly have been a llama fetus depicted in utero, especially since the feet of the creature were rendered not as the padded paws of a fox, but instead as the hooflike ungulate toes of a llama. The mother and gestating offspring could alternatively have been deer, which also have similar feet. What Benfer identified as the curved tail of the fox might have been based on observations of the umbilicus or embryonic tail of early mammalian gestation.59 The pregnant animal pictured on the doorjamb at Buena Vista demonstrated the ancient artist’s clever choice in pairing techniques to present the relationship between the bodies of mother and fetus. They painted the mother in white and red. The paint of the image rested upon the surface of the wall, outlining the external shape of her body. They chose to render the image of the fetus, however, by carving into the clay-plastered surface of the wall. The recessed lines conveyed depth and interiority. Paint and incision were used in concert to distinguish the forms of the two bodies, as well as to convey their intimate corporeal relationship. The wall became the matrix for visualizing

M ural Origins and Coastal Corporealitie s  • 45

a

b

1.16a and b. Mural of the pregnant quadruped at Buena Vista. (a) Photograph courtesy of Robert Benfer. (b) Drawing by Ann Bolin, based on the tracing made by Bernardino Ojeda.

both the exteriority of bodily surface and the interiority of visceral depths in this very early instance of mural art on the ancient Pacific coast. V I C HA MA

The most unusual group of Preceramic earthen friezes yet known in ancient South America has recently been unearthed by Ruth Shady and her team of archaeologists working at the site of Vichama (ca. 1800–1500 BCE), located in the Huara Valley, south of the very early monumental center of Caral.60 At Vichama, rows of human bodies were sculpted in high relief on two tiers of a stepped temple (Edificio Principal, Sector A).61 Fourteen figures on the lower register were sculpted at natural human scale (1.3 m tall with their knees bent). Sixteen figures on the upper register were rendered at a smaller scale (0.8 m tall), perhaps reduced in size to exaggerate the perspectival effect of the temple’s height to beholders looking up from the patio below. Some of the upper figures were depicted as alive: their eyes open, mouths wide, and hands grasping their faces and bodies in distress (figure 1.17). Some tugged at the hollow cavities of their emaciated abdomens.

46 • IMAG E E NCOUNTERS

The bodies of others were inverted. Sex differentiation was indicated in some figures, where loincloths were visible (possibly indicating their role as swimmers) and male genitalia were made apparent. In this upper register, a pair of fish were sculpted head down, one at either side of the central staircase. The lower tier of figures lacked the same diversity of gesture and expression. The pathos of the men above was replaced by a somber consistency of splayed bodies (arms raised, knees bent) with visible ribs, closed eyes, and slack mouths. Lifeless figures took the place of the emotive bodies. These corpses were flanked on left and right by animate skeletons, also sculpted in high relief. They appeared to survey the deathly scene, each with a hand raised to the mouth signaling vocalization. Within a later courtyard at the top of the same building at Vichama, Shady’s team unearthed an exceedingly strange clay relief of a large amphibian-like creature with dark stone eyes and human hands (figure 1.18).62 Unlike the friezes of human figures, which were directed outward from the temple’s tiers, this sculpture addressed the interior. The ancient sculptor created the frog-like creature so that it appeared to emerge from the wall, feeling its way

1.17. Earthen frieze of human figures near a staircase within the Edificio Principal (second phase) at Vichama, Sector A. Photograph by

Norman Córdova, courtesy of Editora Perú.

1.18. Frog-like creature and zigzag crack sculpted on the wall of an upper courtyard within the Edificio Principal (third phase) at Vichama,

Sector A. Photograph by Norman Córdova, courtesy of Editora Perú.

M ural Origins and Coastal Corporealitie s  • 47

onto the floor of the courtyard with its large anthropomorphic hands.63 Its head seemed to break through the base of the wall, causing the sculpted zigzag tear to form above it. The wall bulged at the eruption of the creature’s head and hands, in a sophisticated sculptural play on figure and ground. More recently, archaeologists excavated a separate structure at Vichama with related friezes (Edificio de los Depósitos, Sector K).64 Within that structure, they had found the intentional burial of two heads from painted, unfired clay figures that had been wrapped in a textile decorated with featherwork.65 Within a room inside this structure, sculptors decorated the wall with four human heads with closed eyes and a pair of undulating serpents that converged upon a central motif that resembled a human hand carved with a face, which Shady has identified as an anthropomorphic seed (figure 1.19). At some point in the deep past, the entryway to that room was sealed and a sculptor created another relief of a wideeyed creature emerging from the wall to descend upon the image of a lifeless human head. The principal creature,

whose elbows extended beyond the edges of the sealed doorway, may have been the same uncanny amphibious being sculpted in the patio of the Edificio Principal. Although the medium of unpainted earthen relief was widespread in Preceramic coastal art, the iconography of Vichama is unlike any other. The reliefs of Vichama suggest associations with the propitiation of rain, as symbolized by the watery environs of the fish and the amphibious creature, which was capable of moving between water and land as well as between planes of representation. The context for this imagery may have been drought and famine, as represented by the suffering human bodies,66 or possibly warfare, although the distressed and deceased bodies are intact, not violently dismembered. The earthen medium provided Vichama’s artists with broad creative possibilities, especially for the representation of bodies—living, dying, deceased, and preternatural. The ancient mural artists did not create images of subjects within virtual surfaces of pictorial representation but rather presented bodily forms as sculpted presences occupying and entering into the spaces of the living.

1.19. Recently revealed reliefs within the Edificio de los Depósitos at Vichama, Sector K. Photograph courtesy of Josué Ramos.

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1.20. Julio C. Tello with the earthen feline sculpture on the monumental staircase at Punkurí. Archivo Tello, Museo de Arqueología y

Antropología de la Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos, Lima, XI B57 P9 F2 68.

The existence of the suffering and no-longer-suffering figures was made immediate, palpable, and permanent. Their tangible clay bodies may have served as commemoration, warning, or threat. The peculiar form of the froglike creature and its human hands, emerging in high relief, appeared to break the surface of the wall. With this artwork the ancient sculptor broke open—or, perhaps more in keeping with the nature of Preceramic mural art more broadly, demonstrated the inexistence of—the conceptual membrane dividing representation and reality. P UN KUR Í A ND CERRO SEC H ÍN

No assessment of Preceramic mural art could be complete without consideration of Punkurí and Cerro Sechín, located in the Nepeña and Casma Valleys of Peru’s north-central coast. These sites may date to as early as 2400 to 2100 BCE,67 although some scholars assign them to a later period after 1800 BCE.68 The mural art of Punkurí was especially diverse and included flat painting, painted earthen relief, and adobe sculpture made almost completely in the

round.69 The most important sculpture there may have been the snarling feline that was integrated into the temple’s monumental staircase (figure 1.20).70 The meter-anda-half-high sculpture was built of three blocks of adobe that were carved and then finished with modeled clay: the head at top and, below, two halves of the torso with the front paws raised and claws bared. The body of the feline was painted in light green, white, black, and red. It seemed to spring, as if leaping in attack, from the center of the temple stairs. The Punkurí feline was an antecedent to later Formative-period images of wild creatures in temples, like the large feline reliefs at nearby Huaca Partida.71 Meanwhile in the Casma Valley, at the end of the Preceramic period and in the centuries that followed, mural artists were creating different kinds of images at Cerro Sechín, at other sites within the Sechín Alto complex,72 and elsewhere.73 Cerro Sechín was a particularly important place for mural art.74 It is best known for its vast array of violent images of warriors and slain victims that were carved in low relief onto more than three hundred monoliths set

M ural Origins and Coastal Corporealitie s  • 49

1.21. Carved monoliths set along the temple exterior at Cerro Sechín (restored). Photograph by the author.

into the facade of the principal structure (figure 1.21).75 Bodies torn asunder, severed heads, disarticulated limbs (including crossed forearms), organs, spinal columns, and lines of disembodied eyes adorned the stone facades of the temple. This display of bodily violence was pitched at an intensity that was unparalleled in the region. But what is not as well known is that, prior to the creation of this masonry-faced building and its grim scenes of violence and death, the temple had been made of adobe and was arrayed with earthen images.76 The earlier earthen temple at Cerro Sechín was painted with flat images of two large felines. They bared their claws and seemed poised to pounce at the entrance to the sanctuary.77 Within the atrium, archaeologists discovered adobe pillars (1.3 m wide) with polychrome earthen relief. The pillars were badly eroded, and only two retained traces of decoration. On one, the archaeologists recorded the inverted upper body of a human in mid fall, with eyes shut and the top of the skull broken open (figure 1.22). Three long streams of blood flowed from the wounded head and wrapped around the tumbling figure. The gray-blue color of the flesh suggested deathly pallor, a strong contrast to the red edge of the mortal wound. In a later renovation of the temple, artists transformed the mural program to include

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two enormous fish (3.6 m long) in polychrome relief, one at either side of the staircase. The shape of their large lower jaws indicated a carnivorous species.78 From its earliest design then, the temple at Cerro Sechín was emblazoned with images of ferocious creatures and violence done to human bodies. The images in stone that are visible on site today were based on earthen antecedents. As at Kotosh, Huaca Ventarrón, Buena Vista, Vichama, and Punkurí, it was adobe and clay that were the more consequential materials for early mural art, which at Cerro Sechín was only later translated into more durable, lithic form. ASS ESS ING PRECERA MIC MU RA L ART

What this assessment of the Preceramic corpus reveals is that, from its very beginnings, mural art was a dynamic medium of expression wherein clay relief and volumetric earthen sculpture were of paramount importance. Flat wall painting was rare in the earliest contexts. Many of the first murals—the crossed arms at Kotosh, the fish and marsupial at Huaca Ventarrón, the musician at Buena Vista, the suffering and dying men at Vichama and Cerro Sechín— consisted of veristically sculpted images of human and animal bodies presented at their natural life scale. These earliest examples demonstrate that mural art cannot simply be

1.22. Replica of the earthen pillar with clay relief depicting an inverted human figure, from the earlier adobe temple at Cerro Sechín.

Photograph by the author.

M ural Origins and Coastal Corporealitie s  • 51

explained as a successor to rock art. Rather, the creative diversity of the earliest murals of the Pacific coast (and rare examples from the Andean highlands) had more complex origins: they often emerged from the observation and recreation of living—and no longer living—bodies. Although, as I show in chapter 4, practices of marking walls with small drawn or scratched images—like the white figures at Kotosh, which were akin to pictographs or petroglyphs transposed to architectural surfaces—remain significant to archaeo-iconological study and suggest a meaningful and enduring counterpoint to more formal practices of mural making. Just as important as the primacy of relief is the observation of ancient artists’ masterful handling of materials to express nuanced conceptualizations of interiority and exteriority. Even ostensibly flat murals—the murals of the deer hunt at Huaca Ventarrón and Buena Vista’s nested images of the pregnant animal and her fetus—evidenced consideration of inner forms and outer appearances. Ancient play with interiority and exteriority was perhaps most ingenious in Vichama’s uncanny amphibian sculpture and its clever conceit of breaking the wall’s plane of representation to enter the space of the living. As “meta-images,” these works represented their subjects while simultaneously calling attention to their own existence as images.79 These Preceramic images offered a range of precedents for the choices that Moche artists at Huaca Cao Viejo would later make to render the pathos of prisoners in clay relief and to build other figures on inner structures that were conceptually and materially contiguous with their external forms. By looking to the profound antiquity of the coast, instead of only to the later histories of the Incas, Moche muralists can be appreciated as having participated in a deeper history of image making. IN TERLUDE : TH E V ITA LIT Y O F   CL AY B EFO RE T H E K ILN

At Preceramic centers, artists used clay to create reliefs and earthen sculpture as well as to make smaller handheld objects. Unfired clay figurines have been recovered at many Preceramic sites, including those discussed here and elsewhere, both on the Pacific coast and in the Andean highlands. That is, before clay became a material for making vessels, it was a medium of artistic expression and sculptural representation. Instead of ceramics, these early communities used gourds, baskets, and both wooden and stone bowls. In their uses of clay, artistry preceded utility.

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The earliest-known examples of clay figurines in ancient Peru came from a cache within Huaca de los Ídolos, dating to about 3000 to 2500 BCE, at the site of Áspero in the Supe Valley of central coastal Peru.80 Within the Templo Blanco at Kotosh, archaeologists also found unfired clay artifacts, including small sculptures of vaguely human forms, a fruit, and a small, gourd-shaped bowl.81 At Caral, Miraya, Vichama, and related sites in the area, Shady and her team demonstrated that the creation of unfired clay figurines was a widespread practice during the third millennium BCE.82 These small, expressive clay bodies were carefully sculpted and brightly painted, sometimes with ornate clothing, hairstyles, and facial decoration. Other examples of small raw clay figures have been found at early sites such as Bandurría, Río Seco de León, and El Paraíso.83 In coastal Chile, too, unfired clay figurines have been recovered from cultural contexts that predate the advent of ceramic technology.84 Figurines were, of course, one of the earliest and most widespread forms of image making in many places in the Americas and worldwide.85 What is unusual is the enduring valence of unfired figurines and clay sculpture on the coast of Peru and Chile. These small handheld sculptures of human figures in clay (i.e., figurines) seem to have had distinct semiotic efficacy. Many have been found in fragmented form, sometimes intentionally snapped in two or with their limbs removed. At Caral, Shady has interpreted the breaking of these dried clay bodies as a form of material offering that substituted for human sacrifice.86 At Áspero, Feldman hypothesized that the clay figurines of Huaca de los Ídolos had been deliberately broken and placed in the cache as a form of “symbolic human interment” that paralleled the burial of sacrificed humans in Huaca de los Sacrificios.87 The diminutive bodies of the figurines seem to have been “killed” like—or as proxies for—real living beings. The perceived commensurability of unfired clay and living flesh appears to have been at work in these acts of equivalency. Another ancient tradition that used clay to render human flesh, but may seem at first an unlikely point of comparison, is the life-size sculptures of human bodies that communities on the coast of southern Peru and northern Chile made long before the advent of ceramic technology. The Chinchorro “mummies” of the Atacama Desert, from Ilo in the north to Antofagasta in the south, date to about 5050 to 1100 BCE.88 Mummies might seem quite incomparable to murals, but many of these preserved bodies can also be described as human mortuary sculptures, built of clay, ash,

and organic materials upon the armatures of reinforced skeletons of the dead. As such, these mummies blurred the line between bodies and objects, and can be understood to have been “in conversation”89 with clay figurines and figural reliefs. The Chinchorro mummies offer a productive point of comparison for the beginnings of image making and for the affective capacity of sculptural corporeality on the ancient Pacific coast of Peru and Chile. They represent the earliest-known evidence of intentional mummification in the world, predating more famous Egyptian examples by more than two thousand years. The Chinchorro mummies differed from later practices of mummification in northwestern South America,90 including imperial Inca practices.91 Men, women, children, and even fetuses were mummified in Chinchorro communities.92 In fact, this practice seems to have begun with children, perhaps as a community response to loss of life in its vibrant state of potential. The early mummies were both mobile and social. They were repainted and repaired, which suggests that

they were kept with the living, maintaining relationships with families and communities, and were later interred in groups that may have reflected kinship.93 The early “black mummies,” created from about 5000 to 2800 BCE, involved the most radical transformations of the bodies of the dead and the most sculptural (figure 1.23). In this tradition, the bodies of the dead were entirely rebuilt. The skin of the deceased was removed with care and set aside. Then the morticians removed all of the soft tissue from the skeleton, which they reinforced with slender wooden branches tied to the bones with cords to create a rigid frame. Then the body of the ancestor was remade with white-ash clay paste, its cavities filled with fiber and vegetal materials. The morticians covered the renewed body with its own skin, or sometimes with the skin of sea lions or other animals, before adding a wig of hair. The ancestor’s face and other external body parts like breasts and genitals were sculpted on the surface. The face and body were then painted with the dark blue-black manganese that gives these mummies their name.94 This practice

1.23. Chinchorro “black mummy” (T1C1), 3500–3000 BCE, 103 cm × 28 cm. Recovered from the Morro 1 cemetery, northern Chile. Museo

Arqueológico San Miguel de Azapa, Universidad de Tarapacá. © Design Pics Inc.

M ural Origins and Coastal Corporealitie s  • 53

was not designed to maximize the anatomical integrity of the bodies of the deceased. The intent appears instead to have been to re-create the outward appearance, volume, and weight that the ancestor had had in life, while keeping the inner structure of the bones and the (now-painted) surface of skin. These images of the deceased were built directly from the remains of the individuals themselves. The effect is similar to that of the clay-plastered skulls of ancient Jericho, or Çatalhöyük, except that in South America the entire body of the dead was “enfleshed,”95 not just the head, and remade in its own image as an “auto-icon.”96 In the millennia that followed, communities of southcoastal Peru and north-coastal Chile continued to transform the bodies of deceased family members, but without the complete breakdown and then rebuilding of the body. By about 1700 BCE, those earlier methods were replaced by the “mud-coated” mummies. In this practice, little modification was made to the bodies themselves. Instead, they were covered with a heavy mixture of clay, sand, and binder that made them immobile and that fixed them in place. The encased bodies “seem to have been glued to the floor of the grave pit, as if the mudlike cement had been spread onto the floor of the grave as well as on the mummy.”97 Similar practices of covering the bodies of the dead with ash that hardened and cemented them into place have been recorded for early sites like Huaca Prieta and La Paloma in coastal Peru.98 Remarkably, in some places within the later Moche world—at Dos Cabezas and La Mina, both in the Jequetepeque Valley—the dead were also encased in their tombs within a layer of refined clay, several centimeters thick, that hardened “like an egg shell.”99 Fixed in place with clay and binder, these bodies were no longer social beings that moved through the world of the living. They had become mortuary monuments. That is, at the same time that mural artists in the north were using clay and binder to render the bodies of both the living and the dead on temple walls, morticians in the south were using the same materials to transform their dead into mummies that were “architectural,” in a loose sense of being fixed in place within their graves. Sculpted murals and immobile mummies were coeval traditions along the Pacific coast during the Preceramic period, which, like the Neolithic elsewhere, can be thought of as an “age of clay.”100 Sculptural corporeality ran throughout much of the early art from the Pacific coast of this region. This tendency can also be illuminating for thinking through ancient human

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subjectivity and embodied consciousness. The “looking [bodies] of the living”101 would have seen reflections of their own mortal embodied existence in the plastic bodies of these mummies and murals. The prevalent media of an era and the images they produce shape how individuals form their own subjective senses of self. Ancient equivalencies of clay medium and human body may have generated a phenomenology similar to Maurice Merleau-Ponty’s idea of “flesh” as the dialectical “intertwining” of world and self, of the sensible and the sensate, of touching and the tangible.102 This sensitivity to clay and flesh—clay as flesh, and flesh as medium—found a literary voice on the north coast of Peru in the early twentieth century in the poet José Eulogio Garrido. In describing imagined passages and perambulations through the adobe architecture of the ancient imperial capital of Chan Chan, which he punctuated with hallucinatory encounters with the solar deity and world maker Xllang, Garrido called upon the same material equivalencies, writing: “I run my hand along a wall . . . I touch it . . . I touch it . . . I touch it . . . It is cool and smooth; it feels like nubile flesh.”103 And then, in a subsequent “vision,” as if giving voice to earlier millennia: “I am, once again, at last, fragile clay . . .”104 CU PIS NIQ U E, MANCH AY, AND CH AVÍ N MURA L ART (CA . 1 2 0 0 –4 0 0 BCE)

The equivalencies of flesh and clay in ancient coastal image making formed what I refer to as ancestral corporeality. The presentation of bodies of the living and the dead in earth and clay represented a broadly shared foundation for coastal communities from what are today Peru and Chile during the era of about 5000 to 1600 BCE. Over the centuries that followed, bodily sculptures accumulated additional cultural, religious, and political emphases. The scale of image practices also increased through this history, from the needs of families and kin groups, to those of larger communities with shared religious ideologies, to the demands of increasingly political worlds of elite competition and spectacle. After about 1200 BCE, mural artists began representing ferocious beings with increasing frequency as shared religious traditions became widespread on the north and central coast of Peru. Excavations at the late Paracas site of Ánimas Altas have revealed that this imagery extended to murals on the south coast as well.105 The religious and artistic traditions glossed as Cupisnique on the north

1.24. Sculpted pilaster within the temple atrium at Garagay. Only the avian feet of a creature that once stood atop the pilaster are visible

above the profile faces. Photograph by the author.

coast and Manchay along the central coast near Lima106 were related to but preceded those of the better-known highland center of Chavín de Huántar (ca. 900–500 BCE). Although Julio C. Tello had held up Chavín as a cultura matriz of Andean civilization—and an Indigenous cradle for Peruvian nationalism in the early twentieth century107— it is now clear that it was one of several important religious centers, not the singular point of origin.108 The art of Chavín de Huántar synthesized aspects of Pacific coastal, highland Andean, and lowland Amazonian visual culture and religious practice. Indeed, precedents for Chavín’s virtuosic relief sculptures on stone panels and monoliths can be found in earthen form on the coast. There is even some fragmentary evidence that mural painting and clay relief were the original media that decorated temple walls at Chavín de Huántar and that—as at Cerro Sechín—the mural programs were only later transferred to the carved stone panels and monoliths of the monumental center.109 At Garagay, in the Rímac Valley near Lima, artists masterfully sculpted and painted earthen reliefs of monstrous spiders, step-wave motifs, human figures, and snarling feline faces on the

walls and pilasters of the temple’s atrium (figure 1.24).110 Painted earthen friezes have also been found at Cardal and Manchay Bajo in the Lurín Valley.111 Salient aspects of these new art forms included the scaling-up of figures from life size to colossal,112 as well as thematic shifts to imagery of predators like pumas, jaguars, snakes, spiders, caimans, and raptors. The oversized presences of menacing creatures, sculpted and painted on temple walls during the period of about 1200 to 400 BCE, constituted a new form of coastal corporeality, wherein colossal predators threatened human subjects as prey.113 Their brutality may have been metaphoric of transformative religious experience, perhaps related to ancient forms of South American shamanism drawn from Amazonian practices,114 but their pictorial emphases were on physicality, ferocity, and bodily consumption. Flat mural paintings were also created during this era— for example, at Huacaloma115—but earthen relief predominated, just as it had during the Preceramic. The entirety of mural art created during these centuries, which some archaeologists refer to as the Initial Period or Early Horizon, is too vast to synthesize here, but some examples illustrate

M ural Origins and Coastal Corporealitie s  • 55

1.25. Julio C. Tello and Ryuzu Torii standing at the base of one of the

colossal earthen sculptures uncovered at Moxeke in 1937. Archivo Tello, Museo de Arqueología y Antropología de la Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos, Lima, IX C7 219.

salient developments in the medium. At the site of Pampa de las Llamas–Moxeke in the Casma Valley, Tello uncovered colossal earthen figures and massive sculpted heads that had been set into nearly four-meter-wide niches along the public facade of the temple of Moxeke (figure 1.25).116 He observed that the fragile earthen surfaces of the ídolos, as he called them, had been covered with various layers of clay and paint.117 Originally more than two meters high, the clay bodies of these enormous beings were by then completely destroyed above the shoulders. The extant figures

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and heads did not bear obvious predator attributes, but the cords of one’s garments were animated as serpents. The substitution of serpents for ropes, belts, and locks of hair was an iconographic convention for supranatural or otherworldly figures in Cupisnique and Chavín imagery that was later revived by Moche artists. Farther north, in the Moche Valley, archaeologists uncovered a series of colossal heads in the 1970s that had also been set into large niches on the facade of Huaca de los Reyes within the Cupisnique site of Caballo Muerto (figure 1.26).118 The heads and their placement resembled the earthen sculptures of Moxeke. At Caballo Muerto, the two-meter-wide heads had snarling feline faces. Related imagery appeared at other early coastal sites like Collud, near Huaca Ventarrón in the Lambayeque Valley, where walls were painted and sculpted in low relief with esoteric compositions of tangled bodies, fanged mouths, taloned feet, and at least one severed head with crossed fangs.119 At Huaca Partida, in the Nepeña Valley, archaeologist Koichiro Shibata documented painted clay friezes of raptors, winged figures, and felines.120 The masterfully sculpted body of a nearly three-meter-tall feline, which was marked with agnatic faces, was preserved in near-pristine condition (figure 1.27). The earthen architecture of this period and its colossal imagery have not received nearly as much archaeological or art historical attention as the celebrated monoliths of Chavín de Huántar, perhaps due to biases in favor of the “nobility” of stone over the “base” materials of earth and clay, despite the extraordinary creativity of plastic expression of ancient artists in the latter. After the end of the era of Cupisnique, Manchay, and Chavín, around 400 BCE, bonds that had formed through shared religious and cultural traditions weakened, and a new period of social and political conflict broke out. So, too, did the shared artistic traditions of the prior era come to an end, as did most investment in mural art within monumental architecture. In some places—for example, at Caylán in the Nepeña Valley—builders created geometric patterns in adobe and clay.121 At Chankillo, in the Casma Valley, the makers of the Temple of the Pillars sculpted textile-like images of abstracted faces in low relief on the walls of the courtyard.122 But, for the most part, the evidence suggests that communities did not create permanent mural programs again until about 200 CE at places like the Gallinazo Group in the Virú Valley,123 and then at the Moche huacas, with the return of greater social and political stability.

1.26. A colossal snarling head sculpted at Huaca de los Reyes, Caballo Muerto. Photograph courtesy of Carol J. Mackey.

COASTAL INH ERITANCE, CU PIS NI QUE RE VIVA L, AND MOC HE INVE NT I ON

Returning to the figural reliefs of Huaca Cao Viejo (see figures 1.1 to 1.5), we can now see in these friezes an accumulation of earlier coastal forms of corporeality, framed for new political effect. In the use of bone armatures for human figures we find an echo of the Chinchorro mortuary sculptures, as well as the explicit relationships between interiority and exteriority made manifest at Huaca Ventarrón, Buena Vista, and Vichama. We can locate ancient precedents in the lifelike sculpted clay bodies of these same sites, as well as at Punkurí, Cerro Sechín, and even Kotosh. The violence done to the sculpted clay bodies of the prisoners at Huaca Cao Viejo, whose legs and genitals had been slashed with blades, recalls the immolation of the much smaller clay figures at Áspero, Caral, and elsewhere, as if the images were surrogates for living human

1.27. Feline relief, 900–800 BCE, Huaca Partida, Nepeña Valley,

Peru. The body of the feline measures nearly three meters high; the rear half of its body has not been excavated. Photograph courtesy of Koichiro Shibata.

M ural Origins and Coastal Corporealitie s  • 57

1.28. One of the unfired clay effigies found smashed among human remains in Plaza 3A of the Old Temple at Huaca de la Luna. Photograph

courtesy of the Proyecto Arqueológico Huacas del Sol y de la Luna.

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captives.124 At the Moche center of Huaca de la Luna in the Moche Valley, archaeologists discovered dozens of unfired clay effigies of naked male prisoners smashed alongside the skeletal remains of young men who had also been violently dispatched (figure 1.28).125 These clay bodies and the bodies of living men were sacrificed in parallel, during what may have been a period of cataclysmic ENSO flooding. Near the western foot of the huaca, archaeologists recovered another unfired clay figure, with a red-painted face and inlaid bone eyes, that wore clay earspools and a strand of clay beads. They noted that the sculpture seemed to have been intentionally damaged and that it was found together with skeletonized remains of human body parts.126 This genealogical plumbing of clay’s uncanny plasticity, and of coastal artists’ capacities for working the medium into living likenesses—which were subjected at times to violence just like the living—recovers material resonances and traces of shared meaning through this history of art in deep time. The sculpted and painted facade of Huaca Cao Viejo shows us more about how Moche artists drew upon antecedent corporealities. If the clay flesh of the prisoners and the bones of the officials invoked the ancestral corporeality of Preceramic image making, the monstrous spiders wielding knives revealed something else.127 They evidenced a more proximate debt to the iconography and aggressive corporeality of ancient predators as artistic revival or conscious archaism.128 Moche artists reached back across centuries to Cupisnique and related traditions for visual reference to the past. Then as now, ancient monuments remained close to daily life in the form of standing architecture and ruins buried within the arid coastal landscape. Moche artists would undoubtedly have had opportunities to encounter Cupisnique art and architecture, despite the span of time and social history separating them. Like many later communities, Moche people returned to ancient sites to inter their dead and to make offerings. Pragmatically, too, in sourcing clay, molding earth into adobe bricks, digging canals, and tilling fields, they would have been in close contact with the remains of earlier eras that survived just below the surface. It should not be surprising that Cupisnique imagery appeared in Moche art. Although the dimensions of mural sculpture were reduced to a more human scale in the Moche era,129

artists meaningfully revived important aspects of earlier traditions. If the figural friezes at Huaca Cao Viejo exhibited a received inheritance of ancient coastal figuration, as well as more conscious revival of the aggressive predatory bodies of Cupisnique sculpture, a third form of bodily presentation was also on display. Here, more than before—more than with the ill-fated figures at Vichama, at least some of which appeared anatomically male—the sculpted figures were emphatically sexualized. The naked bodies of the marching prisoners were sculpted in a state of arousal. Perhaps the sculptors were referencing a physiological effect of engorgement from the ligature of the ropes that bound their necks, or the vasodilatory properties of consumed ulluchu,130 but in choosing to depict the genitals in this way, the artists created an image for the gaze of both martial and sexual domination. Embodied forms of masculinized political and sexual power are found throughout Moche art, including sexually explicit ceramics that tend to highlight the potency of the male body as vessel and the exaggerated phallus as spout.131 The paraded bodies of the prisoners at Huaca Cao Viejo appeared within the context of their political conquest, as well as their position as potential prey to the otherworldly arachnids that seemed to conspire with the ranks of human officials. The bodies of the stripped men appeared as male flesh to be consumed through battle—as political prisoners and perhaps as sexual objects132—and in an aftermath of human sacrifice—as foretold by the tumi knives clutched in supranatural hands above. The exposed, eroticized bodies of the Moche prisoners participated in a newly invented form of masculinized corporeality, which was presented in the mural program within the spectacle of warrior culture and biopolitical control. These three modes of coastal corporeality (ancestral presence, divine predation, and martial masculinity) can be seen as emerging out of different social settings and historical concerns—from Preceramic fishing communities, to the rise of monumental religious centers, to competing polities of the Moche era. This was certainly not, however, a linear evolution. This was an accumulation of compounding forms and meanings that came into being accretionally and palimpsestically through artistic practices along the interconnected corridor of the Pacific coast over more than two millennia.

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2.1. Reconstruction of the Mural Garrido at Huaca de la Luna. Each square of the mural measured about 74 × 72 cm. Lithograph after a

painting made by Pedro Azabache.

2.2. The dais and surrounding mural paintings within the upper platform of the Old Temple (Edificio BC) of Huaca de la Luna. Part of the

Mural Garrido is visible at right. Photograph by the author.

CHA P TER 2

FORMULATING TRADITIONS Ancestral Divinities, Norcosteño Design, and the Aesthetics of Replication in Moche Mural Art (200–650 CE)

A

t the summit of the Old Temple of Huaca de la Luna, leaders of the ancient city of Huacas de Moche once sat upon a stepped dais to receive visitors, accept offerings, or converse with members of their community.1 In the fifth and sixth centuries, the dais and its surroundings on the high platform would have been shaded beneath a ramada, with ornamental ceramic war clubs placed along the roofline.2 The seat of authority was surrounded by wall paintings. In what has come to be called the Mural Garrido,3 a profile figure was painted against the yellow ground (figure 2.1). The black volutes of the figure’s hair, which broke like waves along his headdress, identified him with other images of the fanged divinity of the temple,4 revived from earlier Cupisnique traditions. His arms transformed to end not in hands but in fox heads, while four curling appendages emanated from his torso as snakes. Slight variations in the painted figure—like the alternating use of blue and yellow for his tunic (figure 2.2)—were elided in the mid-twentieth-century lithograph,5 in which the sameness of the repeated image is overdetermined. Blue-gray squares alternated with the yellow. These were filled with an elaborate composite image: grimacing faces top and bottom, surrounded by swirling forms of catfish at each

corner with their double barbels,6 serpents, and seabirds, all of which framed a central white square and its four fully geometricized fish. A similar design preceded this painting and can be seen immediately behind the dais, where the later layer is now missing (figure 2.3). In that painting, the head of the divinity—with its bared teeth and double circle earspools—was the center point from which the bodies of seabirds took undulating form. These proliferative images of life forms were repeated with freehand precision within the structure of the grid to the steady beat of alternating colors.7 The paintings of the high platform invoked the pictorial aesthetics and sumptuous materiality of tapestry-woven textiles.8 Textiles and organic matter do not preserve as well on the north coast of Peru as they do on the south coast, or in the Atacama Desert of northern Chile. But where Moche textiles have been recovered, within the royal tombs of Sipán for example (figure 2.4),9 they frequently offer similarly stylized images of aquatic life composed through the geometric games of combination and conflation that weavers played on the loom, and that painters mimicked on walls (comparable in form, though not in content, to the “grotesque” in European decorative arts). Often, vertical and horizontal guidelines remained visible

61

2.3. Mural painting behind the dais of the Old Temple. Photograph by the author.

on painted walls—as, for example, in the even earlier painting of the divinity flanked by fox-headed snakes, which can be seen below the broken dais—where cords were stretched taut and pressed into the damp earthen surface, effecting the reticulation of warp and weft across the pictorial surface.10 There was great time depth to the close relationship between textiles and mural art in the central Andean region of South America.11 At times, large painted textiles and textiles that were meticulously covered with feathers were hung on the walls of buildings or tombs as woven murals.12 Mural art’s affinities to textile design began by about 2000 BCE at Huaca Ventarrón (see chapter 1), and were well established within communities of practice by the first centuries CE (see figures 0.13 and 0.14), to grow increasingly prominent in Moche, Chimú (see figure 0.7), and later Inca architecture (see figure 0.19). Textile practices informed Moche mural art during the early and middle period of about 200 to 650 CE in various

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ways. The relationship of textiles to murals in this region was not only one of emulation of the “source” material (woven fabric) in the “target” media (clay and paint).13 The creative logic of weaving had profound effects on mural art that were not limited to acts of cross-media imitation. Moche artists and their patrons combined images of their fanged divinities, drawn from a deeper coastal antiquity, with geometrically abstracted images of catfish, manta rays, and aquatic birds that had, by then, become recognizable as part of a shared tradition of coastal visual culture defined by textile practices.14 By combining the bodies of ancestral deities with the norcosteño forms of abstracted marine and riverine life, as seen around the dais of the Old Temple,15 Moche artists of this era joined two sets of affiliations: one with the past and the other with their neighbors in the present, as they established an image of ancestry and belonging. In this chapter, I argue that the combination of images

of menacing ancestral divinities with aspects of norcosteño textile design was a deliberate and consistent formulation in the mural art of Huacas de Moche, Huaca Cao Viejo, and other centers within the Moche world during this era. Although archaeologists have interpreted these centers as the sites of dramatic spectacles of human sacrifice, based on reconstructed ideas of a narrative sequence of ritualized combat, warrior capture, prisoner arraignment, exsanguination, and the offering of a goblet of blood to a high priest (the Warrior Narrative and Sacrifice Ceremony, see figure 3.36 a and b),16 it is important to observe that the ceramic imagery that has informed those interpretations postdated by centuries the foundation of these temples

and their mural programs. Although there is indubitable physical evidence of violence and sacrificial practices within the Old Temple and elsewhere,17 recourse to the modern orthodoxy of Moche iconographic studies, which has been dominated by attention to later fineline ceramic painting, does not adequately explicate what one sees in the murals of this earlier era. Imagery of the raising of goblets (their contents unspecified) only appeared in later mural programs from the seventh century on. Nor should one presume that what was depicted on the walls of the huacas was a mirror of lived reality; if anything, it was the projection of an ideal vision of the world that its makers desired to imagine or bring into being. What one finds in

2.4. Repeating pattern of a tapestry textile (Cs 9/9) from the burial of the Lord of Sipán. Illustration courtesy of Heiko Prümers.

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these mural programs is a compositional synthesis of menacing ancient divinities and coastal textile design, together with the exhibition of an aggressive masculinity tied to elite displays of martial might and biopolitical power. The work that images did varied from private to public spaces and with related shifts in visibility, proxemics, and praxis. Human processions constituted an important component of this tradition within the more public spaces of plaza, ramps, and facade. That subject continued, amplified, into later mural art practices after 650 CE. During this earlier period, artists formulated a visual culture that drew upon these claims to ancient tradition and coastal identity, and that demonstrated the centrality of repetition and multiplicity—fundamental aspects of the art of weaving—in what I refer to as the “aesthetics of replication.” Moche artists created replicated images through a number of technological means: not only on the loom but also in ceramic molds, and with forms used to shape sheet metal into objects.18 Rarely, though, did these replicative technologies increase the speed of “mass production.” In forming sculptural ceramic vessels from molds, for example, individual parts of the vessel were pressed separately and had to be combined by hand.19 The technological benefit does not seem to have been in time saved, but rather in the ability to create the “enchantment” of multiplicities of sameness.20 In these replications, the symbols and empowerment of the Moche elite could come to appear eternal and inevitable. The modularity of image making at the monumental scale of mural art was facilitated by standard units of measurement that derived from the consistent dimensions of the mold-made adobe bricks used in construction.21 But muralists did not use stencils for painting or press molds to shape clay relief. Although they often used cords to divide the pictorial space of the walls, artists incised, modeled, and painted the images without mechanical aids, even as the same figure was made and remade dozens or hundreds of times at monumental scale, from one era to the next. Colossal repetition within a mural—and the entire mural program’s replication from one era or place to another—was crafted almost entirely by hand. The resultant differences in the forms of one figure compared to another are easily overlooked at first glance and are utterly elided in the copy-paste of modern CAD illustrations (see figure 2.15). Although individual variations may have been imperceptible from a distance, or within a density of like images, it was a choice to forego the aid of technology for multitudinous repetition.

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By the aesthetics of replication, I refer to the effects of highly repetitious programs of imagery that had the capacity to inspire awe in their monumental creation and in their deliberate re-creations over centuries—even, at times, in the complete remaking of the image of one huaca over another. There are few singularities in Moche mural art of this era. Divinities, too, seem to have been understood to exist as multiple beings, sometimes manifested simultaneously (see introduction). Within this preindustrial, pre­ modern era of “mechanical reproduction,”22 the “aura” of the work of art23 may have been located not in singularity but in the encompassing totality of overwhelming multiplicity.24 The aesthetics of replication in this medium, then, would have encompassed the awesome potential in beholding the luxury of sumptuous textile designs transferred to durable form; the menacing potency of multitudes of fanged aggressors; the bodily might of the ranks of Moche elites with their humiliated foes who together populated the huacas in painted earthen form; and the ability of the center’s leaders to control the labor and the technological wherewithal to command colossal feats of programmatic replication across both space and time. H UACA DE LA LU NA’ S O LD TEMP LE

The ancient city of Huacas de Moche was founded between the banks of the lower Moche River and the slopes of a mountain called Cerro Blanco (figure 2.5). According to tales told in the neighboring community of Campiña de Moche, one day long ago two brothers discovered a small serpent and took it home.25 There it began to grow quickly. Fearing the voracious appetite of the creature (described in one account as two-headed), the boys tried to abandon it. But it followed them back to their village, consuming animals and people in its path. The villagers fled to Cerro Blanco. The mountain opened and rescued the people by allowing them to hide inside until the threat had passed. People say that the dark arc of rock on the side of Cerro Blanco was where the mountain had opened. The community then built Huaca de la Luna and Huaca del Sol to honor the mountain that had saved them from the monster. Nestled at the foot of Cerro Blanco, the stepped adobe platforms and enclosed plazas of Huaca de la Luna formed the religious core of the city (figure 2.6). Huaca de la Luna was not a single temple, but at least two: the Old Temple (ca. 200–700 CE) and the smaller New Temple (ca. 700–850 CE).26 Across the urban settlement of some one hundred square hectares, built on a grid formed by broad avenues

2.5. Edward Ranney, Huaca de la Luna, Cerro Blanco, Moche Valley, Peru, 1988, silver gelatin photograph. © Edward Ranney.

and narrow alleys, Huaca del Sol (also called Huaca Capuxaida and sometimes Pachacamac)27 rose in prominence during the center’s later period to become one of the largest structures in the ancient Americas (see figure 0.4).28 Huacas de Moche was the center of the principal polity in the lower valley for centuries, but it was not the capital of an expansionist Moche state that Rafael Larco Hoyle had envisioned as controlling the entire north-coastal region during the Moche era. Although traces of mural painting have occasionally been seen within Huaca del Sol (see introduction),29 it is Huaca de la Luna that is known for its exuberant density of painted and sculpted imagery. The Old Temple was a place of intensive pictorial practices, as painters and sculptors worked interior spaces and exterior surfaces with profusions of figural imagery and textile-based design. The architectural complex measured about 260 meters long and 180 meters wide and consisted of a large stepped platform, accessed via a monumental ramp (40 m long,

4 m wide) on its north side, and surrounded by enclosed plazas and smaller platforms. Atop the main platform, which measured about 100 meters on each side, pillared halls (salas hipóstilas), courtyards, and small rooms were constructed at different levels.30 Through its history, the platform was made and remade multiple times (figure 2.7), as a new structure was built to encase the old, every century or two,31 in a process described as the “regeneration of the temple.”32 In each major phase (Edificios A to F, from newest to oldest),33 the murals of the upper and lower courtyards of the Old Temple platform as well as its lofty north facade were also made anew. Their makers re-created the mural programs of repeating figures and patterns—not as a strict copy but as a new “edition” (reedición)34 of what had come before. We do not know what events or cycles of time motivated the decisions to remake the Old Temple each century or so. Funerary chambers were built within the construction fill of each rebuilding,35 as the temple was turned into a tomb,

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2.6. Reconstruction of Huaca de la Luna. At its maximum extent, the architectural complex measured more than 260 meters long and 180

meters wide. The smaller New Temple is seen at the upper left, on the slopes of Cerro Blanco. The funerary Plataforma Uhle appears at lower right. Image courtesy of the Proyecto Arqueológico Huacas del Sol y de la Luna.

A A

BC

BC D E

AB C

DE

2.7. Section (north to south) of the Old Temple of Huaca de la Luna showing the superimposed constructions of the platform (Edificio E

to A). Note that the sequence of the north facade (DE–C–AB) differs from that of the platform (E–D–BC–A). The even earlier Edificio F lies below Edificio E. Image courtesy of the Proyecto Arqueológico Huacas del Sol y de la Luna, modified by the author.

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and then into a temple once more. Monumental spectacles of rebuilding likely marked major historical events or commemorations. Each rebuilding was accompanied by celebrations and sacrifices, as evidenced by physical remains of objects and human bodies found on site.36 Less conspicuous remodelings and repaintings took place in between each major remaking. Those refurbishments took place more frequently, approximately every few decades, possibly with generational changes in authority. That is, the complete remakings of the Old Temple may have marked historical or religious time that spanned generations and exceeded personal memory, whereas the lesser changes were tied to spans of time proportional to individual human lives, perhaps each marking the ascent of a new leader. T HE RH O MBO ID FRIEZ E S O F TH E D I V I N I DA D D E LAS MO NTA ÑAS

Atop the Old Temple, two large courtyards were wrapped in painted imagery of ancestral divinities set within the textile patterns of the norcosteño tradition. On the upper level was the stepped dais surrounded by the Mural Garrido and its antecedents. On the lower level, the enclosing walls of a second courtyard (60 × 47 m in its penultimate form)— restricted in access like the first37—were arrayed with a repeating image in painted relief that has become iconic in Peru since it was unearthed thirty years ago.38 The image also became iconic during the Moche era. Repeating faces with bulging eyes, flaring nostrils, and bared fangs appeared set within rhomboid frames on the three-meter-high walls of the lower platform courtyard (figure 2.8). Each face was framed by twelve black volutes (waves or hair, or perhaps waves-as-hair) and had a double

circle ornament at each ear. The faces projected farther from the plane of the wall in higher relief than did the rest of the frieze.39 Each was incised and then sculpted by hand, without any evidence for the use of molds, by what must have been a team of artists.40 The face of the divinity and the catfish that surrounded him appeared bodiless, as if emerging—surfacing—from the wall. Each rhombus was enclosed by frames that contained sculpted paintings of catfish that twisted in a masterful composition of textilelike imagery at a monumental scale. Between the rhombuses, top and bottom, intervening triangles contained three fish heads joined to a single body. The fanged faces of the divinity, surrounded by intricate norcosteño imagery of aquatic life in perfect symmetry, repeated over and over around the interior of the courtyard, as well as onto the ceiling of the ramada that ran along its walls.41 The suprahuman faces—sometimes referred to as mascarones (a term derived from European architectural ornament)42—were modeled on the wall at what would have been eye level, directly confronting the gaze of the men and women who dared approach (figure 2.9). The wide eyes of this being stared out as if perpetually surveilling the actions that took place within the courtyard. The sculpted image was not a singular icon (an “idol”); nor was its significance reduced to ornament through its repetition and absorption into the tapestry-like fabric of the wall. Rather, the multiplicity of the confrontational image at scale exponentially increased the impact of its presence. Its potency was not “diffused” through repetition in decorative form,43 but amplified in its insistence, to appear eternal and inevitable. In creating the repeating image of this divinity, the

2.8. Painted relief of the Divinidad de las Montañas, set within norcosteño textile-like designs, within the lower platform of the Old Temple in

one of its earliest phases (Edificio D). Photograph courtesy of the Proyecto Arqueológico Huacas del Sol y de la Luna.

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2.9. Conservation treatment of the rhomboid frieze within the lower platform of the Old Temple (Edificio BC). Photograph courtesy of the

Proyecto Arqueológico Huacas del Sol y de la Luna.

mural artists revived more ancient Cupisnique images in earthen relief (see figures 1.26 and 1.27). The fanged faces also resembled predatory divinities seen in early goldwork from Chongoyape, carved in stone at Chavín de Huántar (see figure 0.12), and painted on textiles recovered from the south coast (figure 2.10). Archaeologists have proposed many names for the being who appears here and in the Mural Garrido: Divinidad de las Montañas (the Mountain God), Degollador (roughly, Decapitator), Demonio de las Cejas Prominentes (Demon with Prominent Eyebrows), Ai-Apaec (Creator), and others (see table 0.1).44 Uceda’s identification of the divinity with the mountains—and in particular with Cerro Blanco—is supported by multiple lines of evidence: comparative ceramic iconography,45 including the specific form of a vessel recovered from a tomb placed within the Old Temple;46 the specific siting of the Old Temple at the foot of Cerro Blanco; and the living

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narrative traditions of the importance of that mountain to the community of Campiña de Moche.47 The imagery of waves, fish, and serpents might seem to associate the divinity with the sea,48 but the specificity of the catfish (known by the Indigenous coastal name life or life monsefuano), which lives in fresh water,49 undermines that interpretation. The frieze can be understood as an image of the divine mountain, surrounded by the aquatic imagery of rivers, streams, and canals that flowed from the highlands to the sea, and that gave life to the coastal plains of the Moche world and its people. This iconographic reading is, however, only one way to approach the meanings of the frieze. Just as significant were its cross-temporal allusions to the more ancient traditions, the intercultural affiliations suggested by the appearance of the stylized aquatic creatures of the tradición norcosteña, and the cross-media invocation of

2.10. Textile fragment painted with an image of the Cotton Goddess, 800–500 BCE, cotton, pigments, 34.3 × 36.2 cm. Chavín style, south

coast, Peru. The Cleveland Museum of Art, Severance and Greta Millikin Purchase Fund 2017.56. Photograph provided through a Creative Commons license (CC0 1.0).

textile arts—even though there was no technical need for adobe, clay, or paint to follow the plectogenic form of warp and weft. Nor was there any such requirement for Moche embroidery (figure 2.11), where the freehand movement of the line of the thread was not dependent on the woven structure of its support, but where makers nonetheless often chose to conform their designs to the grid. In both mural art and embroidery, the mental logic of weaving design gave rise to not one figure but a multitude. Each

of these associations were choices made as the artists of Huacas de Moche laid an intermedial foundation of ancestry, coastal belonging, and sumptuous materiality in the creation of these friezes. The repeating images of the rhomboid frieze took on added meaning as it was replicated, time and again, in the centuries that followed in the Old Temple and elsewhere. When the huaca was remade, the space of the courtyard was filled with adobe bricks, and the entirety of the

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2.11. Detail of a Moche textile embroidered with interlocking

catfish designs in the norcosteño style, from tomb E Ig at Pacatnamú. Museum Fünf Kontinente, Munich. Photograph courtesy of Heiko Prümers.

platform (Edificio D) was transformed into the foundation of a new structure (Edificio BC). A new generation of artists then re-created, in only slightly altered form, the rhomboid frieze (see figure 2.9). The central fanged faces and the geometric life frames were made anew. The intermediary triangles were filled with adaptations of the divinity’s face, now surrounded by black volutes and a pair of seabirds, in place of the three-fold catfish that had appeared there previously. Centuries later, the process was repeated. When the courtyard was remade, these peripheral faces were maintained in the new frieze, but the forms of the catfish and seabird were modified.50 A clear hierarchy of components (central faces, peripheral faces, aquatic framing) was created and maintained through the process of replicatory successions. With each remaking, the composition became

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more canonical and emblematic of the Old Temple itself. With each rebuilding, the repeating, replicated images also became the physical foundation of the monument, itself a metaphoric mountain. In each of its manifestations, the courtyard’s mural program changed form at its corner room. A similar spatial pattern can be seen in other spaces of the Old Temple and within Huaca Cao Viejo to the north. Here, architects built a small room in the southeast corner. The scale of the painted relief changed at that corner room: from the large divinity faces and the bold diagonals that enclosed them, to the smaller, denser, repeating pattern of catfish heads and waves that turned into seabirds (figure 2.12). The norcosteño textile imagery was created at a scale that required more proximate viewing for the image to be fully legible. The configuration of architecture and mural composition suggests a shift in proxemics from a “public” distance of visual legibility (about three meters or more) for the rhomboid frieze, to a more intimate distance of “social” viewing (between one and three meters) at the corner room.51 Within that room, as within the rooms behind the dais within the higher courtyard of the Old Temple (see figure 2.2), the walls were simply painted white. Some have interpreted the lack of mural art within these rooms as evidence that their interior spaces were of less “liturgical” importance.52 But the presumption that these private spaces were unimportant because of their lack of mural art is a logical fallacy. The presence, or absence, of representational images on the walls cannot be directly equated with the presence, or absence, of corresponding actions, even if a mural program can be understood to have prescribed an ideal form of behavior. It may simply have been that murals were not required for the activities that took place therein. Indeed, the most restricted and most private space of the Old Temple, as determined through access pattern analysis,53 was the pillared hall located at the southwest corner of the platform where, as well, the interior did not require painted or modeled images but was left bare, or perhaps adorned with hangings of actual textiles. Atop the Old Temple, artists deployed the most confrontational imagery of the divinity within the largest courtyard; as access and audience became more restricted, image needs shifted entirely to norcosteño design, and then to no mural imagery at all. To date, nowhere on top of the huaca have archaeologists found images of human aggression or martial spectacle, which was instead a principal subject of what appeared down below.

2.12. Painted relief in the norcosteño style (catfish, seabirds, and waves) on the outer wall of the corner room near the rhomboid frieze of

the Old Temple (Edificio BC). Photograph by the author.

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T HE OLD T E M PLE FACA DE A ND PLA Z A

Seen from afar, at its apogee, the Old Temple of Huaca de la Luna would have appeared as a ziggurat-like structure of platforms, ramps, and enclosed plazas. Its nearly thirty-meter-high stepped facade was animated by vibrant ranks of dozens of figures of menacing divinities and monstrous creatures that seemed to repeat ad infinitum across its broad expanse (figures 2.13 and 2.14). This vast view of the temple facade has only been made possible after more than twenty years of excavation and conservation. After the end of the Moche era at Huacas de Moche, later communities continued to use the space of the plaza and the stepped facade as a place of burial and religious practice. With time, sand accumulated on the floors, and rains covered the friezes with a beige veil of clay sediment. By the time of Spanish colonization, the plaza was filled by sand dunes to about the level of the third tier. With the colonial-era operations that “mined” the huacas for the treasures contained within tombs, higher tiers of the facade were progressively covered with rubble and sand as well.54 Among the highest registers of images, a colossal serpent slithered its way along a ramp (figure 2.15); its

enduring visibility might have inspired the stories of the voracious creature that attacked the community until they were saved by the benevolent Cerro Blanco. The highest tiers have suffered the most from wind, rain, and human action. Their painted reliefs survive now as only ghostly silhouettes. When first made, the repeating figures in the highest tiers of the Old Temple facade would have been visible from a distance, from Huaca del Sol and from the residential blocks of the urban settlement. The immense images animated the exterior of the Old Temple as it teemed with pictorial life (compare to the painted figures assembled along the tiers of a huaca in the Burial Theme, as seen in figure 0.29a and b). Outside of the walled plaza of the Old Temple, the upper registers of divinities and monsters would have been the most legible. Access to that plaza was strictly controlled through a baffled entrance at the north; a second entryway from the west communicated directly with the funerary area known as the Plataforma Uhle. The west entrance may have been reserved for leaders and priests, with more public passage through the north entry.55 Upon entry to the plaza, the imagery of the

2.13. The north facade of the Old Temple of Huaca de la Luna during excavation in 2007. Photograph by the author.

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(ABOVE) 2.14.  View

of the excavated facade of the Old Temple of Huaca de la Luna in 2016. Photograph by the author.

(RIGHT) 2.15.  Reconstruction

of the imagery of the north facade of the Old Temple, based on a combination of evidence from Edificio AB and Edificio C. A higher, eighth tier was once present on the final facade (Edificio A). Image courtesy of the Proyecto Arqueológico Huacas del Sol y de la Luna.

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2.16. Two of the prisoner figures on the plaza-level tier of the Old Temple facade (Edificio AB). Photograph by the author.

2.17. Painted reliefs of warriors and officials on the first and second tiers of the Old Temple facade (Edificio AB). Photograph by the author.

Old Temple’s lower tiers would have opened up to view. From within that vast enclosure (75 × 175 m), hundreds of human figures on the lowest two registers, which wrapped around the plaza and crossed the temple facade, would have come into sight: men clasping hands on the second tier, and the ignominious parade of stripped prisoners led by triumphant warriors on the first.56 The painted reliefs of martial spectacle of Huaca Cao Viejo at El Brujo, which introduced chapter 1 were exemplars of Moche figural art, but the program they belonged to was not unique. The remarkable preservation of the facade of the Old Temple, where artists had created an almost identical mural program, suggests how those fragmentary reliefs would have appeared when still intact. Here, too, the lowest frieze of the parade of warriors and prisoners was sculpted and painted against a stark white background. Compared to the carefully modeled bodies at Huaca Cao Viejo, these figures appeared hurried and misshapen, their forms further muddled by multiple replasterings and repaintings (figure 2.16). Their bodies were amorphous, a stark contrast to the careful—and at times sexually explicit—sculpting of the male anatomy of their counterparts at Huaca Cao Viejo. The warriors that led the captives counterclockwise around the plaza of the Old Temple, in groups of roughly ten by ten, were dressed in fine tunics, loincloths, headdresses, and earspools (figure 2.17). They were rendered larger than life size (about 1.8 m, or 5'11") and taller than their captives (at about 1.67 m, or 5'6").57 Each of the victors carried a round shield in one hand and a mace with a conical head over the shoulder. From each mace hung  a square shield, a smaller mace, and what may have been a loincloth taken from a defeated foe. Although all struck nearly the same profile pose, variations in the warriors’ garments hinted at individualization. Above the sculpted procession, ranks of men (each about 1.85 m, or just over 6' tall)58 dressed in long gold-spangled tunics, tall white headdresses, and large earspools were depicted clasping hands, hemming in the procession below (figure 2.18). These men appeared against a white background that had once been painted sky blue. To date, no bone armatures have been observed here, as in their counterparts at Huaca Cao Viejo. Losses to their faces have increased the anonymous effect of these repeating figures of male authority. Along the east side of the plaza, the regimentation of their presence was broken only by the dynamism of a warrior battling a colossal lizard,

whose tapered body was made to echo the sloped form of the ramp above it (figure 2.19a and b). Similarities to Huaca Cao Viejo continued in the next, third tier of the facade. There, composite creatures—part human, part arachnid—grasped a knife in one hand and a severed head in the other (figures 2.20 and 2.21). Unlike the spider frieze at Huaca Cao Viejo (see figure 1.4), each creature was separated from the next by raised yellow frames. Contained within these pictorial cells, the repeated bodies seemed to move—anachronistically like a filmstrip pulled from right to left—along the temple facade. The double circles at the ear of the anthropomorphic side of the spider (at left in figure 2.21) associated that being with the ancestral divinity of the rhomboid friezes—Uceda’s mountain god—up above, here in its manifestation as a Decapitator. Supranatural spider Decapitators like these had appeared in much earlier Cupisnique art.59 Moche artists revived their images.60 These spiders evoked menacing ancestral deities and connotations of earth, mountains, and rain, in keeping with the principal visual themes of the upper platform. No two spiders were the same. Variations in the thirty-two bodies reveal distinct “hands” of individual makers and suggest organization of practice. They were not made by stencil or mold, but copied freehand with ensuing variation. The frieze can be sorted into three distinctive groups, each of which might have been the work of a different team of muralists, each led by a master artist.61 Above, eccentric humanlike figures with wild snaky hair processed in the same direction, from right to left, each bearing fish from a rope borne in the hand and another carried over the shoulder (figures 2.22a and b and 2.23). Each Fisherman appeared to represent the same being. Certain aspects of his appearance—the bared teeth, furrowed cheeks, and wild hair—also associated him with the divinity depicted up above, within the rhomboid friezes. In some of his images, artists added the fanged faces of earlier artistic traditions to animate his knees and the soles of his feet (compare figure 2.23 to figure 2.10). Like more ancient gods, his belts—as well as the ropes attached to the fish he carried—were vivified as snakes (compare to figure 0.12). On the temple facade the archaized being was shown in a more active role than up above. Long before the excavations that revealed the Old Temple facade began, Elizabeth Benson hypothesized the existence of two principal divinities on the basis of Moche ceramics: one a creator deity who was immobile and resided in the mountains, and

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2.18. View of the second, third, and fourth tiers of the Old Temple facade (Edificio AB). Photograph by the author.

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a

b 2.19a and b. Painted relief of a confrontation between a man and a colossal lizard on the second tier of the Old Temple. The shape of the lizard echoes the slope of the ramp that rises along the east side of the plaza. Photographs by the author.

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(ABOVE) 2.20.  Painted

relief of the Spider Decapitators on the third tier of the Old Temple facade (Edificio AB), during excavation. Photograph by the author.

(LEFT) 2.21.  Spider

Decapitator from the Old Temple facade, based on a combination of various figures from Edificio AB. Illustration © Kathryn Killackey.

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a

b

(ABOVE) 2.22a and b. Painted relief of the Moche hero as Fisherman on the fourth tier of the Old Temple facade (Edificio AB). Photographs by the author. (RIGHT) 2.23.  Fisherman

from the Old Temple facade, based on a combination of various figures from Edificio AB. Illustration © Kathryn Killackey.

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(ABOVE) 2.24.  Painted

relief of the “Dragons” bearing severed human heads on the fifth tier of the Old Temple facade (Edificio AB). Photograph by the author.

(RIGHT) 2.25.  “Dragon”

from the Old Temple facade, based on a combination of various figures from Edificio AB. Illustration © Kathryn Killackey.

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the other a more active “god who came down from the mountains” to engage with the communities in the valleys and coastal plains.62 It may have been this being, the Moche hero also known as the Mellizo Marino and by other names, who appeared here, as a manifestation of Uceda’s mountain god, or as a kindred being. The multiplicity of this being’s images was free of the pictorial frames that contained the arachnids below and other beings above. The Fisherman appeared to glide in his proliferation along the horizontal line of the facade. The effect was one of seemingly endless reiteration of the single being projected through architectural space. Higher up, the muralists created a multitude of fearsome feline-saurian creatures, at times glossed in the literature as “Dragons,” with scaly bodies and long tails that ended in fox heads (figures 2.24 and 2.25). Each was set within a red frame. This creature was apparently derived from Recuay artistic traditions of the north-central highlands of Peru that were absorbed into Moche iconography. In Moche art, the creature is referred to as the Crested Animal or the Moon Animal, the latter name based on its appearance within a thin crescent in northern Moche ceramic art.63 Like the spiders below, each held a human head in one paw, while casting a look backward against the flow of its many images across the face of the monument. Higher still, the tapered bodies of a lizard (Dicrodon guttulatum, locally known as cañán) and an undulating serpent adorned the exterior face of the balustrade of a low ramp that gave access to the upper platform (see figure 2.15).64 Unlike the friezes below, these creatures moved from left to right, following the ascent of the ramp. Like the lizard down below, their bodies mimicked the architectural form as they guided human passage through the built environment, up the ramp, and toward the upper courtyards. To the right beyond the serpent, the sculptors created fanged humanlike heads with wavelike black hair, flanked by snarling animal faces at each side. The trifacial heads were each perched upon a pair of spindly yellow limbs and claws. Although the horizontal bands and rectilinear frames present within several of the registers suggest an overall image of the facade as a tapestry-woven textile, it is only in the trifacial forms that one finds the bodily recombination that characterized the textile-like murals within the Old Temple’s upper courtyards. Along the upper ramp of the Old Temple facade there was another row of ten processing warriors (figures 2.26 and 2.27). Each carried a large rectangular shield in the

hand and a mace with a conical head over the shoulder. Their tunics and headdresses were similar to those in the warrior frieze along the plaza floor. But these men were far smaller, standing just 1.1 to 0.8 m tall (3'7" to 2'8").65 They diminished in size with their ascent, made to fit within the wedge-shaped space of wall along the ramp. The shrinking warriors met a serpent that paralleled the serpent sculpted and painted on the exterior of the balustrade. This serpent moved in the opposite direction, down the ramp to meet the approaching warriors, as if to defend the upper platform against all who drew near.66 The highest extant frieze on the Old Temple facade was populated with menacing frontal figures of Decapitators that presided over the whole (figures 2.28 and 2.29). Above them, another tier of sculpted figures might have once existed but has not survived. Each of these frontal beings faced out to the plaza, echoing the frontality of the hand-holding men below. Each would have raised a crescent-shaped tumi knife in one hand and a human head in the other. Similar fanged Decapitators were sometimes depicted in murals and other media with eight long appendages—like spider legs—emanating from the body (figure 2.30). Here four belts or streamers ended in condor heads, identified by the pronounced caruncle still seen in silhouette atop the beak. These Decapitators bore down from their high position—like condors upon the mountain of the huaca—embodying centuries-old ideas of supranatural predators and divine aggressors, revived in the Moche present. Others have described how the vertical rise of the Old Temple facade effected a shift from the presentation of a human world of warfare and militaristic spectacle, below, to the depiction of cosmological realms, above.67 The upper strata of supranatural beings—Decapitators, monsters, and divine beings—were bound to the worldly parade of human victors and vanquished below. At Huaca de la Luna and elsewhere during this era, ideas of human conflict did not exist apart from cosmology—just as politics could not be disentangled from religion—but were publicly presented as interrelated. This vertical arrangement of images can also be understood as displaying shifts in temporalities. The legions of ancient beings soared above, repeating on and on in staccato isolation, apparently outside of human time. Below them, the registers of finely arrayed warriors and their prisoners were contemporary images of Moche visual culture. The images of men on the plaza level also repeated, but theirs was not the same proliferation of figures above.

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(ABOVE) 2.26.  Painted

relief of the warriors, moving from left to right, along the upper ramp on the seventh tier of the Old Temple (Edificio A). Photograph by the author.

(LEFT) 2.27.  Warrior

from the upper ramp of the Old Temple facade (Edificio A). Illustration © Kathryn Killackey.

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2.28. Remains of the painted

relief of the serpent (at bottom) and the Decapitator figures along the upper ramp on the seventh tier of the Old Temple facade (Edificio A). Photograph by the author. 2.29. Decapitator from

the Old Temple facade, based on a combination of various figures from Edificio A. Illustration © Kathryn Killackey.

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2.30. Spider-like Decapitator figure painted on a Moche II stirrup-

spout ceramic bottle in a private collection. Drawing by Donna McClelland (no. 0344). Moche Archive, Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection.

cal treatise, most legible in modern graphic representation (see figure 2.15),69 but to be seen, felt, and interpreted through the “spatial practices” of those who set foot therein.70 Even emptied of its ancient inhabitants, the image-filled temple continues to denote its ideal “form of inhabitation.”71 Conversely, these tiers and ramps, which were perpetually inhabited by bodies built of clay and paint, would have been further animated by the actions of the living. Perceived differences between clay bodies and living bodies could have been elided by the energetic movements of a human assembly or, at night, by the strobe effects of torchlight in motion.72 The enactment of the prescribed movements of the mural program by the living may have been understood to invoke or appease the multitudinous presence of powerful beings above. G LIMPS ING THE O LD TEMPL E

The multitude of men in the second register appeared in bodily relationship with one another, clasping hands. The prisoners, bound one to another by the rope, were connected in processional space and by the circumstances of their bondage. These were multitudes in relationship, not isolation. One can also parse the compositional logic of the facade through proxemics and kinetics. It was not simply that human figures appeared below and supranatural beings above. The files of human figures were placed specifically on the levels of lived assembly and passage. The warriors and prisoners encircled the plaza at the level of its floor, seeming to move counterclockwise around the space and toward the ramp leading to the upper levels. The handholding men occupied the space along the second tier that provided an elevated walkway, wider than any other tier, for movement above the enclosed plaza (see figure 2.13). Along the upper ramp, far above the other human ranks, warriors marched toward the temple’s summit. Their placement makes clear that human figures were not necessarily selected as the lowest images in the monumental composition, but as the most proximate to the lived spaces of actual human presence. As permanent fixtures within the built environment, these “mnemonic”68 friezes communicated expected patterns of movement and desired behavior through the spaces of the temple. They modeled an ideal use of the space, although their cues cannot be taken as evidence of actual behavior. The semiotics of the image-filled facade were not simply to be “read” as an abstracted cosmologi-

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FACA DE  TH RO U G H TIME

The soaring facade seen today was the result of the final remaking of the Old Temple, which took place around 600 CE (Edificio A). Most of these reliefs, however, had been created about a century prior (as Edificio B) and were then replastered and repainted—in some areas up to thirteen times73—with later renewals and the final construction of the temple (figure 2.31).74 Earlier versions of the facade can be seen in several places where Spanish colonial-era destruction—including the deep trench that tore through the north facade above its third tier—or exposure to the elements has provided glimpses of what lies within the stacked adobe body of the huaca. These cuts into the Old Temple reveal the iconographic conservativism of its imagery, coupled with changes in technique over time. With each remaking, the volume of the Old Temple grew and the expanses of its public faces stretched wider. The site archaeologists have calculated that its last rebuilding would have required more than four million adobe bricks and the labor of one thousand people working over 166 days just to make, move, and stack them.75 The Old Temple’s image needs became more intensive with each amplification. Its makers chose different methods for its re-creation, from era to era, as techniques were revised with each regeneration. EDI FI CIO C: THE PENU LTIM AT E FACADE

When the late Edificio B was renewed, at the beginning of the seventh century, the balustrade with the cañán and serpent was built along the ramp. A new tier with the

Combat? (A)

Decapitators (A) Warriors & Serpent (A)

Combat (BC) Cañán, Serpent & Trifacial Figures (AB)

RAMP

Decapitators (C)

RAMP

Warriors on the Ramp (C) “Dragons” (AB)

RAMP

Serpent? (DE) Fishermen (AB)

Spiders (AB)

Fishermen (C)

Combat (DE)

“Dragons” (C)

Men Holding Hands (AB)

RAMP

Serpent (D)

? (DE)

Warriors & Prisoners (AB)

0

1m

2m

4m

8m

2.31. Profile drawing of the faces of the Old Temple (Edificios DE to A, from earlier to later) as observed in the Spanish colonial-era trench.

Drawing by the author, based on Tufinio, “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2005), fig. 115.

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diminishing warriors, the descending serpent, and the Decapitators was added. This new construction (Edificio A) sealed the painted reliefs of ritual combat (figure 2.32), which had themselves been reused from the earlier facade (Edificio C).76 One of the figures in combat, at left, had serpent belts and bore a resemblance to the Moche hero as the Fisherman. Even in fragmentary form, his opponent, at right, can be identified as an anthropomorphic sea creature by the fin projecting from its torso (compare to figure 0.25b). The latter also appeared in repeated form amid norcosteño mural paintings in the Templete del Dios Marino (Minor Temple of the Sea God), within the northeast corner of the plaza.77 Like his opponent, this being has been given many different names in Moche iconographic studies, including Pez Demonio, Dios Marino, Demonio Marino, and, in the English-language literature, Split Top.78 In the relief, each of these two figures raised an arm to grasp the opponent by the hair. Each raised a weapon, likely a knife, in the other hand. The black frame with yellow circles that enclosed them is more elaborate than the frames on the final facade. Images of this same pair of battling figures also appeared in the earliest facade of the Old Temple (Edificio DE), as well as in the repeating painted reliefs of the funerary Plataforma Uhle.79 This same image of combat between divinities associated with the mountain and the sea might have once appeared in the very uppermost now-lost frieze of Edificio A, above the row of Decapitators.80 The scene’s repeated appearance suggests the paramount importance of the struggle between the Moche hero and his marine adversary within the public-facing imagery of the Old Temple. All of the tiers of the earlier, penultimate facade that can now be seen were painted without relief, although some evidence of relief has been found in the lower tiers of human processions along the east side of the plaza, at the principal ramp.81 This facade was not publicly visible as long as the others, before it was sealed by the building of Edificio B. The choice of flat painting may have been driven by a desire to economize the procurement and preparation of materials, as well as the time needed for the execution of the pictorial program. But even if the change from painted relief in the earlier Edificio DE to flat painting in Edificio C had a pragmatic motivation, it was a change that allowed a different artistry to flourish. Where these painted surfaces can be seen behind later construction, they evidence the deft abilities of their makers. In its penultimate form, the exterior of the Old Temple

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was vivified with many of the same repeating figures seen in relief in its final form. Below the scenes of supranatural combat, the tier was painted with repeating images of a grimacing, fanged Decapitator—the angular features of the face a clear invocation of Cupisnique imagery—with the same double circle earspools seen in the rhomboid reliefs in the courtyard above. Each figure grasped a tumi knife in the left hand and a severed human head in the right (figure 2.33). Each wore a striped tunic decorated with white circles and a loincloth. The four extensions that emanated from the figure’s torso and shoulders ended in condor heads. Each of these Decapitators was painted floating against a white ground and framed by a red band embellished with a thick black line that undulated like waves. Where they can be seen today, these painted Decapitators have survived with more clarity of detail than the later reliefs that were modeled on their example. As in the final facade, a procession of warriors occupied the space along the upper ramp, below the Decapitators, moving toward the apex of the temple (figure 2.34).82 Here, too, the clarity of the visible paintings exceeded that of the heavily repainted and eroded relief that followed (compare to figure 2.26). Each warrior was painted in profile, ascending the ramp, and wore large earspools and a headdress with a fan of feathers or cloth. Each carried a mace over one shoulder and a rectangular shield. The size of the yellow shield, outlined in white with a black grid across its surface, at times overwhelmed the body of the man who carried it. As the bodies of these warriors approached the upper ramp, they were swallowed up by their ornaments and weaponry, pictorially conflated with the objects they bore, subsumed by the symbols of their rank and status. Below, a series of Fishermen were painted against a flat red background.83 The yellow leg of one of these figures was exposed by the trench that cut through the north face of the Old Temple (figure 2.35).84 Both the knee and the arch of the foot—those bodily points of flexion—were pictorially transformed into monstrous mouths of faces that recalled more ancient Cupisnique or Chavín images. A single fish—its gray-blue body carefully outlined in white— appeared suspended from a rope strung through its mouth. The upper body of another Fisherman was also exposed by the cut (figure 2.36). This figure carried another fish, suspended by a yellow rope that transformed into a serpent. This fish was painted in a completely different manner; its painter (almost certainly a different painter) delineated individual scales on the white and gray body and colored

2.32. Painted relief of figures in hand-to-hand combat on the uppermost tier of the Old Temple facade (Edificio BC). Photograph by the author.

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2.33. Mural painting of the Decapitator figures on an earlier facade of the Old Temple (Edificio C). Photograph by the author.

2.34. Mural paintings of the warriors and Decapitators along the upper ramp of an earlier facade of the Old Temple (Edificio C).

Photograph by the author.

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2.35. Detail of the leg of a Fisherman painted on an earlier facade of the Old Temple (Edificio C), exposed by Spanish colonial-era

destruction. Photograph by the author.

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2.36. Detail of the upper body of another Fisherman painted on the earlier facade of the Old Temple (Edificio C), partially exposed by

Spanish colonial-era destruction. Photograph by the author.

2.37. View of the earlier facade of the Old Temple (Edificio C), partially covered by the last facade (Edificio AB), at the northwest corner of

the platform. Image courtesy of the Proyecto Arqueológico Huacas del Sol y de la Luna.

the gills red. This Fisherman’s head remains difficult to see in its partial obfuscation behind the later wall within the trench. He had prominent fangs and wore a yellow headdress or helmet with black bands around the eye. He also wore a white rope across his chest, to carry more fish over his shoulder. The painted Fishermen of Edificio C have also been seen at the northwest corner of the Old Temple, where painted images of the composite “Dragons” with feline heads, reptilian bodies, and fox-headed tails have been partially revealed (figure 2.37).85 There, some wild locks of the Fisherman’s hair took spiral forms; others ended in the heads of seabirds.86 This glimpse of the earlier facade reveals that the order of these images was switched compared to what would appear in the final composition

(Edificio AB), where the Fishermen appeared below the “Dragons.” The adjustment to the monumental composition might not have altered its message. Here, too, the clarity of the painted figures exceeded what remained of their later copies in relief. The wide-open mouths of the head of the “Dragon” and the head of its tail displayed long red tongues. The serrated black forms within those mouths were not part of the tongues, but rather the negative spaces that gave shape to the bright white teeth of each mouth. The abstraction of the teeth suggests that these figures had been copied from an earlier model, as yet unseen within the bulk of the huaca. Like their later copies in relief, these creatures were separated by plain red frames; whereas the Fishermen above them were uncontained, just like the Fishermen in relief.

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E D IF IC IO D E : T H E A N TEPE NULT IM AT E  FACADE

In the Old Temple’s earliest-known form, constructed around 200 CE (Edificio E), artists adorned the north facade with deftly modeled and painted reliefs that were models for what would follow in the huaca’s subsequent remakings. The artistry of this early mural program can be appreciated in the relief of figures in combat, only one of which has been uncovered within the colonial trench (figure 2.38). The time-intensive handling of clay and the painted detail evident in this early Moche work are closer to the techniques of much more ancient mural art like the atrium friezes of Garagay (see figure 1.24). The Moche images, though, existed at a more human scale than their colossal antecedents.87 The figure of the marine monster (Pez Demonio or Split Top) in combat with the Moche hero can be identified here by its long black hair, fanged snout, and the fin that projects from the side of its body (figure 2.39). The painter embellished the bottom edge of the figure’s tunic with a delicate border of black catfish heads with yellow eyes in the style of norcosteño textiles. The top of the frieze was framed with the repeating motif of the step-wave; a polychrome serpent served as painted border on at least one side.88 The early artists invested an abundance of skill and care in their handling of clay and their fine control of painted line. When this facade was refurbished (Edificio D), a painted snake was added to the balustrade without relief, perhaps to save time, foreshadowing what would be the turn to entirely flat painting in the penultimate facade.

2.38. Painted relief of the Pez Demonio (Edificio DE). Photograph

courtesy of the Proyecto Arqueológico Huacas del Sol y de la Luna.

2.39. The Moche hero and the Iguana in hand-to-hand combat with the Pez Demonio (center), painted on a Moche III stirrup-spout bottle in

a private collection. Rollout drawing by Donna McClelland (no. 0222). Moche Archive, Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection.

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This fragmented view of the image-filled facade of the Old Temple through time allows one to understand several things about its creation and re-creation. Throughout, the themes of the facade were conflict between supranatural beings (principally embodiments of the mountain and the sea); the threats that monstrous beings posed to humans (as evidenced by the heads they carried);89 and conflict between groups of Moche warriors. Human conflicts were positioned in direct relationship to the divine combats that were projected from the highest levels of the monumental facade. The visual program was remarkably resilient across time. Like the rhomboid friezes of the Divinidad de las Montañas, once the composition was formulated, it was repeatedly remade over centuries. Here, what began as painted relief gave way to flat painting and then returned to relief. Colors often varied from one making to the next and from one repainting to another. Sometimes differences among figures or sets of figures reveal the multiplicity of human hands that had worked together during a single decorative campaign. At times the order of the tiers was

altered (Fishermen above “Dragons,” “Dragons” above Fishermen), but the repeating images presented within each tier were consistent in placement, directionality, and scale from era to era. If, at first, the temple facade offered a novel synthesis of ancient and contemporary imagery, in its subsequent remakings the monumental composition solidified as tradition, became increasingly self-referential, and was embedded in the creation of place. PI CTO RI AL DENS ITY AT TH E  PLAZ A  CO RNER

The flow of the larger-than-life parade of victors and vanquished that encircled the Old Temple’s plaza was interrupted at the southeast corner by a room and adjoining patio built upon a low platform (figure 2.40).90 As seen within the courtyards at the top of the huaca, the placement of the corner structure (11 × 4 m in plan) also effected a significant shift in scale and visibility of mural compositions. Here, though, the norcosteño designs of interlocking aquatic forms appeared only in a single vertical band of

2.40. Structure within the southeast corner of the Old Temple plaza. Note the presence of a later Chimú “throne” built against the figures on

the second tier behind the structure. Photograph by the author.

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2.41. Painted relief of battling warriors on the corner structure. Photograph by the author.

imagery at the top of a short ramp. Beside the textile imagery, muralists placed the image of a large serpent with fox heads at either end as part of the framing device.91 Unlike the friezes that surrounded them, the images sculpted and painted here—especially the elusively named Complex Theme (Tema Complejo)—were made not for public broadcast, but for a more proximate viewership of individuals who were permitted to approach this privileged space. Both the room and the patio once had gabled roofs, the latter supported by two adobe walls, each standing two to three meters high, and by pillars made from the twisted trunks of algarrobo trees (Prosopis sp., mesquite or Peruvian carob). As elsewhere within the Old Temple, the interior walls of the room were painted white. The painted reliefs on its outer surfaces constituted some of the most complex and well-preserved works of mural art yet known for ancient South America. Battling warriors were arranged in four registers on

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the west-facing wall of the corner room (figure 2.41). The upper row presented six pairs of combatants, but in the lower three rows there were only five and a half. The missing opponent at right had not been damaged or destroyed, but was never made, seemingly cropped out of the picture by the red frame. The allowance of partial pairs suggests that the overall appearance of the mural—likely copied from an earlier source—mattered more than the precise representation of each pair. Each figure carried a round shield and wielded a club with a conical mace head and pointed end that was typical of Moche weaponry. Their headdresses took one of two shapes: conical or rounded with a fan-shaped adornment at back. The differences in headgear and garments referenced distinctions between the two groups of men, likely hailing from rival centers. The placement of the rival figures was consistent: left and right across one register and then reversed in the next. This boustrophedon arrangement evoked the back-and-forth

2.42. A pair of warriors sculpted on the corner structure. Photograph by the author.

movement of a shuttle on a loom. Like the larger friezes on the plaza walls, these figures were painted and repainted over time (figure 2.42). The two walls surrounding the patio offered an entirely different set of images, albeit at a similar scale and in a similar style of polychrome relief as the combat friezes (figures 2.43 and 2.44).92 At first glance from a distance, these walls of the so-called Complex Theme would have appeared as an unbridled chaos of imagery of “fishing, war, sacrifice, plants, and animals,”93 especially as juxtaposed with the neatly composed bands of battling pairs around the corner, and as nestled within the monumental order of the plaza and temple facade at large. These images of men and women—some crowned and bearing arms, others in combat, fishing, or riding reed boats—appeared alongside birds, felines, foxes, scorpions, crustaceans, and other animals, seemingly scattered among starbursts and red and yellow circles that suggest constellations of the night

sky. The starbursts with interior circles resemble San Pedro cactus (Echinopsis pachanoi) cut in cross section. Others resemble cactus flowers. Multiple meanings (celestial, botanical, perhaps marine) may have been conflated in a single form, as observed elsewhere in Moche art.94 Several authors have offered readings of the iconography of the Complex Theme as it may have related to constellations—in particular to the Pleiades—and as the movements of the night sky would have informed agriculture and fishing.95 It is difficult to interpret narrative relationships between these crowds of figures and vignettes with certainty. It is notable, though, that although these murals included images of warfare and violence, they did not contain the fanged, hybrid bodies of the colossal supranatural beings that proliferated across the temple facade. Upon more careful scrutiny, forms of order are revealed within this dense fabric of imagery. Figures were arranged along the long, arching lines of two ropes cast like kites

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or, perhaps more appropriately here, like fishing lines held by large human figures who worked to give shape to the riotous field of images.96 Comparing the two walls of the Complex Theme, one can see that both were based on the same composition.97 The execution was compressed on the north-facing wall (see figure 2.44), where the lower arc was only indicated by a short fragment of line in the lower-left corner. The cast lines divided the compositions into three areas; but these were not the horizontal, vertical, or diagonal bands that appeared elsewhere in the Old Temple’s imagery. These compositional areas were freed entirely from the mental grid of warp and weft. But that is not to say that they lacked basis in north-coastal design. The two converging lines of the ropes worked together to create the shape of a wave: rising at right, to crest at center, and break at left where the lines converged at one

of two images of fishermen spreading their net.98 Within the aesthetics of norcosteño design, where the animated, zoomorphic wave was a central motif, the wave presented a fitting alternative to the grid as organizing form. At the center of each wall the artists placed a human figure within an egg-like shape above a crescent moon. The centrality of these motifs underscored the importance of the heavens, and what may have been a narrative of creation, within the dense pictorial fabric of the Complex Theme. RE PLICATING TH E O LD TEMPL E AT  H UACA   CAO VIE JO

After the Old Temple was closed, around 700 to 750 CE, its monumental imagery was not remade again at Huaca de la Luna. It had, however, been re-created elsewhere. At Huaca Cao Viejo and to a lesser extent at Mocollope,

2.43. Complex Theme mural (Tema Complejo 1) within the patio of the corner structure within the plaza of the Old Temple. The metric scale

indicates a height of more than three meters. Photograph by the author.

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archaeologists have found evidence for the dissemination of the mural program. The centuries-long sequence of the Old Temple’s making and remaking at Huacas de Moche made clear that its mural program was conceived in situ. From there, the designs were transported to the north and possibly elsewhere, most likely via portable media of figural textiles or clay models.99 Remnants of mural paintings of Moche warriors and figures holding hands have been documented within limited excavations of Huaca El Castillo at the site of Mocollope, upriver from El Brujo in the Chicama Valley. These figures were painted without relief on the temple in its second, third, and possibly fourth architectural phases; fallen fragments of painted relief may have come from its final phase.100 These paintings were smaller in stature than those of the Old Temple, with the warriors measuring only

about 1.15 m (3'8").101 The Mocollope paintings conformed to aspects of the Old Temple’s facade iconography, but the extent of their replication of that earlier program has not yet been determined. It was specifically the final designs of the Old Temple (Edificio A) that were replicated over the existing form of Huaca Cao Viejo, within the El Brujo archaeological complex, in its last decades (figure 2.45).102 After a period of disuse and partial abandon, Huaca Cao Viejo was remade in the image of Huaca de la Luna, as part of a major though short-lived renewal of that center in the first half of the seventh century.103 Like the Old Temple, Huaca Cao Viejo consisted principally of a stepped platform (120 × 100 m in plan, and about 30 m high) with a vast enclosed plaza (75  ×  140 m) that extended from the north face of the huaca in its final form.104 It, too, had been built up over

2.44. Complex Theme mural (Tema Complejo 2) on the corner structure of the Old Temple. The metric scale indicates a height of more than

two meters. Photograph by the author.

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2.45. Huaca Cao Viejo at El Brujo during the first years of its excavation in the early 1990s. Photograph by Carol J. Mackey.

C D E

F G

A

B

2.46. Section (north to south) of Huaca Cao Viejo showing the superimposed constructions of its first (Edificio G), second (Edificio F),

third (Edificio CDE), and fourth (Edificio AB) major phases. Drawing by the author, based on Mujica et al., El Brujo, 102.

the centuries as one remaking of the temple enveloped another (figure 2.46). It was only in its last manifestation, however, that Huaca Cao Viejo took on the image (and the images) of the Old Temple. The late facade of Huaca Cao Viejo exhibited the same mural program as the Old Temple: a parade of triumphant warriors and their stripped prisoners marching in groups of

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about ten by ten; the enclosure of men in identical clothing holding hands (1.80 m tall, similar to the Old Temple); and the part-human, part-spider creatures with knives in one hand and human heads held in the other (see figures 1.1 to 1.4). The artists of El Brujo rendered the bodies of the prisoners with far greater sculptural sensitivity than what had appeared in the late reliefs of the Old Temple.105 The

care that they took with the clay modeling was more like the centuries-older reliefs of the Old Temple’s antepenultimate facade than its contemporaneous counterpart. Perhaps these artists took more care because of the novelty of the program at Huaca Cao Viejo. Artistry was revitalized in the design’s displacement. Other parts of the Old Temple’s imagery were also recreated at Huaca Cao Viejo. In the plaza corner (seen to the left in figure 2.45), the architects built a structure that replicated the corner room of the Old Temple. Its exterior walls were decorated with almost identical painted reliefs: four rows of battling pairs of warriors on the wall facing the plaza (figure 2.47) and Complex Theme reliefs on the two walls around the covered patio (figures 2.48 and 2.49).106

The patio’s ceiling had also been painted with a continuation of the mural iconography.107 The roofline was once decorated with ceramic mace heads.108 Like its antecedent in the Old Temple, the interior of the corner room was painted white. Up above, within a courtyard on the platform summit, the muralists also re-created the rhomboid frieze of the fanged mountain god surrounded by undulating serpents (figure 2.50), copied from the final design of the Old Temple.109 The fullness of the Old Temple’s replication upon the existing form of Huaca Cao Viejo was evident in its shared architectural forms, mural iconography, style, scale, and technique. As in the remakings of the Old Temple from one era to the next, however, this replication was not a perfect

2.47. Painted relief of battling warriors on the corner structure within the plaza of Huaca Cao Viejo in its final phase (Edificio A).

Illustration by Segundo Losada Alcalde, courtesy of the Proyecto Arqueológico Complejo El Brujo.

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2.48. Complex Theme mural within the patio of the corner structure within the plaza of Huaca Cao Viejo (compare to figure 2.43). Illustration

by Segundo Losada Alcalde, courtesy of the Proyecto Arqueológico Complejo El Brujo.

facsimile. On the facade of Huaca Cao Viejo, the monstrous spiders were not separated by frames. Below them at the plaza floor, the shapes of the shields (round or square) of the victors and the vanquished were reversed from what had appeared at Huaca de la Luna. This iconographic reversal may imply a reversal of social positions as well, if the warriors with round shields were identified with Huacas de Moche and those with square shields with El Brujo.110 So, too, in the painted relief of combats (see figure 2.47), the artists produced greater clarity and consistency of warrior dress: the men with conical headdresses wore crescent backflaps and carried square shields; the men with round shields had headdresses with fans and sometimes flowers and wore felines as their back ornaments (see figure 0.3). Like the version in the Old Temple, their placement left and right reversed from one register to the next. But here the artists created six full pairs of warriors that fit comfortably within each register. Similarly, the composition of the Complex Theme was planned out at Huaca Cao Viejo so that it enjoyed sufficient space to unfold in both panels. What this indicates is that although the artists of Huaca Cao Viejo re-created the final design of the Old Temple, they copied it from an ideal or corrected version of that design or from a common model.111

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Questions of motivation and effect remain. Why would the leaders of El Brujo have chosen to have the image of Huaca de la Luna’s Old Temple remade in such particular form—more precisely than muralists ever remade it within the Old Temple itself—over Huaca Cao Viejo? What was the reason for coeval temples that operated during the early seventh century with near-identical appearances? What would the effects of replicated huacas—a multiplicity of like temples—have been on the communities of the north coast? Perhaps the monumental replication was a result of political affiliation or dynastic union.112 Although Andean archaeology has tended to use the visual arts as an untheorized proxy for social and political history, such relationships cannot be read uncritically from the study of mural art alone. To answer these questions, multiple lines of analysis—including art and architectural history, material culture studies, funerary practices, bioarchaeology, and foodways—must yet still be brought together, comparatively from site to site, to produce a more holistic image of lived social or political reality.113 What a deep history of monumental image making at Huaca Cao Viejo does reveal, however, is that although the dramatic replication of the Old Temple was an extraordinary artistic event, there were long-standing commonalities across the visual

2.49. Complex Theme mural on the corner structure of Huaca Cao Viejo (compare to figure 2.44). Illustration by Segundo Losada Alcalde,

courtesy of the Proyecto Arqueológico Complejo El Brujo.

2.50. Remains of the painted relief of the Divinidad de las Montañas from the last phase of the platform of Huaca Cao Viejo (Edificio A).

Photograph by the author.

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programs of these two huacas and others of this era, prior to that complete takeover. O L D G O DS, COASTA L D E SIG N, A ND SHARED IM AG E PRAC T ICE S P RIO R TO T HE S E V E NT H CE NTURY

Even before its makers’ total emulation of the Old Temple, Huaca Cao Viejo shared patterns of architecture and mural design with that monument at Huacas de Moche.114 These shared patterns point to deeper, preexisting affinities of aesthetics, image culture, and spatial practices. In the earlier phases of Huaca Cao Viejo, as in the earlier phases of the Old Temple, too, images of ancient fanged divinities appeared within murals informed by norcosteño design. The divinities included variations on fearsome beings that evoked ideas of the mountains and of antiquity in Moche visual culture. These threatening bodies were integrated

into repetitious compositions defined by the compositional conventions of north-coastal weaving. That is to say, these aspects were not unique to the art of the Old Temple but were characteristic of mural art throughout the Moche world between the third and seventh centuries. In its earliest form, the exterior of Huaca Cao Viejo was painted in red, white, and yellow areas of color that alternated tier by tier on its stepped facade. By the second major rebuilding of the huaca, figural imagery began to appear.115 The fourth tier bore a north-coastal design of interlocking catfish, sculpted in low relief and painted in red and yellow against a blue background (figure 2.51). Similar designs have been seen in the deep looters’ cut in Huaca Cortada at El Brujo.116 Below the aquatic frieze, the third tier presented a series of sculpted panels that each contained a figure seizing a human victim with one hand and raising a tumi knife in the other.117 Below them,

2.51. Painted relief of interlocking catfish in the norcosteño style, from an earlier facade of Huaca Cao Viejo (Edificio C). Photograph by

the author.

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on the second tier of the facade, archaeologists recorded the remains of human legs in sculpted relief that they interpreted as the figures of front-facing men, presumably holding hands, as seen on the final facade. They noted that the lowest tier of this facade was painted white.118 Perhaps the paintings or reliefs that were once present there had not survived. But if the register had been left plain white, it would have served as a luminous backdrop for real assemblies of living people, whether or not they enacted the kind of pageantry of martial qua religious spectacle depicted on the final facade. If so, the composition would have depended on the presence of living participants to complete the monumental tableau. It may have prefigured the later populating of the plaza-level tier with sculpted bodies derived from the model of the Old Temple, which made permanent the transient presence of the living. The evidence from this earlier facade suggests that aspects of

the Old Temple facade were already shared at Huaca Cao Viejo a century or more prior to its monumental replication. As below, so too up above. Atop Huaca Cao Viejo, the more private courtyards evidenced patterns of architecture and uses of images that demonstrated shared design practices, even though they did not yet replicate the particular mural programs of the Old Temple. In the upper patio on the east side of the huaca, the archaeologists noted a mural painting of a repeating fanged face with a number of stepped and swirling appendages that ended in bird, fish, and fox heads.119 In form and location, the mural was comparable to the tapestry-like paintings of the Mural Garrido around the stepped dais of the upper courtyard in the Old Temple. In its earliest state, the walls and slender pillars of a courtyard atop Huaca Cao Viejo were painted with repeating designs of geometric manta rays and catfish.120 In the subsequent rebuilding of that courtyard, the artists

2.52. Painted relief in the norcosteño style within an upper patio within the platform of Huaca Cao Viejo (Edificio F). Photograph by

the author.

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2.53. Corner room with a Decapitator relief within an upper patio of Huaca Cao Viejo (Edificio F). © Ira Block.

of El Brujo created painted reliefs of frothing waves and plentiful aquatic life (both the catfish of the canals and the manta rays of the sea) that flowed through the diagonal channels of the mural’s composition (figure 2.52).121 At the southeast corner of the courtyard—as in other patios and plazas of temples of this era—a corner room interrupted the flow of the murals and effected a shift in both iconography and scale (figure 2.53).122 The north-facing exterior of that room bore a pair of images of Decapitators in relief, one placed against a yellow background and the other against blue. Each divinity wore a crescent-shaped headdress and the double circle ear ornaments seen on the fanged divinities of the Old Temple and elsewhere. In both panels, the powerful being held a severed human head in one hand and a sharpened weapon in the other. Twelve streamer-like appendages emanated from each body. At the left side of each Decapitator, a curled motif ended in a condor head. The curl was isolated and dissociated from the body of the figure. It made no compositional sense on its own, but was likely an artifact of the act of copying the image from an earlier model.

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At the northwest corner of Huaca Cao Viejo, another upper courtyard had also been lavishly painted with norcosteño images of interlocking catfish and aquatic life in an earlier phase (figure 2.54). Beneath the floor of this enclosure, archaeologists found the tomb of a royal woman, now known as the Señora de Cao, who was laid to rest sometime around 450 to 500 CE,123 her body becoming part of the physicality of the huaca itself as an organic body.124 The walls of the courtyard were filled with diagonal bands of imagery alternating in black and white, red and yellow, and pink and blue-gray. In places, the guidelines from cords pressed into the damp surface of the wall could still be seen to create an underlying grid for the murals’ elaboration. The style of painting varied from one wall to another,125 perhaps evidencing the distinct approaches of two painters, or two teams of painters, to the shared design. The exterior of the corner room was wrapped with tapestry-like checkerboard compositions. The west mural contained repeating images of the Moon Animal that Moche artists had absorbed from highland Recuay sources (figure 2.55). The crests on these creatures’ snouts transformed

2.54. Tapestry-like mural of the Moon Animal within the patio of the Señora de Cao. Photograph by the author.

2.55. The painted patio and mausoleum of the Señora de Cao within the platform of Huaca Cao Viejo (Edificio F). Photograph by the author.

into stylized catfish bodies.126 The orientation of the animals changed from left to right to left with each row of the painting, as a back-and-forth weaving that seemed to obey the conceptual order of a loom. The colors also varied, as one might expect of tapestry, and echoed the chromatic combinations of the aquatic murals on the courtyard’s enclosing walls. The north mural was also divided by a grid (figure 2.56). Each rectangular cell was filled with an image of a fanged divinity crouching between a pair of condors (see figure 0.2). The image recalls that of the Divinidad de las Montañas as the Decapitator. Each figure was painted wearing the same shape of headdress and with the same attributes, but the painters individualized the designs of each tunic. The artists luxuriated in the woven finery of these powerful beings, which they set within the textilelike grid of the composition. At some later time, perhaps after the courtyard was converted into a tomb, niches were cut into the painted wall. Whatever role the niches served, or whatever was placed within them, must have mattered

more to their makers than the visual integrity of the mural. Textile aesthetics suffused these murals at scales both large and small, in both composition and subject. Like the other corner rooms at both Huaca Cao Viejo and the Old Temple at Huaca de la Luna, however, the interior of this corner room was painted white. These affinities between Huaca Cao Viejo and the Old Temple show that shared aspects of design, ideology, and aesthetics were already present, centuries prior to the dramatic re-creation of the latter over the former. These shared practices in mural art—specifically the repetition of menacing bodies of archaized divinities and geometricized patterns of waves and aquatic life—can be glimpsed elsewhere in the Moche world during this era (200–650 CE). At Huaca Dos Cabezas (ca. 300–650 CE) to the north in the Jequetepeque Valley, for example, the clawed feet of what would have been nearly two-meter-tall bodies of repeating supranatural figures in painted relief have been recorded on the platform’s stepped facade.127 Nearby, at

2.56. Mural painting of the Divinidad de las Montañas within the patio of the Señora de Cao. Photograph by the author.

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La Mina, the interior of an early Moche tomb was vividly painted with an elaborate design of interlocking waves and fish.128 The pigments included the usual ochres as well as a rare pale green (chrysocolla).129 Fragmentary paintings of interlocking waves arranged within a grid have also been seen elsewhere, including at Huaca Fachén.130 These shared practices did not last. Monumental building at centers like El Brujo and Dos Cabezas ceased after the seventh century. Others, like Huacas de Moche, underwent major transformations in about 650 to 700 CE. During the seventh century, other centers also rose to prominence, especially in the southern valleys of Santa and Nepeña. In that new era, neither the repetitious images of aggressive supranaturals (as legitimizing references to a more ancient past, often associated with mountains) nor the aquatic imagery of sumptuous textile designs (as invocations of shared coastal affiliation) regained the centrality

that they had enjoyed in earlier mural art.131 Frequent use of painted relief as well as the commitments to figural repetition and programmatic replication also ceased. As discussed in chapter 3, other social concerns and artistic strategies assumed their place. In fact, it was time, not geography, that accounted for the greatest differences in Moche practices of monumental image making. The later mural paintings of the New Temple at Huacas de Moche had far more in common with the coeval paintings of southern centers like Guadalupito and Pañamarca than they did with what had come before in the Old Temple. The history of Moche mural art—and Moche history more broadly132—is most effectively written, not as parallel geographical histories north and south, as has become commonplace in the archaeological literature, but as two histories delineated temporally by the transformations of the seventh century.

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3.1. Illustration of part of the Revolt of the Objects mural, as seen at Huaca de la Luna in 1910. Image from Seler, “Archäologische Reise in

Süd- und Mittel-Amerika,” fig. 13.

CHA P TER 3

SITING NARRATIVES Moche Mural Painting and the Condensation of a Medium (650–850 CE)

A

battle once raged on the walls of the upper hall of the New Temple at Huaca de la Luna. Scrambling figures, pursued by their opponents, filled the surfaces of mural paintings made there toward the very end of the Moche era.1 Those opponents, though, were not depicted as ordinary human combatants. Headdresses, collars, clubs, ropes, and other things that elite Moche warriors wore or carried into battle seem to have sprouted human arms and legs (figures 3.1 to 3.8).2 They

pursued and seized their human enemies, eventually stripping them of their finery, and conveyed them as captives to the throne where another painted figure, perhaps a priest, raised a goblet (see figure 3.3).3 In recent excavations, archaeologists have documented three other paintings that belonged to this same mural program of the New Temple’s final phase (Edificio 2): an anthropomorphized rope taking a human captive (see figure 3.8), an unusual image of two women weaving,4 and a series of weapons bundles.5

3.2. Drawing of a portion of the Revolt of the Objects mural, published by Alfred Kroeber in 1930. Image courtesy of the Field Museum,

Chicago.

109

3.3. Drawing of a portion of the Revolt of the Objects mural surrounding a now-destroyed throne, published by Alfred Kroeber in 1930.

Image courtesy of the Field Museum, Chicago.

3.4. Revolt of the Objects mural. Photograph by Otto Holstein, 1925–1926. National Museum of the American Indian, Smithsonian Institution

(114_pht_024_P08543).

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3.5. Drawing of a portion of the Revolt of the Objects mural, published by Alfred Kroeber in 1930. Image courtesy of the Field Museum, Chicago.

3.6. Drawing of a portion of the Revolt of the Objects mural, published by Alfred Kroeber in 1930. Image courtesy of the Field Museum, Chicago.

Siting Narrative s  • 111

3.7. Remains of the late Moche painted architecture at the top of the New Temple, as seen in 2009. Photograph by the author.

3.8. A running figure (left) and an animated rope (right) within the Revolt of the Objects mural program. Photograph by the author.

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a

This was not the repetitive presentation of battling pairs or the stoicism of marching warriors seen in the Old Temple, but a narrative depiction of dynamic actions unfolding: from images of combat to captive-taking to ceremony.6 What one finds here in the New Temple is an entirely different form of mural art from what had come before. Anthropologists have argued that these scenes, and similar ones painted on ceramic bottles (for example, figure 3.9a and b), depicted a Moche version of a PanAmerican myth of the Revolt of the Objects (also called the Alzamiento de los Objetos or Rebelión de los Artefactos), wherein implements turned against their masters during chaotic episodes of the “world upside down.” These paintings have been likened to accounts from the Huarochirí Manuscript—written in Quechua about a millennium later—and the K’iche’ Maya texts of the Popol Vuh from highland Guatemala—the latter known through its eighteenth-century transcription7—as well as to twentiethcentury oral traditions from Bolivia.8 The K’iche’ narrators described a scene of domesticity upturned during one of several episodes of world creation and destruction. Protohumans made of wood were killed in a flood and their bodies smashed because they were no good at worshiping their divine makers. Then “their maize grinders and their cooking griddles, their plates and their pots, their dogs and their grinding stones” began to speak and attacked the wooden people, as vengeance for the daily abuse they had

b

3.9a and b. Moche bottle painted with the Revolt of the Objects, 500–800 CE, ceramic, h. 28.8 cm. Reportedly from the Chicama Valley, Peru. (a) Museum Fünf Kontinente, Munich, 30.29.7. Photograph by Nicolai Kästner. © Museum Fünf Kontinente, Munich. (b) Drawing by Donna McClelland (no. 0090). Moche Archive, Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection.

Siting Narrative s  • 113

suffered.9 Near Lima, the authors of Huarochirí recounted the death of the sun and ensuing events of domestic objects and animals turning against their owners, as normal power relations were inverted: “Rocks banged against each other. Mortars and grinding stones began to eat people. Buck llamas started to drive men.” They remarked that this time of darkness may have taken place at the time of the death of Christ.10 These cross-cultural, trans-temporal comparisons were first made in the 1920s to support diffusionist models of culture development.11 They continued in iconographic studies that endeavored to re-create Moche cosmology and reconstruct master narratives of mythology and religious practice. But less attention has been paid to the particular form of the mural images—as they differed from those later texts and from contemporaneous depictions of the subject on ceramics—or to the particular geopolitical context of their appearance here in the New Temple.12 At times, spindles, distaffs, and other weaving implements were depicted among the animate things painted on Moche ceramics. But here, in the late Moche murals at Huaca de la Luna, anthropomorphized regalia and weapons took up arms against humans; these were not grinding stones, cooking pots, or domesticated animals attacking their masters.13 These animated objects were all possessions of elite warriors. There was no inversion of their normative function. In the New Temple murals, these animated things were doing exactly what they had been made to do: wage battle, strike foes, and take them captive.14 Anthropomorphized objects appear elsewhere in Moche imagery. In other scenes painted on ceramics, reed boats were often rendered with zoomorphic heads and human limbs, swimming through the water and sometimes wielding tumi knives.15 Plates with human legs were painted approaching a seated lord, while jars tied at the neck walked and tipped themselves out as if in self-sacrifice.16 Pictorial animation served discursive purposes: to characterize the quality of an object (the swift-moving boat), to replace a separate human actor (the bearer of the offering plate), or to signify a metaphoric conflation of object and human subject (the sacrificial jar bound at the neck like a human captive). That is, what was depicted in these scenes need not be taken literally as evidence of ancient belief in metaphysical transformations. These artists may have pictorialized rhetorical form, offering a more nuanced idea of the agency of things. The New Temple’s artists may have intended these

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animated objects as visual synecdoche: the warriors represented, pars pro toto, by the things they wore and bore. The reduction of the body of the warrior to his headdress, shield, and club was already anticipated, several centuries prior, in the figures of the warriors ascending the ramp of the Old Temple, bodily overwhelmed by their accoutrements (see figure 2.34). Instead of their usual interpretation as depictions of magical transformation (à la Walt Disney), the mural images can be parsed as pictorial expressions along the lines of a statement that “those warriors were overtaken by the clubs and the headdresses [of their conquerors].” In this reading, the objects stand for the warriors themselves. Closer attention to the particularities of these murals allows for more specific consideration of meaning. The conical heads of the clubs that the animated objects wielded (the objects’ objects) were all quintessentially Moche in form. Conical mace heads—as well as tumishaped headdresses, nose ornaments (narigueras), and backflaps—were among the most consistent, standardized forms of elite Moche warrior presentation. Conical ceramic war clubs adorned the rooflines of buildings within the Old Temple, Huaca Cao Viejo, Pañamarca, and elsewhere as emblems of shared culture. Weapons and military garments were closely linked to the identities of their owners and could stand in for them in pictorial representation.17 Fallen warriors were stripped of these markers of identity and status on the battlefield. In the plaza friezes of the Old Temple and Huaca Cao Viejo, victorious warriors had been depicted carrying the weapons of the vanquished, suspended from their own clubs, as trophies of conquests on the battlefield (see figure 2.17). In those earlier reliefs, these scenes had been presented as intracultural conflict: the shapes of shields and headdresses varied, but the Moche forms of their clubs did not. The human warriors attacked by animated objects in the New Temple murals themselves bore other arms, as Eduard Seler first noted in his 1910 description of a nowdestroyed portion of the mural (see figure 3.1). The maces of the losers had a distinctive head and long feathers tied at the base. Seler compared them to the weapons carried by some warriors painted on ceramics in private collections in Peru.18 He suspected that the differences in arms were indicative of two distinct groups. In fact, these weapons appear to have referred to the fluted or ridged cast copper mace heads made in the northern highlands from Cajamarca and along the Callejón de Huaylas to Chavín

3.10. Collection of artifacts that Julio C. Tello photographed in Celendín, Cajamarca, in 1937. Two types of cast metal mace heads (ridged

and star-shaped) appear on the desk. The large ceramic figure holds a mace with a ridged head and a square shield. Archivo Tello, Museo de Arqueología y Antropología de la Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos, Lima, IX B9 P11 F8 952.

de Huántar (see figure 0.15). Examples from the Recuay area tended to be long and thin.19 Those from Cajamarca were squatter and more closely matched the weapons in the mural.20 In 1937, Julio C. Tello photographed a collection of artifacts in Celendín (Cajamarca) that included several examples of this type of cast metal mace head, as well as a ceramic vessel in the shape of a man holding a square shield and the same kind of mace (figure 3.10).21 One of the defeated men painted in the New Temple also held a woven bag (ch’uspa) like those typically used to carry coca leaves (see figure 3.2). In Moche art, peaceful scenes of coca chewing were often set in the mountains and featured foreign figures, probably from those same highland communities (see figure 0.17).22 That is, the New Temple muralists not only painted warriors’ objects (either metonymic or metamorphosed) taking humans captive in

battle but also rendered these protagonists specifically as Moche warrior-objects defeating foes who were marked as foreigners from the sierra. No ethnic distinction can be seen in the arms of the two forces in the ceramic versions of the Revolt of the Objects imagery. Ethnic distinctions did appear in other painted ceramic imagery of Moche warriors fighting Recuay opponents from the northern highlands,23 but such differentiation within images of the Revolt of the Objects has only been observed in these murals of the New Temple. Nor has any difference between Moche and non-Moche subjects been seen in the murals that had immediately preceded these in the upper temple chamber (Edificio 1). In that earlier phase, built during the eighth century, muralists had also painted battle imagery.24 Those images included Moche warriors; stripped prisoners bound with rope; and

Siting Narrative s  • 115

felines, serpents, and a hummingbird bearing a shield and mace (as if to characterize the speed and agility of a warrior),25 all rendered at a small scale.26 Although the theme of combat was present in the earlier murals, no indications of animated objects or of highland identity of the vanquished have been seen within what remains there. The New Temple murals constituted a “situated telling” of the Moche narrative of the Revolt of the Objects. As Catherine Allen has explained for the situatedness of storytelling and “storylistening” in Sonqo: “Tradition supplies a stock of story events and characters, and the tellers put them together as they like. The narrative contracts or expands as time and inclination permit. Tellers leave out a detail here, an entire episode there, add new embellishments here, new episodes there. Listeners delight in new and unexpected ways of telling the well-known stories.”27 Like oral narration, the details of ancient Moche images took different shapes from telling to telling. Anne Marie Hocquenghem argued that subjects of Moche iconography were not fixed but open, and could be elaborated upon, expanded, or reduced at the will of the artist.28 The images on the walls of the New Temple represented just one such set of utterances. Others would have emerged in each retelling and interpretation of the images. But the murals themselves remained resolutely situated in space and time, unlike painted ceramic bottles that have moved through many hands and that are housed now in museums and private collections with, at best, only vague references to their find sites. Implications of the particular social contexts of the murals’ making (as their painters’ “tellings”) can be gleaned from the archaeology of the site and from the broader geopolitics of the time. It matters that it was specifically here, at Huacas de Moche around 800 CE,29 that muralists painted these images of animated Moche warrior-objects attacking and defeating foreign highland foes—perhaps men from Cajamarca—and offering them as prisoners to the occupant of the throne built against the painted wall (see figure 3.3). The ninth century was precisely when the effects of Wari expansion were becoming most intense on the north coast of Peru. Relations between Moche and Wari areas, often via their northern Andean intermediaries in the Recuay, Huamachuco, and Cajamarca areas, appear to have been ambivalent, “ranging from friendly trading interaction to hostile encounters.”30 At some centers, like San José de Moro in the Jequetepeque Valley, the local elite emulated and imported Wari and Wari-related styles of ceramics

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during the period of about 700 to 850 CE, both via Cajamarca to the east and along the coast from the south.31 This movement also flowed in the opposite direction. Moche artifacts, and highland artifacts depicting Moche subjects, have occasionally been recovered at Recuay and even Wari sites.32 Rarely, late Moche and Moche-related ceramics have been found in the Rímac Valley and as far south as the Nasca drainage.33 At Huacas de Moche, there seems to have been far less acceptance of highland culture or embrace of what one might call Middle Horizon cosmopolitanism. Archaeologists have recovered some fragments of Recuay ceramics in the excavations there. Atop Huaca del Sol, they also found locally made Wari-style ceramics within receiving halls of the palace, suggesting very late developments in interregional engagement preceding the collapse of the ruling elite’s control.34 Coastal Cajamarca and Waristyle ceramics also occasionally appeared in tombs built immediately before the center’s abandonment. The public architecture of Huacas de Moche does not exhibit any sign of subordination or accommodation to the mounting influence of the highland groups during its final century. I interpret the Revolt of the Objects narrative in the New Temple murals as a situated telling of the Moche myth, as couched in terms of then-current events of an increasingly strained political situation, whether or not a battle between Moche and Cajamarca forces ever actually took place. Epic narratives often contain admixtures of both history and myth. The creation of these murals may have conveyed the growing anxieties of the leaders of Huacas de Moche amid the encroaching political power of Wari and their allies and their own waning authority on the coast. It is notable that here—within the final mural program created within the temples of Huaca de la Luna—this rhetoric of militaristic might was not broadcast outward toward a public, but was directed inward for the eyes of the ruling class itself. The New Temple’s mural paintings offer an important case study in this chapter’s attention to the transformations of Moche mural art that began in the seventh century. The images of ancient gods and the norcosteño forms of painted relief that had filled the Old Temple disappeared in this later period.35 I argue that these changes were not unique to Huaca de la Luna. They were part of a broader transformation of the medium, up and down the north coast of Peru, during these centuries. The imagery of the paramount being (the Divinidad de las Montañas) of the earlier temples continued past the seventh century

in his more active form as the Moche hero with snake belts. Compared to the earlier repeating reliefs of this protagonist, images of the hero battling foes were radically transformed in terms of style, technique, composition, and spatial configuration. What remained most steady, however, from one period to another, were the processions of Moche warriors and their captives, which could be seen marching from Pampa Grande to Pampa La Cruz to Guadalupito to Pañamarca. In late Moche mural art, artists ceased the labor-intensive practices of painted relief that can be traced to Preceramic practices from as early as the third millennium BCE. So, too, did they eschew the intricate geometries of norcosteño design, opting more often to paint figural compositions against white backgrounds with simple red borders.36 In late Moche mural art, images became more didactic, more self-referential, and more explicitly narrative in content. Painted images were also just as likely to be directed inward as outward. In these transformations of the genre, one can also perceive changes in the work that monumental images were made to do. Prior strategies of invoking shared religious ancestry and pan-coastal cultural affiliations to establish legitimacy were abandoned. As the Moche world expanded, became more complex, and in some places came under threat during these centuries, mural artists and patrons adjusted their strategies for conveying political and social might as internal social cohesion and external exclusion. As this monumental medium condensed, in technique and in the orthodoxy of its pictorial content, the shifting political dynamics of northern Peru were never far off. WARI EFFECTS : AESTH ETI C E MU LATIO N A N D MART IA L RE INFO RCEME NTS IN M URAL PAINT ING

When the rebuildings of the Old Temple of Huaca de la Luna ceased, and the smaller New Temple was built on the slopes of Cerro Blanco during the early eighth century, the cultural dynamics of northern Peru had become increasingly complex. The Wari expansion out of Ayacucho was underway by 660 CE,37 eventually to encompass a discontinuous area from Moquegua in the south, north through the highlands to the Cajamarca area, along the coast toward Pachacamac, and to Espíritu Pampa on the eastern slopes of the Andes.38 Although the militaristic expansion of the Wari Empire was once theorized as a cause for the “collapse” of Moche centers, its effects on the north coast

were largely indirect, occurring through economic relationships and intermediaries.39 New perspectives have been afforded by recent excavations of a Wari-style D-shaped structure at Huaca Santa Rosa de Pucalá, near Sipán in the Lambayeque Valley,40 and by the documentation of Warirelated tombs found at Castillo de Huarmey (ca. 800–1000 CE), at the very south of the Moche area, where remarkable textiles in hybrid Moche-Wari styles had previously been located (see figure 3.33).41 Although signs of Wari influence appeared in material culture found throughout the north coast, many questions remain.42 The appearance of Wari-related traits corresponded to the beginning of the end of Moche visual culture, as it has come to be defined, and to major reorganizations of the built environment along the north coast. It remains to be determined how the presence or actions of Wari or Wari-related groups might have affected, or perhaps effected, post-Moche transformations of traditions that are now known as Casma, in the south, and Lambayeque or Sicán, in the north. Compared to the Old Temple, Huaca de la Luna’s New Temple had a much smaller footprint (62 × 53 m in its final form)43 and a shorter history. It was built with three terraces and a series of ramps and stairs that gave access to the upper chamber (see figure 2.6), then reconfigured into a larger form with two terraces in its second phase. Painted, step-shaped crenelations lined the balustrades of some of the ramps. The murals that have been recorded there were entirely flat, without relief, and were far fewer in number than what has been recorded in the Old Temple. In the lower levels, as in the upper levels, images of prisoners and warriors predominated. In at least one area of the New Temple, textile imagery continued, although here it took on new form and meaning. Near the ramp of the first building (figure 3.11), which joined the second terrace to the third, painters added two rows of broad squares (ca. 70 cm on each side) with alternating motifs of yellow and blue-gray waves and interlocked red, black, and white step-frets to the white wall (figure 3.12).44 This was not the lively coastal style that teemed with aquatic life and the froth of breaking waves seen in earlier Moche murals that gestured to pancoastal affinities. Rather, this rigidly geometric abstraction was more typical of textile designs from the highlands of what are now Peru and Bolivia (see figure 0.19).45 Square motifs appeared in some ceramic representations of Moche textiles, but such patterns were not otherwise known in Moche murals. Given the timing of this mural’s creation

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3.11. Remains of a ramp and its mural paintings in the earlier phase of the New Temple. Photograph courtesy of the Proyecto Arqueológico

Huacas del Sol y de la Luna.

within the sociopolitical history of the north coast, the geometric composition might have been inspired by Wari aesthetics of abstraction.46 The mural painters’ emulation of aspects of Wari design (i.e., greater geometrization) within an existing form of Moche visual culture may have been motivated by a shift in taste effected by the “exportation of large numbers of tapestries, recognizably highland in technique and imagery” to the coast (see figure 0.18).47 The mural was not a direct citation of Wari textiles or other art forms.48 Rather, highland aesthetics may have registered obliquely in the geometric composition. Above this ramp, there had been a painting of warriors and captives in procession. Only traces remained in the early twenty-first century (figure 3.13).49 This painting can be compared, in broad strokes, to the processional murals of prisoners of war seen within the plaza of the Old Temple

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and Huaca Cao Viejo, in the latter’s late remaking. At the base of the ramp, at left, only the incised underdrawing remained of the anthropomorphic Owl Warrior (Makow­ ski’s Guerrero del Búho) who wore Moche jewelry and a headdress with a feline face. He looked out from the wall to confront directly those who would have approached the ramp from below. He gestured with one taloned hand to the nude male body of a prisoner who ascended the ramp, apparently bound by a rope that transformed into a fox head with a serpent tongue. The ramp mural was all but destroyed by the combined forces of Spanish colonial-era dismantling of the huaca and exposure to the elements. But higher up, legs and feet of other figures—some well dressed and others nude, some ascending and others descending—could still be glimpsed against the white background and red band of the groundline (figure 3.14).

3.12. Geometric mural painting within the New Temple. Photograph by the author.

As in earlier murals, the depicted bodies moved along the ramp as living bodies might have. Here, though, there was more variation and dynamism in their movements. The direct involvement of the Owl Warrior—one of the divinities who appears for the first time in late Moche iconography50—in the register of the men is without precedent in mural art. He prodded these prisoners along the ramp, to the highest terrace and its upper chamber, where the Revolt of the Objects murals would later be painted in the New Temple. Mural paintings of warrior processions and the weapons that they carried—be they anthropomorphized or not— had wide distribution in this medium during the late Moche period, from the Lambayeque Valley in the north to the Nepeña Valley in the south. At these other archaeological sites, however, known paintings and their architectural

or stratigraphic settings are more fragmentary than the grand views that have been afforded by decades of residential research projects at Huacas de Moche and El Brujo. At Pampa Grande, remains of wall paintings of human figures, as well as rows of iguanas and felines, have been observed.51 In one mural, painted behind a stepped bench, human figures—including a warrior wearing a nose ornament and tumi backflap and carrying a round shield and war club—could be seen. At the center of the fragmentary mural there was an animated weapons bundle, although it was not interpreted as such when it was found in 1975.52 It consisted of a round shield, the pointed base of a club, and various brightly colored feathers, with the legs of a human warrior (yellow with the feet and calves painted black) emerging from either side. The mural technique at Pampa Grande, like that of the New Temple, was one of

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3.13. Drawing of the remains of the mural along the ramp within the New Temple.

Image courtesy of the Proyecto Arqueológico Huacas del Sol y de la Luna.

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0

5m

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3.14. Detail of a warrior painted along the ramp within the New

Temple. Photograph by the author.

flat painting of polychrome figures against a plain white ground. At Galindo, a late Moche monumental center located in the middle Moche Valley, the interior walls of Huaca Galindo (also called Huaca las Avispas) had been covered with polychrome mural paintings. Little of the imagery remained in the twentieth century. In one location within the East Court (or Plaza 1), feet could be seen, painted in blue against a white background, standing upon a red band at bottom.53 On the coast, at the archaeological site of Pampa la Cruz within the town of Huanchaco, recent research has uncovered the remains of a late Moche mural painting depicting warriors and prisoners in procession. The profile figures were incised against the white background of the wall and then painted in polychrome without relief.54 In the Santa Valley, at the site of El Castillo, an exterior wall of the monument had been painted, around 600 CE, with at least six weapons bundles (figure 3.15).55 The bundles consisted of a round shield and a war club in the Moche style. At the late Moche site of Guadalupito (also referred to as Inka Pampa, or Pampa de los Incas), architecture had also been painted with images of Moche warriors sprinting or marching in profile (figures 3.16 and 3.17).56

3.15. Illustration of a mural painting of clubs and shields at El Castillo in the Santa Valley. Image from Wilson, Prehispanic Settlement

Patterns, 211.

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(ABOVE) 3.16.  Moche

warriors painted on a wall of Waka B at Inka Pampa in the Santa Valley, Peru. Watercolor by Pedro Rojas Ponce, 1937. Archivo Tello, Museo de Arqueología y Antropología de la Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos, Lima, IX B1 P1 V4 701.

(RIGHT) 3.17.  Moche

warrior painted on the wall of a huaca near Hacienda Guadalupito in the Santa Valley, Peru. Drawing by Pedro Rojas Ponce, 1937. Archivo Tello, Museo de Arqueología y Antropología de la Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos, Lima, IX B1 P1 V4 697.

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3.18. Panoramic view of Pañamarca as seen from the north. The principal platform appears at center. The temple with the painted pillars

was uncovered at right (below the provisional roof), just above the wind-carved bedrock. Photograph by Jorge Gamboa for the Pañamarca field project.

They wore tumi backflaps and carried clubs and shields like the others. Their formulaic presentations—painted in polychrome without relief against the white background and over the red painted frame—evidence the consistency of the genre across a long stretch of the Moche world during its late era. The creation of warrior mural paintings during the late Moche period extended south to Pañamarca, in the Nepeña Valley, where archaeologists have found evidence of one of its most elaborate renditions (figures 3.18 and 3.19). There, dozens of larger-than-life-size figures of elite warriors and the diminutive figures of their attendants have been recorded on the interior face of the northwest plaza wall (figures 3.20 to 3.24).57 The differential in size was a convention that Moche artists used to convey hierarchical status, not actual physical stature. Some of the smaller, eroded figures may have included musicians, based on comparisons to similar scenes painted on ceramic vessels.58 The mural had been cut down by a remodeling of the plaza and subsequent erosion. The enclosed interior of the plaza might once have been populated by hundreds of figures in this depicted assembly, not unlike the plaza murals of the Old Temple and Huaca Cao Viejo. But here the garments and ornaments of each figure were individualized. Many of the larger figures wore the warrior’s gold backflap. Some also wore the long red textiles with tassels and serrated edges seen at Guadalupito (see figure 3.16). The tunics were depicted with a variety of woven designs, assemblages of gilded plaques, and lozenges that

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represented feathers. Here and there in what could be seen of the mural in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, fragments of hair, earspools, and headdresses with long feathers hinted at what had been lost. Like the mural along the ramp of the New Temple, this painting of warriors and their attendants at Pañamarca also appeared to move along the inclined red band of the bottom frame, which served as a pictorial ramp (see figure 3.24). Here, too, that painted band paralleled the form of an actual ramp, which ascended slowly along the plaza wall toward the principal temples in the southwest. Like their costumes, the gestures of each figure were individualized. Some stepped lightly; others paused to arrange their garments; and still others appeared to dance, joined one to another by a wide ribbon or by clasping hands. To date, no prisoners have been seen in Pañamarca’s plaza mural. Nor does one see divinities like the Owl Warrior in the New Temple mural or the Moche hero who led similar processions painted on Moche ceramics.59 But much more of this painted wall and others remain sealed below the surface at Pañamarca. The paradox of this proliferation of late Moche mural paintings of warriors and weapons is that, to date, there is not physical evidence—such as fortifications or bio­ archaeological evidence of large-scale violence—for a history of Moche military conquests in these regions. Since Rafael Larco Hoyle’s work in the 1930s, models of colonization have been based on the appearance, sometimes suddenly, of ceramics and other material culture in the Moche

3.19. Plan of the monumental area of Pañamarca, Nepeña Valley,

showing the location of (1) the plaza mural, (2) Platform II, and (3) the pillared temple. Map by Hugo Ikehara.

1

2 3

N 0

25

50 m

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3.20. Moche warriors painted on the interior plaza wall at Pañamarca, as seen in 1950. Photograph by Ross Christenson. Ross Christenson

Collection, MSS 1716, box 54, folder 2, slide K-10-01. Image courtesy of the L. Tom Perry Special Collections, Harold B. Lee Library, Brigham Young University, Provo, Utah.

3.21. A portion of the plaza mural at Pañamarca. Painting by Pedro Azabache. University of British Columbia Archives, Alan R. Sawyer fonds,

box 26, folder 3.

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3.22. A warrior in Pañamarca’s plaza mural, as seen in 1950. Photograph by Ross Christenson. Ross Christenson Collection, MSS 1716, box 54,

folder 2, slide K-10-00. Image courtesy of the L. Tom Perry Special Collections, Harold B. Lee Library, Brigham Young University, Provo, Utah.

3.23. Portion of the plaza mural of Pañamarca, as seen in 2010. Photograph by the author.

0

0

5m

5m

3.24. The plaza mural at Pañamarca (Mural C). Drawing by Jorge Solórzano and Jorge Gamboa with color digitally added by Kirsten Larson

and Lisa Trever.

style, together with interpretations of militaristic imagery as records of military history. Cultural shifts and bellicose imagery alone are not sufficient evidence of military conquest and forced colonization. In the absence of evidence of widespread conflict, it would seem that these paintings were part of a widespread adoption of Moche culture and the ruling elite’s projection of a self-image of unified, confident, aggressive political might. The foundation of Moche celebration of warrior culture may have been based on memories of the endemic violence and social conflict of the earlier Salinar or Final Formative era (see introduction).60 The intensification and entrenchment of martial visual culture, as demonstrated here by late Moche mural painting, may have been a reaction to the increasing economic and political influence of highland rivals whose power was mounting through Wari affiliations. That is, this late Moche onslaught of paintings seems to have been just as much about propaganda and self-fashioning, in response to this growing threat to Moche leadership, as it was a depiction of a political reality.61 SI TUATING N ARRAT IVE S AT PAÑ A MARCA

The wall paintings of Pañamarca seem to offer a canon of late Moche ceramic iconography writ large. By the seventh century, architects reconfigured the monumental core of the site, grafting new construction upon earlier Final Formative and Gallinazo foundations.62 Whether these works were directed by Moche settlers from the north,63 or were developed by and for local communities that

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actively adopted new iconographies, styles, and social identities,64 remain ongoing research questions. What is clear is that, during the seventh and eighth centuries, the mural painters of Pañamarca arrayed earthen walls with distinctively Moche imagery of martial performance, religious ceremony, and epic narratives of combat between the Moche hero and his foes. Located in the far south of the Moche world, separated from Huacas de Moche by three coastal valleys and more than 160 kilometers, the intensity of monumental paintings of some of the most compelling narratives of the Moche tradition is surprising. Pictorial orthodoxy seems to have crystallized here, on the southern margin of the Moche world, during this late period of intensifying interregional dynamics.65 At first glance, it might be logical to envision a frontier situation in which Moche settlers were pushing south into foreign territory. Pañamarca was the largest Moche settlement in the valley and the only one with evidence of mural art.66 But the archaeology of the area does not show a marked border. The southern boundary of the Moche world was a diffuse one. Smaller sites and cemeteries with Moche material culture continued into the valleys of Casma, Culebras, and Huarmey.67 Instead, the cultural boundary that would have been more relevant as an active contact zone in Pañamarca’s history was located within the Nepeña Valley itself. Moche and Recuay settlements were divided into two territories where the valley narrows near Tomeque.68 A buffer zone separated the Recuay middle valley from the Moche lower valley. Pañamarca was located just below this

zone and just below the crossroads of mountain passes that connected Nepeña to the valleys north and south. In Nepeña, Moche and Recuay groups lived in relative proximity. Relationships between them were at times cooperative and, at other times, antagonistic.69 It would seem, though, that intercultural relationships in Nepeña were warmer and more productive than those at Huacas de Moche during the same period. Moche ceramics that emulated Recuay forms have been found near Pañamarca.70 Other Moche vessels have also been found up-valley within Recuay territory.71 In this context, one might expect to find aspects of Recuay style in Pañamarca’s mural paintings, too, but what appeared on those walls was resolutely Moche in form and style. And yet, the murals of Pañamarca were not copies of images composed in the Moche “heartland.” They evidenced their makers’ fluency in working with and adapting the conventions and canons of late Moche imagery. Painters created images that were recognizably Moche in style and composition but that also exhibited meaningful elaborations. Scholars have been so quick to classify the site’s paintings according to iconographic categories established in late twentieth-century ceramic studies that too little attention has been given to what actually appeared painted on the walls. Scholarly orthodoxy has at times blinded us to the particularities of these paintings, to their situations in space and time, and—as I explore in chapter 4—to the accretions of lived experiences that can be perceived on their textured surfaces.

A DECAPITATO R AND DIVIN E DOUB L ES

Most of the fragments of mural painting uncovered at Pañamarca in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries were concentrated within the interior of a platform (Platform II) that had been built to the northwest of the principal huaca (see figure 3.19).72 Spanish colonial-era destruction had exposed the remains of at least four phases of architectural constructions that date from about 550 to nearly 800 CE (figures 3.25 and 3.26).73 The paintings found there were oriented toward both the platform’s interior and its exterior. They were rendered at scales larger and smaller than human life size, but always with the same white background, red painted frames, and late Moche style of figural mural painting. To date there is no evidence of the deliberate replication of the architecture and its mural programs from phase to phase, as occurred within the Old Temple at Huaca de la Luna. The earliest murals known so far within this platform included a larger-than-human-size figure (figure 3.27), painted on the outer face of a solid block of adobe construction or RATE (relleno de adobes tramados con paramento enlucido [architectural construction of stacked adobes with plastered face]). He may have been the Decapitator, a manifestation of the old god of the mountains (Divinidad de las Montañas), seen in the earlier mural art of the Old Temple and Huaca Cao Viejo as well as in local Moche textiles (figure 3.28). To date there are few known images of this divinity in late Moche mural painting. This figure was painted in the late Moche style but his frontal position, the

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Marine Life

Iguana

shield m

 Monster

ra

Sacrifice Ceremony

p

m

ra

Panoply

p

Twins (?) in Combat

Twins in Combat

N 0

1

2

3

Decapitator

3.25. Plan of the locations of fragmentary murals within the Platform II excavations at Pañamarca in 2010. Illustration by Jorge Gamboa,

Ricardo Toribio, and Lisa Trever.

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4m

Sacrifice Ceremony Panoply

height of the RATE painted with the Decapitator

Iguana Marine Life

height of the wall painted with the Twins in Combat

0

1m

3.26. Section drawing showing the relative position of murals from earlier (darker gray) to later (lighter gray) construction. Illustration by

Jorge Gamboa, Ricardo Toribio, and Lisa Trever.

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3.27. Decapitator figure seen on a wall at Pañamarca in 1967. Image by the author, based on a photograph by Donald Proulx.

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3.28. Decapitator figure from a Moche textile recovered from Cerro Blanco, Nepeña Valley. Museum für Völkerkunde, Munich, 1646. Illustration courtesy of Heiko Prümers, based on a drawing by Elsa Ubbelohde-Doering.

diagonal spider-like elements that extended out from his body, and the large tumi knife held in one hand evidenced his connection to earlier images of the divinity. Considering its relatively early placement in the architectural sequence of Platform II, this may have been a transitional image between earlier and later traditions of mural art. Two other fragmentary murals belonged to the same early structure as the Decapitator. They included images of supranatural figures resembling the Moche hero in handto-hand combat. When first uncovered in 1934, the south face of the wall (Mural A) could be seen to bear the image of a pair of fighters, identical in appearance but for minor details like the color of their wrist cuffs.74 With exposure over time, the figure at left has all but disappeared (figures 3.29 and 3.30). The opposite face of the same wall, which was opened more than seventy years after the first (and then, together with all of the exposed paintings at Pañamarca, resealed),75 was painted with the same subject, although only one of the combatants has been revealed (figures 3.31 and 3.32). The scenes of divine combat painted on either side of the wall involved figures with

fanged mouths and sunken faces, wearing similar tunics, belts, and loincloths, and raising tumi knives, poised to strike their opponent. The black hair of each transformed into a monstrous serpent as they raised their other arm to grasp the opponent by the hair. The iconographic similitude of these two murals draws attention to the differences in artistic styles and the palettes used on each side of the wall, which would seem to indicate that each was the work of a distinct painter or team of painters. These monumental paintings of divine combat bore a passing resemblance to the earlier reliefs of the battle between the Moche hero and the marine monster on the facade of the Old Temple and within the courtyard of the Plataforma Uhle at Huaca de la Luna. They also resembled an image on a ceramic vessel that several iconographers have used to argue for the existence of not one but two Moche heroes: divine twins of the land and sea (Makow­ ski’s Mellizo Terrestre and Mellizo Marino).76 The subject of divine combats, which Donnan and McClelland referred to as Supernatural Confrontations,77 was a frequent one in Moche art.78 But in none of those other images were

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3.29. Mural painting of twins in hand-to-hand combat at Pañamarca, as seen in 1950. Photograph by Ross Christenson. Ross Christenson

Collection, MSS 1716, box 54, folder 2, slide K-10-16. Image Courtesy of the L. Tom Perry Special Collections, Harold B. Lee Library, Brigham Young University, Provo, Utah.

3.30. Remains of the mural of twins in combat (Mural A), as observed in 2010. Watercolor and pencil drawing by Pedro Neciosup.

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3.31. Mural painting

uncovered in 2010 on the north face of the same wall (see figure 3.25). Photograph by the author.

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3.32. Mural painting of

combat, likely also between twins (Mural A North). Watercolor and pencil drawing by Pedro Neciosup.

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3.33. Moche-Wari textile bag, cotton and camelid fiber, 18 cm wide at opening. El Castillo de Huarmey, Lfd. Nr. 18. Photograph courtesy of

Heiko Prümers.

the opponents actually mirror images: identical in pose, dress, and weaponry.79 Perhaps the Pañamarca image was a mistranslation of the subject of the Moche hero in combat with the marine monster: the foes conflated so that both had the clothing of the former and the long, parted hair of the latter. Except, in other late Moche depictions of battles between the Moche hero and other foes like the Strombus Monster or the Crab Monster, artists depicted the protagonist taking on key attributes of his enemies. A conflation of divine protagonist and monstrous foe would have been in keeping with the Moche hero’s transformative capacities, as would the elaboration of a new kind of image of the hero in hand-to-hand combat with a doppelganger. These murals reveal that the Pañamarca artists’ comprehension of this divine subject was profound. In the far south of the

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late Moche world, and continuing thereafter across media at places like Castillo de Huarmey (figure 3.33),80 images of twins (even more identical than Makowski’s Mellizos Divinos) pulling each other’s hair in combat became canonical as they never had to the north.81 ADAPTING TH E SACR IF I CE CERE MO NY  NARRATIV E

The most iconic of Pañamarca’s murals, as it has come to occupy a paramount place in modern scholarship, was found on a fragment of an L-shaped painted wall within Platform II (figures 3.34 and 3.35). When it was documented in 1958, it was all that remained of the highest level of one of the middle phases of construction of the platform.82 That upper chamber had been painted in its

3.34. Flattened replica of the fragmentary mural of the Sacrifice Ceremony and the panoply (Mural E), uncovered at Pañamarca in 1958.

Painting by José Velásquez, after Félix Caycho. Ministerio de Cultura, Museo Nacional de Arqueología, Antropología e Historia del Perú, Lima.

3.35. Illustration of the mural uncovered at Pañamarca in 1958. Drawing by Félix Caycho. Image courtesy of Bruna Bonavia-Fisher and

Aurelio Bonavia.

interior—parallel to the placement of the Revolt of the Objects mural within the New Temple—with a figural scene known now as the Sacrifice Ceremony, previously called the Presentation Theme.83 Its exterior surfaces remain sealed by later construction. In the mural, an anthropomorphic divinity with fangs and animated braids and belts lifted a covered goblet, presumably to a now-destroyed figure at left. Her image, at about 73 cm tall, was half human life size. She wore a long, belted dress covered with yellow feathers, hammered gold earspools, a double-stranded necklace, and a gold crown with two large plumes over a long head covering.84 Like other female figures, her feet were not colored black. Behind her, zoomorphic attendants—a canine warrior and an anthropomorphic bat—participated in the ceremony. One carried what may have been a brazier; the other, a goblet. An odd, pod-shaped creature appeared in front of the canine warrior. It might have been a coiled serpent or an animated form of the teardrop-shaped ulluchu fruit that appears (unanimated) in Moche scenes of blood sacrifice.85 At the corner, a human captor oversaw three bound prisoners that had been stripped of their clothing. Below him, three goblets sat within a basin; a fox-headed serpent rounded the bend. Nearby on the face of the pilaster, there was a large panoply that included a Moche war club, a round shield, and a long strip of cloth (perhaps a loincloth or slingshot). A red band was painted above the panoply, but the mural of the ceremony was framed by a series of step-frets that turned into the heads of seabirds along the top and

a

into rolling waves at bottom.86 These were rare examples of decorative borders that retained the earlier appearance of norcosteño design in a late Moche context. The paintings at Pañamarca did not otherwise conform to the reticular logic of the loom. Their images were sketched freehand with incisions on the white walls, not laid out on a scored grid as in mural paintings made before the seventh century. But, in their presentation of polychrome figures against white backgrounds with red frames, these paintings may have indirectly referenced late Moche tapestry-woven textiles like the extraordinary example found at Pacatnamú that bore images of the Moche hero attacking the chimerical creature that has come to be known as the Strombus Monster (see figure 0.22).87 Or, perhaps more likely, there may have been a new aesthetic convergence of mural painting and figural tapestry production during these later centuries. Even in its fragmentary form, the Sacrifice Ceremony mural at Pañamarca exhibited meaningful differences from the iconographic theme as it has come to be known from painted ceramic vessels. Those fineline ceramics were roughly contemporaneous with the mural, but were made to the north, in or near the Chicama Valley. In some ceramic images, the violence done to bound prisoners was central and explicit. In the lower register of the stirrup-spout bottle in the Museo Larco in Lima (figure 3.36a and b), for example, a feline warrior and an animated club in the form of a woman each grasp a captive by the neck and hold a knife in the other hand.88 The short vertical lines between the sacrificers and their victims were a convention for

b

3.36a and b. Moche bottle painted with the Sacrifice Ceremony, 500–800 CE, ceramic, 28.7 × 15.4 × 15.4 cm. Reportedly from the site of Facalá, Chicama Valley, Peru. (a) Museo Larco, Lima, Peru, ML010847. (b) Drawing by Donna McClelland (no. 0448). Moche Archive, Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection.

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depicting shed blood. In the mural fragment, the depiction of violence was less explicit. There was no depiction of blood. The bound male bodies of the prisoners and their human captor were tucked into the corner of the painting (see figure 3.35). The naked captives were shown bound at the neck with animated ropes but, unlike their counterparts on ceramics, their hands were left free. Their captor approached with a rope in his hand, not a knife. Unique choices were made in how to represent the nature of the prisoners’ sacrificial role in the Pañamarca mural, perhaps evidencing their makers’ relative discomfort with the explicit depiction of blood sacrifice. The fate of these abject subjects was conveyed instead through visual metaphor. The artists painted unusual triangular shapes emerging from the shoulder of each prisoner’s body.89 These are not present in other depictions of the Sacrifice Ceremony.90 The shapes were the necks of ceramic jars, extending from the captive bodies, that conflated each human form with a vessel. In imagery painted on ceramics, jars tied with ropes appear in mortuary and sacrificial scenes, just as living prisoners were depicted bound by their necks.91 But nowhere else in Moche art was the equivalence explicitly visualized in this way. The subjugated bodies were like jars: vessels containing vital fluids to be released in sacrificial offering. Prisoners as jars—like warriors as weapons—was a rhetorical expression familiar to artists at Pañamarca, Huacas de Moche, and other late Moche centers. The three body-vessels were echoed in the mural by the presence of the three goblets within the shallow basin below them. Metaphors of bodies as vessels, and vessels as bodies, appear in diverse settings past and present, but the valences of these metaphors vary.92 In Moche art, it was most often the male body as political captive and sacrifice that was conceived of as a vessel. Like the murals of divine combat, this painting of the Sacrifice Ceremony was not a provincial imitation of a Moche narrative. Nor were its departures from pictorial models established elsewhere uninformed misinterpretations of the subject. These images were fully fluent adaptations of core narratives that demonstrated their makers’ thorough comprehension of the metaphors and ontological possibilities that underlay their pictorial subjects. T HE D EEDS O F T H E MO C H E H ERO

The significance of Pañamarca’s fragmentary Sacrifice Ceremony mural has been amplified by its place within the modern history of iconographic research. It was, no doubt,

part of an important mural program made on the interior walls of an upper temple courtyard around 700 CE. But when one takes a wider view of what is now known of the center’s painting traditions, it becomes clear that other imagery—in particular the deeds and battles of the Moche hero—was more frequently depicted on the temple walls. Scenes of the hero’s deeds and combats were depicted in various media from at least the third century CE. In early settings, he may have been understood as a manifestation of the otiose Divinidad de las Montañas who appeared on the monumental facades and courtyard walls of the Old Temple and Huaca Cao Viejo. In later art, the more active hero and his epic cycle of actions rose to greater prominence, as did other narratives like the Burial Theme and the Sacrifice Ceremony. His appearance became increasingly standardized and his depicted narratives became more complex: his enemies grew more numerous and the settings of his deeds expanded from the mountains to the coastal plains to the underwater depths of the sea and even into the world of the dead. At Pañamarca, the paintings of the Decapitator and the Moche hero battling his double participated in this pictorial tradition. In style and imagery, these murals occupied a transitional place between early and late Moche practices. Two large figures, painted within a kind of niche that had been built into the northwest face of Platform II (see figure 3.25) belonged to the narratives of the Moche hero. The hero himself, however, has not been seen in what has been recorded there to date. The painted niche was formed during a late architectural configuration of the platform that encompassed the structure that had been painted with the Sacrifice Ceremony and the panoply (see figure 3.26). An anthropomorphic Iguana and the Strombus Monster approached each other at an internal corner within the niche (figures 3.37 to 3.39).93 The Iguana carried a conch shell cut at the spire to convert it into a trumpet. His spikey tail and bird headdress identified him as the companion to the Moche hero (see figure 2.39). Although the Iguana appeared on earlier ceramics (Moche III), the Strombus Monster was a later invention (Moche IV and V).94 When this painting was first illustrated in 1950, the rear of the creature had already been heavily damaged, making it difficult to understand what may have been a skull and rope attached to its backside. The Strombus Monster often appeared in combat with the Moche hero, who might have been part of a still-unexcavated or now-destroyed extension of this mural program.

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3.37. Corner painted with the confrontation between the Iguana figure and the Strombus Monster, as seen in 1955. Photograph by Abrahám

Guillén. Ministerio de Cultura, Museo Nacional de Arqueología, Antropología e Historia del Perú, Lima.

3.38. Iguana figure carrying a shell trumpet in a mural painting at

3.39. Strombus Monster with feline, fox, and snail features in a

Pañamarca (Mural D). Painting by Pedro Azabache. University of British Columbia Archives, Alan R. Sawyer fonds, box 26, folder 3.

mural painting at Pañamarca (Mural B). Painting by Pedro Azabache. University of British Columbia Archives, Alan R. Sawyer fonds, box 26, folder 3.

textile-like designs. Here the sea life was unconstrained by the desire to emulate woven compositions. The purplish manta ray and the little red and blue fish that swam up to it—the latter behaving like a cleaner wrasse—belonged to the ocean; these were not the catfish (life monsefuano) that symbolized the fresh water of irrigation canals. PAINTING A MO C H E CA NO N FOR NEP EÑA   W ITH IN TH E PILLARED T E M P LE

3.40. A mural of marine life painted within Platform II at Pañamarca.

Photograph by the author.

In the prior building phase (coeval with the Sacrifice Ceremony mural), a partially excavated painting of aquatic life on the exterior face of the platform might also have been part of a scene related to the deeds of the hero, perhaps in his form as the Mellizo Marino or supranatural Fisherman (figure 3.40).95 This lively painting of fish and an iridescent manta ray (painted with blue-gray over red ochre) was a significant departure from the earlier norcosteño-style murals of aquatic life at Huaca de la Luna and Huaca Cao Viejo (for example, see figures 2.51 and 2.52). The more naturalistic depiction seen here had little in common with the crystalline geometry of those repeating,

At the far edge of the monumental area, overlooking the biomorphic forms of bedrock that had been sculpted by wind over hundreds of thousands of years, the architects of Pañamarca built a temple with a roof supported by a series of tall pillars (2–5 m tall; figure 3.41). Its form suggests affinities to the earlier Moche pillared halls (salas hipóstilas) in the Old Temple at Huaca de la Luna,96 and locally to colonnades built within Formative centers in the Nepeña Valley.97 The footprints of these pillars (about 80–90 cm wide) did not conform to dimensions that one would expect based on the standard sizes of adobe bricks that were used there. Their nonstandard dimensions suggest that the pillars might have been built around wooden posts.98 At the late Moche site of Huaca Colorada, in the Jequetepeque Valley, builders formed columns around posts that became “highly curated architectural components.”99 Although this temple had precedents in other pillared architecture, the historical and spatial density of figural painting found here is highly unusual.100 Access to the interior was tightly controlled through narrow ramps, passageways, and corridors that would have only permitted single-file movement. The temple’s walls and pillars were covered with painted scenes and vignettes intended for what could only have been a private form of viewing. The painted figures suggested ideal forms of ascending, entering, moving through, and behaving within this highly restricted, image-filled space. The pillared temple was first decorated in the midseventh century (631–665 CE),101 although its surfaces were painted white without polychrome images when it was first built. The current view of the pillared temple is necessarily a partial one.102 Targeted excavations within the interior of the building have provided an important sample of the temple’s architecture, including two complete pillar faces and several other areas of mural painting.103 This sample demonstrates the complexity of the temple’s galleried configuration,104 as well as the intensity of its renovations and repaintings over the course of some

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Northwest Wall

Pillar 2

Pillar 3

Northeast Wall

Pillar 1 Pillar 4

Southeast Wall (Ramp)

Pillar 5

N

0

1m

3.41. Plan of the pillared structure at Pañamarca, as documented in 2010. Illustration by Jorge Gamboa and Lisa Trever.

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150 years, until about 800 CE.105 With each renovation, the floor was raised and new benches were built, but the same pillars were reused (sometimes extended vertically), replastered, and repainted. Some surfaces were painted as many as eight times. With each repainting, a new pictorial program was brought into being.106 The conventions of late Moche mural painting—varied figures, mostly in profile, painted against stark white backgrounds and separated by red bands—were already well established in the pillared temple in its first pictorial program. Walls and pillars alike were divided into horizontal registers that were painted with images that were distinctively Moche in form and style, if not always in content. On one pillar, the earliest program included at least three vignettes stacked one above another (figure 3.42). Others were covered at the top by later layers of painted clay plaster. The highest visible register contained two painted bodies (figure 3.43). At right, a warrior wearing a golden tumi backflap appeared on bended knee. To his left, the smaller figure of a woman held a rope that presumably bound the warrior as her captive. Four long red objects crossed her torso and shoulder. They may have represented her hair or they might have been feathers that would have associated her with the vulture or cormorant women painted on some Moche ceramics. These bird-women supported the body of the Moche hero in scenes related to his battles (see figure 3.51),107 although the captive warrior on the pillar did not display any of the divinity’s attributes. In other scenes, bird-women attended to the dead. Below the woman and her warrior on the pillar, there appeared another woman with plaited hair who raised a goblet and its lid (figure 3.44), echoing the gesture from the Sacrifice Ceremony. She was well dressed and wore face paint and a string of beads around her neck but she was not fanged, her braids were not animated as snakes,108 and she did not wear the signature plumed headdress of that divinity. Behind her there was a large red jar, tied with a strap at the neck, and a pair of shallow vessels with pedestal bases, one of which had been almost entirely destroyed. The bound jar can be seen as a complete metaphoric replacement of the body of a human captive. In the lowest register (figure 3.45), a male figure with human, feline, and serpent features carried a similar bound jar over his shoulder. The two ends of the red tie in his hand mimicked the shape of his yellow bifid tongue. The pillar’s three scenes worked together to present a narrative sequence of warrior capture, sacrificial presentation, and transport of the body-vessel.

3.42. Paintings from the earliest mural program of the pillared

structure (Pillar 1, southwest face). Watercolor and pencil drawing by Jorge Gamboa and Pedro Neciosup.

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3.43. Early painting on the pillar, depicting a woman holding a rope tied to a warrior on bended knee. The image is partially covered by later

layers of mural painting. Photograph by the author.

3.44. Painting of a woman raising a goblet and its lid. Photograph by the author.

3.45. Painting of a chimerical figure with feline, fox, and serpent features in the lowest register on the pillar. This figure carries a jar similar to

the one painted behind the woman in the register above. Photograph by the author.

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3.46. The earliest paintings on another pillar (Pillar 3, northeast face).

Pencil and watercolor drawing by Jorge Gamboa and Pedro Neciosup.

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Elsewhere within the temple, another pillar was divided into four registers in this earliest program (figure 3.46). At its top, a pair of red marine birds with hooked beaks and webbed feet signaled a coastal setting (figure 3.47). Below them appeared two episodes from the cycle of battles of the Moche hero (figures 3.48 and 3.49). His identity was conveyed in both registers by his furrowed cheeks, snake belts, step-patterned tunic, feline headdress with fan of feathers, and serpent earrings, although here he lacked the fangs seen elsewhere. In each battle painting, the hero and his opponent grabbed at each other with one hand and, with the other, they raised weapons (stones above, knives below), ready to strike. On the painted pillar his opponents were a figure with a spherical body, which has been variably interpreted as a blowfish, jellyfish, or snail (figure 3.51, see also figure 0.25a and b), and the Strombus Monster. Here the Strombus shell was incised and painted with an image of a bicephalic serpent, perhaps alluding to the serpentine images engraved on shell trumpets (pututus) like those found at Chavín de Huántar.109 In both battles, a small dog accompanied the hero. Below the battles, a procession of five men moved from right to left (figure 3.50), across the face of the pillar and onto the bench that joined it to the next pillar. These men carried a variety of things: a basin holding three goblets, a jar carried over the shoulder, a knife, a stirrup-spout bottle grasped by the loop, and a feather fan and textile. Some of them wore striped tunics and headcloths like those of the attendant figures in the plaza mural. Others wore more elaborate garments and headdresses—including a feline headdress like the one worn by the Moche hero. None were dressed as warriors or carried weapons for battle. This procession was not overtly militaristic, although sacrificial ideas materialized in the things they carried (the goblets, the bound jar, the knife). The pillar paintings manifested their makers’ keen knowledge of core narratives of late Moche art, as well as their abilities to modify and elaborate on those narratives. The walls that enclosed the pillars were also painted with multiple registers of figural imagery. In what has been seen so far of the northeast wall, which was created at some point after the pillars,110 its imagery was organized in three registers (figure 3.52). Its paintings were created facing and in dialogue with the pillar painted with the mythical battles, but the wall’s palette was more limited. Next to nothing survived of the upper register, where only a red leg and a black foot could be seen, overlapping the red frame.

3.47. Pair of seabirds from the early painting of the pillar. Photograph by the author.

3.48. Battle between the Moche hero, at right, and a foe with a circular body, at left. Photograph by the author.

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3.49. Battle between the Moche hero and the Strombus Monster. Photograph by the author.

3.50. Procession painted at the bottom of the pillar and onto the low wall at left. Photograph by the author.

3.51. Moche florero (interior view from the top), 500–800 CE, ceramic, 24.9 × 44.6 × 44.4 cm. Museo Larco, Lima, Peru, ML018882.

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3.52. Painting on the northeast

wall, facing the battle paintings on Pillar 3. Watercolor and pencil drawing by Jorge Gamboa and Pedro Neciosup.

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3.53. Mural painting of three women and a bird in flight in front of a gabled structure. Photograph by the author.

The original painted wall must have stood at least a meter higher than the modern surface level. Recent excavations provided an approximately one-meter-wide view of this wall, which still remained sealed at left and right behind adobe bricks from the temple’s remaking. In the lowest register of the mural, the figures of three women—one standing, one seated, another mostly occluded still by stacked adobes—gathered near a Moche temple with pitched roof and painted platform (figure 3.53). At left, the hidden woman held a thin yellow implement in each hand. She dipped one into the basket at her knee and lifted the other to the face of the woman seated in front of her. This type of basket also appears in images of coca chewing set in the highlands.111 Her utensils resembled the long spatulas that men in those scenes used to transfer powdered lime from gourds or gourd-shaped bottles to their mouths to activate the mild stimulant effect of the leaf. A similar activity seems to have been depicted here. There was some ambiguity, though, in the placement of the spatula across the mouth of the other

woman. Close examination of the painted surface revealed that the spatula was first incised and painted across the woman’s mouth but then was painted over and redrawn across her cheek. Women were not otherwise depicted in coca-chewing scenes in Moche art.112 A third woman stood and held aloft two plates, each piled high with food. A pale gray-blue raptor (perhaps an osprey) descended toward her, over the roof of the temple. The scene is an unusual one in Moche art, although some points of comparison— the temple, the descending bird, the vessels, the gathering of women and men—can be found in images painted on a ceramic bottle in a private collection (figure 3.54a and b). The middle register of the mural suffered more structural damage (figure 3.55). It included the image of a man wearing a highland-style striped tunic like those worn by the small figures in procession at the bottom of the pillar and those who assisted the elite warriors in the plaza mural. The extension of the scene remained sealed behind adobes, but a cluster of red and yellow feathers and other motifs (a hand holding a yellow object, the red

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head of a serpent) could be seen at the excavation’s edge. The man in the striped tunic held something especially strange. The ambiguous object consisted of four red ropes or cords strung with irregularly shaped blue objects that I interpret as rough, unworked stones. Handheld rattles of strung shells or seeds were sometimes included in ceramic

a

paintings of music and dance.113 Multiple strands of espingo seeds (Nectandra sp.) were sometimes depicted in curing scenes.114 These stones did not have the regular appearance of shells or seeds, although they might have produced a percussive sound if shaken. In color and in size they appeared similar to the beads of the women’s necklaces, but here the artist took care to show the individuated shape of each stone as distinctly noncircular. A processing figure wearing a similar tunic was painted on a Moche ceramic bottle now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York; he carried five loose cords, though without stones, in a similar gesture of display.115 None of these partial comparatives can explain the particular form of the strung stones in the mural. Even if they were depicted here as part of a religious offering or performance, they can also be understood within practices of interregional trade that expanded during the late Moche period of the Middle Horizon. These might be precious blue stones (turquoise, chrysocolla, sodalite) as they would have appeared in their raw form exchanged between highland groups and coastal communities. In many fine works of Moche mosaic the individual tesserae were perforated (see figure 0.21). Sometimes those tiny round holes were perfectly infilled; this would seem to suggest that the piercings were not an integral or even desirable part of the finished product. They may indicate that the stones had been drilled and strung before they were cut into thin sections for use in mosaic ornaments. The question of whether this object might be a quipu merits discussion. On the surface, the object in the mural was not a quipu, at least not as defined through conventional Inca or Wari examples. The four strands were not shown tied one to another or attached to a primary cord, as would be expected for later Inca quipus. Nor were they

b 3.54a and b. Stirrup-spout ceramic bottle—in the form of a temple—painted with scenes of men, women, and a bird set amid architecture and vessels. Private collection. Drawing by Donna McClelland (no. 0192). Moche Archive, Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection.

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3.55. Mural painting of a man in a striped tunic holding four strands of pale blue stones. Photograph by the author.

knotted. They did not resemble the colorful wrapped and knotted forms of Wari quipus.116 But, as Sabine Hyland’s ethnographic research has shown, greater formal variability was possible in much later Andean quipus.117 Those quipus could consist of single cords and they were not always knotted. Sometimes pieces of things like dried potato (chuño), beans, or tufts of fiber were attached to them. Even though there is currently no physical evidence for Moche quipus, and this image does not correspond to the known forms of pre-Hispanic quipus, one should not be too quick to dismiss the thought out of hand. One of the words used for the number ten (depending on what kind of thing was being counted) in the Indigenous coastal language Muchik was na.pong,118 which was formed by combining the preposition na and pong, the word for stone.119 That is, to count some things by tens in Muchik was to count por piedra (“by stone[s]”). In the highland language of Quechua, by contrast, the word for stone (rumi) was not used in counting.120 If one were to speculate on what a Moche quipu might have looked like—or, more to the point, how a Moche artist might have depicted a Wari quipu or an antecedent, perhaps if they were not well acquainted with the object—it might be exactly this: twisted cords with signs for decimal quantities (i.e., stones). In taking such pains to articulate the particular form of each stone, as well as the “S” directionality of the twisted cords and the precise splaying of the four strands against gravity so that each was maximally legible, the Moche artist created an image that was illustrative, even instructional, in communicating the form and function of what might have been a quipu in coastal terms. In the paintings of Pañamarca’s pillared temple, artists depicted canonical subjects taken from Moche art with unprecedented elaborations, all of which they rendered in the conventional style of mural painting of the seventh and eighth centuries. In creating this program of images, the muralists rejected Nepeña’s much earlier traditions of finely sculpted and painted reliefs at places like Cerro Blanco and Huaca Partida (see figure 1.27), as well as the geometric friezes of Caylán.121 When Pañamarca’s painters embraced the imagery of the Moche hero, the Decapitator, and perhaps other manifestations of the ancestral divinities now unseen, it was not directly from their own encounters with more ancient Cupisnique or Chavín imagery. Rather, the form of late Moche mural painting that appeared at Pañamarca by the seventh century seems to have arrived there, from the north, already as

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a well-established Moche tradition, perhaps via portable media like textiles or ceramics.122 It is one thing to observe the existence of meaningful elaborations of the Moche canon in these paintings, but we should also consider why. How might the situation—in Nepeña in the seventh and eighth centuries—have informed artists’ and patrons’ choices to tell these stories with these elements in these ways? Why veil the bodily violence of sacrifice in the total metaphor of the bound jar? Why choose to depict the Strombus Monster as if its carapace were an incised shell trumpet from Chavín? Why paint women chewing coca, and not in the mountains but next to a Moche building on the coast? Why include the image of a highland man holding something like a quipu, an object not seen anywhere else in Moche art? Answers to these questions may lie in those closer social and economic relationships between Moche and Recuay communities in the Nepeña Valley. The dynamics between Moche communities and their highland neighbors were not homogeneous from valley to valley. Whereas in the New Temple at Huacas de Moche, painters depicted highland warriors (perhaps men from Cajamarca) being walloped by anthropomorphized weapons and regalia representing the Moche elite, there was a different tenor to the paintings of Pañamarca. In what can be seen so far, that center’s murals did not convey the same hostility toward highland people. In other places, like San José de Moro, Santa Rosa de Pucalá, and Castillo de Huarmey, coastal–highland relations may have been warmer still. At Pañamarca, painters included men in highland tunics in procession along the pillars and playing attendant roles to the dramatic performance of the warriors in the plaza mural. A power imbalance was still present in these depictions, even if outright hostilities were not. Perhaps the people of Pañamarca, which was closer to Chavín de Huántar than other Moche centers, had seen shell trumpets like the ones that had been played there. No doubt they engaged in economic exchange with people from communities along the Callejón de Huaylas, as the upper Santa River is known, to procure foreign materials including fine blue stones.123 And perhaps some Recuay women married into the Moche community and brought coca chewing and other highland practices with them.124 To be clear, we cannot read these murals as transcripts of social reality. But they do present the ideas that their artists had in mind, and the affairs that concerned them, as they painted a Moche canon for Nepeña.

T HE CO ND ENSATIO N OF A ME DIU M

During the seventh century, dramatic changes took place within practices of Moche mural art. The foundations of the medium that had been established to the north in the third century were radically reconfigured. After about 650 CE, muralists were no longer creating the repetitious bodies of ancestral divinities. Gone, apparently, was the use of clay relief. Gone, too, were aesthetic investments in norcosteño designs of walls teeming with geometricized catfish, manta rays, and interlocking waves. In late Moche mural paintings, visual references to textiles were subtle if present at all. The prevalence of pale ground and polychrome figures might have been designed to evoke the chromatics of late Moche tapestries, though that resemblance may have been a matter of aesthetic convergence across media during this era. In the place of earlier practices, new priorities emerged. In style, there was much greater homogeneity in mural painting across the Moche area during these later centuries. The widespread choice to paint mural backgrounds white with simple red frames would have been a more expeditious and economical one. Subtle variations in painting technique from site to site (whether walls were incised before or after they were painted white, whether black lines were painted within those incisions or not) suggest, however, that these paintings were not made by itinerant teams of painters moving from site to site, but were created locally by resident teams of artists.125 Processions of warriors and prisoners continued from earlier Moche mural art and became even more widespread after 600 CE. In dispensing with prior strategies of visualizing affiliations with the past and with their coastal neighbors, Moche artists and their patrons doubled down on the martial imagery of their own elite visual culture. Paradoxically, as the adoption of Moche culture expanded during the seventh century, especially in the southern valleys, the formal parameters of mural art condensed. At the same time, new possibilities for narrative image making opened up. This change paralleled shifts that Michele Koons has observed from performance to commemoration elsewhere in the Moche world during the seventh century.126 What had been a medium devoted to repeated bodily statements became one of

pictorial storytelling. There was a distinct shift from simulated presences (bodies sculpted in clay, the emulation of fine textiles) to narrative pictoriality, by which I mean the presentation of images—as forms of storytelling and intercultural explication—across flat expanses of walls that came to serve as virtual planes for two-dimensional representations. Form alone, however, is insufficient to determine the perceived animacy of these images. As I discuss in chapter 4, the archaeology of image perception and visual meaning making requires recourse to other forms of evidence. By highlighting these transformations in later Moche mural art, I am advocating neither for an art historical teleology nor for an evolutionary sequence moving toward a pictorial form of writing. As Irene Winter has written in the context of ancient Near Eastern art, pictorial narrative was one option among many. It was “selected as a mode of representation because it [met] the requirements of the particular individual, period, or culture.”127 Moche makers used narrative because it served their needs during the Middle Horizon. After this era, the power of iconic repetition of human figures of authority would return in Lambayeque mural painting at Úcupe and other places.128 The aesthetics of textile design would also return with extraordinary vigor in later Chimú friezes.129 The aggressive bodies of ancestral predatory divinities, however, would not appear again in this medium. Pictorial narrative would have been an effective way for Moche artists and patrons to communicate their stories across cultural groups and to beholders who did not already know the stories that earlier images had referenced.130 But, as was evident in the vividly painted interiors at Pañamarca and in the New Temple of Huaca de la Luna, the use of painted narrative was not solely for the benefit of outsiders. Unlike the whitewashed spaces of the innermost rooms of the Old Temple and Huaca Cao Viejo, intimate spaces of these late Moche huacas were filled with images. This can be seen as part of a wider emphasis on the private interior spaces of huacas during the seventh and eighth centuries.131 In this late period, painted stories were not only broadcast outward for broader, increasingly multiethnic communities, they also contracted inward, as private affirmation for the inner circles of Moche authority.

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4.1. Layers of “lived time” on a painted pillar at Pañamarca. Photograph by the author.

CHA P TER 4

ARCHAEO-ICONOLOGY An Archaeology of Image Experience and Response

M

ore than six hundred years of history adhered to the eroded surfaces of an adobe pillar at Pañamarca. Only the faintest forms and outlines of what had been painted figures remained to be seen (figure 4.1), here just above the horizon of the pillared temple’s last earthen floor.1 The effects of time and the actions of human hands had obscured the pillar’s many layered paintings, rendering them ghostly traces of what had once been. Centuries of “lived time” were legible on the weary surfaces.2 As at other places—in the preparation of walls and floors in rural villages of Rajasthan, in the houses of ancient Çatalhöyük, in the more than one hundred layers of plaster found on the walls of the kivas of Awatovi3—that passage of lived time had accumulated as material palimpsest.4 As Henri Lefebvre wrote, “A spatial work (monument or architectural project) attains a complexity fundamentally different from the complexity of a text, whether prose or poetry. . . . What we are concerned with here is not texts but texture.”5 The pillar’s textured accumulations could be parsed, layer by layer, episode by episode, to recount a history of an ancient monument and the life it once held. What accumulated here was also the materialization of a particularly visual history. The layered surfaces of the

pillared temple at Pañamarca offered a deep history of image practices that began nearly a millennium before the use of written scripts in South America. When first painted in the seventh century, its surfaces had been arrayed with registers of figural imagery (figure 4.2), all but unseen at this late surface level. Those painted images had brought to life epic battles between an ancient hero and a series of monstrous creatures, a woman with long plaited hair who raised a goblet in a gesture of offering, and rows of human devotees bearing diverse objects in procession (figure 4.3). Scrutiny of the temple walls revealed that they had been painted and repainted over the course of some six generations.6 With each painting campaign, artists gave form to a new pictorial program. From those storied walls, smaller narratives of events past could also be felt. They testified to ancient fires, libations spattered onto the painted figures, and individual acts of scratching patterns and figures into the earthen surfaces of the murals. Those multisensorial experiences of smell, taste, touch, and sight had left their traces upon the surfaces of the monument itself. By the end of the eighth century, the once-vibrant murals were enshrouded in an opaque coat of whitewash and the formerly image-filled temple began to fall into ruin. But the temple’s history did

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4.2. Painted figures emerging from excavation in 2010. Photograph by Luis Sánchez for the Pañamarca field project.

not end with whitewash and abandonment. Over the centuries that followed, into the twelfth century at least, men and women continued to return to its charged space, leaving gifts and material offerings along with their prayers, petitions, and hopes.7 Centuries after it was first painted, the temple site was visited by individuals who incised the layered face of this pillar with new and different images— fish, birds, and what might have been the stars of a night sky—as the mural palimpsest continued to beckon attention and ensuing acts of image making. In this final chapter, I shift attention from planned programs of Moche mural art, the values they conveyed, and the stories they told to examine how other stories of human life, sensorial perception, meaning making, and acts of image response can be found to inhere within painted monuments. I begin where the last chapter left off, amid the painted pillars of the temple raised at the western edge of Pañamarca’s monumental center. There I trace the history not only of mural painting but also of memory and mural exhumation, vision, feasting, and libation. Liquids poured on the Complex Theme murals within

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the Old Temple of Huaca de la Luna, during both the Moche and post-Moche eras, point to broader continuities of practice. A detail scratched into the background of one of the Pañamarca pillars directs focus back out again to the wider corpus of Moche murals and, specifically, to a number of meaningful occurrences of figural “graffiti”— not as defacement but as additive “image acts” that were produced in direct response to mural art. An especially replete setting for additive image making as recursive, replicatory visual practice was found at the site of Huaca Facho (also known as La Mayanga) at the very end of the Moche period. Pañamarca, Huaca de la Luna, Huaca Cao Viejo, Huaca Facho, and other image-filled monuments are ideal settings for what I refer to as archaeo-iconology: the study of image perception, meaning making, and response as witnessed by the physical traces of past image encounters. This archaeo-iconological attention to ancient histories of image engagements is part of a multisensorial approach to envisioning the “lifefulness” of the huacas that is elided by analytic extraction of mural imagery and focus on iconographic “decipherment” above all else.

E M BO DIE D S EEING , M ATERI AL HI STO RY, AND ME MO RY W ITH IN T H E  P ILL ARED  TE MP LE

Although the murals within Pañamarca’s pillared temple were painted without relief, they would have been experienced within multidimensional space: as vertical expanses of figures that rose from floor to ceiling, wrapped around the pillars, and processed along corridors and ramps. The arrangement of figures was guided by significant choices. The artists’ placement of certain figures at eye level (the presentation of the goblet, the epic battles of the hero) marked their privileged positions within the compositions. Higher and lower paintings would have filled the edges of the occupant’s field of vision but would have been difficult to see directly within the narrow confines of this restricted

space.8 Birds soared above. Diminutive figures of human attendants bearing precious and symbolically charged objects modeled human movement along the corridors. The iconographic affinities between the pillar paintings and some Moche ceramics (see, for example, figure 3.51) are striking, but their dynamics of being seen and experienced were inverse.9 The bearer of a painted vase or bottle must turn the vessel to follow its narrative sequence. Visitors to the temple instead would have moved themselves, circumambulating the pillars, as the image-filled space likewise wrapped around their bodies. One can imagine that it would have been a potentially kaleidoscopic experience of vividly colored figures popping off the stark white backgrounds, perhaps activated by torchlight and smoke, possibly enhanced by intoxication from feasting. Elsewhere,

4.3. The earliest paintings on the pillars, shown together out of context. The silhouette represents an ancient Moche man of average height

(about 1.58 m or 5'2"). Illustration by Jorge Gamboa, Pedro Neciosup, and Lisa Trever.

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4.4. View of Pillar 1

(southwest face). Four layers of painting are superimposed at the top of the pillar. Only the earliest painting is present below. Photograph by the author.

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floor 2 level of floor 3

level of floor 4

fourth painting third painting second painting first painting 0

level of floor 5

1m

4.5. Sequence of painting layers on Pillar 1 (southwest face).

Illustration by Jorge Gamboa and Lisa Trever.

the just-larger-than-life-size presentation of human figures in mural art approximated a one-to-one bodily relationship between image, subject, and spectator. Here, those who entered the pillared hall became bodily present with and within the entirety of the painted program. To comprehend the pictorial density of this building, one must also imagine it through the fourth dimension of time. Over the course of three major renovations, its walls and pillars were painted up to eight times.10 Each repainting saw the elaboration of a new pictorial program. The clay used to coat the wall surfaces contained gravel, pieces of shell, burned cane, and other organic material that allow for direct carbon dating. In one area, a paint-soaked cloth that had been used to rub the white paint onto the walls remained adhered to the floor. The designs of the paintings were first sketched onto the white walls with light, fast incisions. Stray strokes were common. Greater care was taken in applying the colors,11 although in several places long drips of viscous red and yellow paint were left on the walls, pillars, and floors. In some paintings, a final outline of black or other colors was used to complete the figures, at times correcting the shapes of the underlying sketch. Then, within decades, the process began anew.

With each major renovation of the temple, the level of the floor was raised, at first more than two meters, by filling in the space around the pillars and within the corridors with stacked adobe bricks (figures 4.4 to 4.7). After a new floor was laid, benches were again built between the pillars, and the process of smoothing their surfaces, painting them white, and adding imagery began once more.12 On Pillar 1, for example, the figures of the woman and her captive were partly covered by the second and third layers of painted clay plaster. Although little could be seen of the second layer, more of the third was visible in excavations. An anthropomorphized panoply grasped a rope that bound a standing human figure (figure 4.8). That image may have referred to the same narrative of the Revolt of the Objects depicted in the New Temple at Huaca de la Luna. Other remains of the pillared temple’s third mural program included a hawk and hummingbird warrior in combat.13 The fourth program, which was created around the end of the seventh century or the beginning of the eighth,14 was layered over the third. That imagery included striding felines (figure 4.9), a crouching figure (see figure 4.4), and a rampant feline beside a winged warrior bearing a goblet.15 Later paintings along corridors and ramps included figures in procession, some bearing bundles of cloth or woven mats (figure 4.10). This sequence of renovations should have resulted in stratigraphy that looked like a layer cake in section: floor covered by construction fill, followed by new floor covered by construction fill, covered by newer floor, and so on. But that was not what our excavations encountered. Although the plaster edges of the floors could be seen at the bottoms of the repaintings on the pillars, the floors themselves were gone. They had been removed at some point during the eighth century, prior to the laying of the last floors. I interpret this stratigraphy as evidence that, before the last major renovation of the temple, Moche people themselves unearthed the pillars, breaking through those earlier floors and exposing the earliest mural paintings once more to sight.16 In one area, around Pillar 3, the eighth-century excavation stopped short of the bottom of the pillar paintings. In another, around Pillar 1, it continued deeper, breaking through the early floor that we found intact in the other area. The act of exposing the earlier pillars suggests intergenerational memory of what lay unseen beneath the surface. At the late Moche site of Huaca Colorada in the Jequetepeque Valley, Edward Swenson has observed that people “were keenly aware of the power of invisible but

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4.6. View of Pillar 3

(northeast face). The second, third, and fourth layers of painting are superimposed at the top of the pillar. Only the earliest painting is present below. Photograph by the author.

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level of floors 1 and 2

level of floor 3 level of floor 4

fourth painting third painting second painting 4.7. Sequence of painting

layers on Pillar 3 (northeast face). Illustration by Jorge Gamboa and Lisa Trever.

first painting

floor 5

0

1m

4.8. Animated weapons (center) and a standing human figure bound by a rope (right), in the third painting on Pillar 1. Photograph by

the author.

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4.9. Yellow body of a feline (Mural F), in the fourth painting on Pillar 3. Photograph by the author.

4.10. Human figures painted ascending a ramp, from later phases of the pillared structure. Photograph by the author.

a

b

4.11a and b. Drips and spatterings of an organic liquid on the earliest painting on Pillar 3. Photographs by the author.

immanently present agents incorporated into architectural constructions.”17 The act of unearthing the painted pillars may have been tied to their remembered importance in Pañamarca’s history, perhaps as elements of the site’s founding given the antiquity and endurance of their use over centuries. But the fact that the ancient excavations both over- and undershot the limits of the paintings implies that their memories were no longer direct but had been passed down. A thick layer of soil at the bottom of the ancient excavation—which contained fragments of broken vases (floreros), serving vessels (ollas), and other artifacts—testified to drinking, feasting, and other activities that took place during the ancient reopening. On the pillars, we could see drips and spatter patterns of a dark yellow liquid (figure 4.11a and b). Technical analyses of the residue indicated that it was neither the potent brew of San Pedro cactus (Echinopsis pachanoi, known locally as wachuma), which contains mescaline, nor maize beer (chicha or aqha),18 but a beverage that contained prickly pear cactus (Opuntia ficus-indica, known locally as tuna).19 The areas of these stains only occurred on the pillars about one meter above the depth of the ancient excavation (figures 4.12 and 4.13). The dried liquid was found on the painted surfaces of the pillars, as well as on exposed adobes of their broken

spatter area spatter area spatter area

depth of ancientof depth excavation ancient depth of excavation ancient excavation

floor 5 floor 5 floor 5

4.12. Area of spattered liquid on Pillar 3, relative to the depth of

the ancient excavation that stopped before reaching the floor. Illustration by Jorge Gamboa, Pedro Neciosup, and Lisa Trever.

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spatter area

level of floor 5 depth of ancient excavation

4.13. Area of spattered liquid on Pillar 1, relative to the depth of the

ancient excavation that broke through the earlier floors. Illustration by Jorge Gamboa, Pedro Neciosup, and Lisa Trever.

surfaces (see also figures 3.47 and 3.48). These observations suggest that the liquid was thrown onto the pillars during this reopening and the festivities that ensued—after their surfaces had already begun to crumble. The beverage consumed during the reopening may have been the same as what was thrown on the pillars as libation or to “feed” the painted surfaces before they were reburied and the temple was remade.20 Meaningful acts of pouring liquid on murals were also evidenced within the Old Temple of Huaca de la Luna (see figures 2.43 and 2.44). The Complex Theme reliefs were damaged in antiquity by repeated acts of pouring liquid onto their soluble earthen surfaces. On both walls, these acts were directed, in part, to the center of each composition where the artists had placed the human figure within the egg-shaped enclosure set above the crescent moon. Upon its excavation, archaeologists recorded a thick accumulation of laminated sediment from repeated acts of pouring at the bottom of the north-facing mural, exactly

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below this central area of loss (figure 4.14).21 Some of these acts of pouring included blood.22 The central images of the murals were specifically targeted by the pouring, but it would be wrong to consider this an act of iconoclastic vandalism. Rather, the pouring of libations was apparently a positive act, directed to the central cosmogonic images within the mural. The progressive erasure caused by these repeated acts created a silhouette on the wall, like a composite shadow of the people who had once stood before it with vessel of liquid in hand. The acts of pouring left tangible traces of shared meaning, physical response, and human presence. On the low adobe platform (repositorio de ofrendas) built against this wall, individuals left several objects as well: two mold-made ceramic whistles in the shape of warriors and a broken ceramic trumpet. The deposition of these “sonic artifacts” draws attention not only to the ancient soundscapes of the huacas,23 but also to what might have been acts of offering or sacrificing sound itself. Within this space of the plaza, offerings and libations like these continued from the Moche era into later Chimú times without much apparent change in the form of practice over centuries.24 Returning once more to the pillared temple at Pañamarca—after the extended sequences of Moche construction, painting, renovations and repaintings, reopening and feasting, closure and more repaintings—the visible surfaces of the walls and pillars were finally coated in a thick layer of whitewash and the temple ceased to function as it had. By the early ninth century, people began again to leave food and offerings, and to pour liquids over the late floor at the base of the veiled pillars.25 Later, around the twelfth century during the Chimú era, other hands carved images into the whitewashed pillar (see figure 4.1).26 The memory of this place and its many stories—both painted and lived—may have been maintained through this continuity of practices.27 INcIDe NTS O f VIS IO N aND S craTcH e D  re S PO NS e

The late images of fish and birds carved into the layered surface of the Moche pillar were not the only examples of  pre-Hispanic graffiti at Pañamarca. Other lines and patterns—such as the chevrons incised behind the leg of one of the divinities in combat (see figure 3.32)—appeared scratched into the backgrounds of other murals. Within the pillared temple, another example of apparent graffiti could be seen in front of the braid of the woman lifting the goblet

4.14. An area of the Complex Theme mural at Huaca de la Luna damaged by frequent pouring of liquid. The silhouette represents an ancient

Moche man of average height (about 1.58 m or 5'2"). Photograph by the author.

(figure 4.15a and b). The hastily sketched figure may be a jar—its mouth covered with a lid and its neck tied—like the sacrificial vessel painted behind the woman. Whereas the Chimú figures were carved blind into the whitewashed surface, this scratched figure referenced the mural’s visible imagery. It is like a “punctum”—the stirring detail of an image that seizes existential attention28—that also evidences which part of the mural had absorbed the attention of the individual who sketched it. It was the painted jar—the potent sacrificial metaphor—not the woman or her goblet that this person selected out and replicated in

reduced, abstracted form. This scratched jar evidences the singularity of an individual visual experience far removed from our own time. A comparable scratched detail can be seen in archival photographs of the mural of the Strombus Monster at Pañamarca (figure 4.16a and b). Someone had scratched a hasty figure of the creature with snail shell, animal head, and claws (but lacking hind legs) that they had pulled, in abbreviated form, from the painted image of the mural they beheld. It is difficult to distinguish between uncolored mural sketches and graffiti at Pañamarca. All of the site’s mural

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a

b

4.15a and b. Jar motif with lid and rope tie, scratched into the white background of Pillar 1. Photographs by the author.

a

b

4.16a and b.  Figure of the Strombus Monster (top right), scratched into the white background of the mural painting of the same creature, as seen in 1953. Photographs by Hans Horkheimer. Ministerio de Cultura, Museo Nacional de Arqueología, Antropología e Historia del Perú, Lima.

paintings began with artists sketching compositions into the white surfaces of the walls. The lines of the apparent graffiti were similarly shallow and swift. By contrast, the later Chimú graffiti were gouged—just as Chimú earthen reliefs were typically created by extractive practices of cutting into the wall with a blade, not by building up images in additive processes of clay modeling.29 In both of these cases, the kind of line used to create graffiti was the same kind of line used to compose murals in their respective

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traditions. At other Moche sites, though, variations in mural techniques allow for clearer distinctions between unpainted sketches (made before the wall was painted white) and graffiti (scratched through the painted surface). Modern connotations of “graffiti” as illicit or transgressive are misleading in this context, as in many others. A number of ancient to early modern studies of scratched or painted images, which were not made as part of the planned design of a wall, have demonstrated the “hazy

typological status” of the word.30 In places like the ancient Mediterranean, medieval England, and colonial Mexico, marking on walls was not necessarily prohibited or even discouraged.31 Incised crosses can often be seen within the consecrated spaces of Christian churches.32 Although spontaneous or unplanned acts of marking walls can constitute defacement, devotion, or myriad intentions in between, assumptions about the transgressive nature of graffiti remain implicit in ancient South American studies.33 The distinction between petroglyphs or pictographs and graffiti is typically determined based on the temporality of what is or is not deemed heritage—for example, in the caves of Oxtotitlán, Mexico, where “modern graffiti might not always be defacement but engagement of the topographic shrine—certainly the modern altars and offerings suggest as much.”34 Confronting the challenges inherent in definitions of graffiti, J. A. Baird and Claire Taylor have suggested that one “consider graffiti-writing itself as an event.”35 Similarly, Jeff Oliver and Tim Neal have referred to graffiti as “inscriptive acts.”36 Although the textuality of graffiti in ancient Mediterranean and modern contexts dominates this literature, consideration of figural graffiti’s performativity as “image acts” or pictorial “doings”37 is equally central in coastal Peruvian settings. The range of images, their likely motivations, and the contexts within which Moche graffiti appeared are too extensive to reduce to a single pattern. At Huaca de la Luna, Gabriella Wellons catalogued more than eighty examples of pre-Hispanic graffiti within the Old and New Temples.38 Dozens more have been recorded at Huaca Cao Viejo, Huaca Colorada, and the late Moche site of Pacatnamú in the Jequetepeque Valley.39 They were almost always scratched, only rarely painted.40 Where they appeared on murals, Moche graffiti were almost always located on backgrounds or borders. They did not interfere with existing imagery, but seem to have respected the integrity of the murals and cited, affirmed, and amplified aspects of pictorial content. An apparent counterexample proves the point. Recall the cuts slashed across the genitals and legs of the exposed bodies of the prisoners in the plaza frieze at Huaca Cao Viejo (see figure 1.2a and b). Within the logic of martial spectacle and prisoner sacrifice, such violent acts committed against these figures were not transgressive. They did precisely what the mural program implied should be done to the bodies of the defeated. Violence against those images was, in fact, an affirmation of their design. The perceived ontology of mural images cannot be inferred

from the relative corporeality or planarity of the figures; but through these independent acts one can trace how agency was ascribed and incised.41 Elsewhere at Huaca Cao Viejo, Régulo Franco and colleagues observed several instances of figural graffiti that reproduced significant details of mural imagery. They noted a standing feline and a warrior scratched into the red frame of the Complex Theme mural (figure 4.17).42 Each of those figures was made with a different style of line, presumably by a different person. The feline was a reiteration of the feline seen above within the painted relief. The peripheral placement evokes a monumental sense of marginalia.43 In the upper courtyard of Huaca Cao Viejo, tiny images of severed heads with streaming hair were scratched into the yellow and blue backgrounds of the Decapitator reliefs on the outside of the corner room (figure 4.18a and b).44 These scratched heads made explicit reference to the particular form of the severed heads that

4.17. Detail of marginalia-like incisions on the red border of the

Complex Theme mural at Huaca Cao Viejo. Photograph courtesy of Carol J. Mackey.

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b

a

0

3 cm

4.18a and b. Miniscule images of severed heads scratched into the yellow background of the Decapitator mural of Huaca Cao Viejo. (a) Photograph by the author. (b) Line drawings by the author, after Franco, Gálvez, and Vásquez, “Graffiti mochicas,” fig. 14.

a

b

4.19a and b. Image of a marine bird capturing a fish, scratched into the white background of a relief of the Divinidad de las Montañas at Huaca de la Luna. Photographs courtesy of Carol J. Mackey.

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a

b

4.20a and b. Serpent head scratched onto the white interior wall of the corner room within the plaza of the Old Temple at Huaca de la Luna. Photographs by the author.

the Decapitator held in the relief: multiple wavy lines of the hair and the stepped line along the jaw (see figure 2.53). The fidelity to these particularities made clear that the person or people who incised these images were not marking the mural with images of any heads. They were seeing and responding to these heads. Similar tendencies can be seen in the Old Temple of Huaca de la Luna. Long ago, someone scratched a miniscule image of a seabird catching a fish into the background of the rhomboid frieze in its second state (Edificio BC), just to the left of the ear ornament of the divinity (figure 4.19a and b). They did not choose to sketch the face of the fanged god within his rhomboid frame—as seen in a graffito that Wellons documented within the earlier creation of the same frieze (Edificio D)45—but instead responded selectively to the aquatic symbolism of the border. In that moment, for that person, ideas of the aquatic life overshadowed the grimacing face of the divinity. Graffiti makers demonstrated visual literacy and fluency in the canons of Moche visual culture as they selected, extracted, and distilled meanings from the murals.46 Scratched images also appeared on otherwise plain white interior walls within the hearts of the huacas. Several figures—including the heads and faces of animals and men as well as a large serpent—had been incised into the interior walls of the corner room within the Old Temple’s plaza (figure 4.20a and b). Excavations there found a stepped platform built against its south wall (figure 4.21). The placement of this “altar” over twenty centimeters of

4.21. The Chimú “altar” within the corner structure within the Old

Temple’s plaza. Photograph by the author.

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0

10

20 cm

0

10

20 cm

a

c

b

d

0

5 cm

0

5 cm

4.22a–d. Images of owls scratched onto the white interior walls of the corner room within the plaza of Huaca Cao Viejo. (a, c) Line drawings by the author, after Franco, Gálvez, and Vásquez, “Graffiti mochicas,” figs. 23 and 25. (b, d) Photographs courtesy of Carol J. Mackey.

windblown sand, and the presence of several Chimú vessels that had been set upon it, evidenced its post-Moche creation and use.47 In the analogous space at Huaca Cao Viejo, where the Old Temple’s mural program had been remade in the seventh century, owls had been incised on the interior walls (figure 4.22a–d).48 In one scratched image, the expanded wings of the nocturnal predator were drawn up high, as if descending in attack.49 Ferocious serpents, owls, and other predators were central to Moche religiosity, especially in the period of 200 to 650 CE, as they had also been to earlier artistic and religious traditions of Cupisnique and Chavín. Much later, several sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Spanish accounts of the oracles of Pachacamac and other pre-Hispanic temples described how Indigenous divinities (named as huacas) manifested themselves to the people as ferocious animals including a many-colored serpent.50 Those divine encounters were said to happen within the temples at night. They were not seen by those outside the temples but they could be heard

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as the divine being revealed itself with piercing shrieks like a whistle or the cries of animals.51 A painted bottle in Berlin offers a scene of the Moche hero’s ecstatic experience within a similar interior space (see figures 0.26 and 0.27). He stands upon a stepped platform like the one found within the corner room of the Old Temple while his iguana-tailed companion sits outside.52 His head is thrown back and his hands are clasped in a gesture of supplication.53 The space around him transforms in the act. The wood post supporting the roof comes alive as the twisted algarrobo trunk undulates like a snake. The eaves of the roof and the strap of the knife, too, transform into angry serpents. Their mouths are open, as if shrieking. The space around the temple is filled with creatures: a spider, a dragonfly warrior, and a dark cloud from which appears the fanged face of a divinity. The entire image is shot through with high-frequency lines that animate the composition. Darkness and frenzy fill the temple scene, causing it to pulse and quiver with energy

and noise released in the moment. On the opposite side of the bottle, the hero is seen again, riding on the back of a monstrous centipede. What appeared on the white walls within the corner rooms of the Old Temple and Huaca Cao Viejo might have been images meant to invoke, or possibly to commemorate, similar visionary experiences of the divine. If divinity manifested as sound in Moche practice, that sound-shape might have induced the mental image of a shrieking owl or monstrous serpent, which was then given visual form on the scratched walls.54 Scratched images were far less visible than the brightly colored murals that they were sometimes incised upon. The eye must come quite close to the wall to see all but the largest of them. Apparently, visibility was not what mattered. Rather, it may have been the act of making, as a form of engagement, that was most important. In diverse contexts from Tewkesbury Abbey to the Maya city of Tikal, instances of graffiti have been interpreted as “votives, prayers or intercessory pleas,”55 “pictorial offerings to the gods,”56 and “substitutes or complements to material offerings.”57 Perhaps something similar took place within the Moche huacas. As votive images, these markings may have complemented material offerings, like the libations splashed on the pillars at Pañamarca or the feathered shield that was left facedown in front of the mural of the Strombus Monster.58 Together with food, drink, and precious things, what individuals left within these image-filled spaces were their own offerings of image making. M AK ING M EANING IN TH E P IC TURE CH AMB ERS O F H UACA FACH O

Pre-Hispanic graffiti has been found in myriad settings across coastal Peru, from the Formative center of Sechín Bajo to Tambo Colorado, where Inca figures and later

Spanish inscriptions appeared on earthen architecture.59 The intensity of figural graffiti reached a fevered pitch at the end of the Moche era, by the ninth century CE, during the transition to the Lambayeque era.60 Its proliferation began to crescendo as mural art also became more gestural and narrative in content. It was at this time, around 800 to 900 CE, that one of the most interesting monuments for examination of graffiti’s reflexive relationship with mural art was made. The Moche-Wari architecture of Huaca Facho, also identified as La Mayanga,61 near Batán Grande in the La Leche Valley, was first documented in 1959.62 In the early 1940s, the hacienda owners had opened a trench within a preHispanic adobe structure that James Ford of the American Museum of Natural History later re-excavated. The main wall contained twenty niches, each measuring about eighty centimeters square (figure 4.23). The wall’s face was painted red at the center and yellow along the recessed sides. The alternating color was used within the niches, each of which was framed with black (figure 4.24).63 A second row of niches had been built above the first on the right and left sides of the structure. Within each of the lower niches, Ford and his team recorded a polychrome painting of an anthropomorphized weapons bundle on the back wall (figure 4.25). These figures faced the midline of the building, as if converging in procession. Each figure was composed of a round shield and club; a human face, arm, and leg (occasionally two legs); and the wing and tail feathers of a bird. Each carried a goblet, sometimes containing a teardrop-shaped ulluchu fruit. In front of each body hung a textile with two round ornaments attached to the hem. The faces were largely destroyed by erosion but, where preservation was better, feathers could be seen attached to the conical mace heads.

4.23. Drawing of the painted structure with niches at Huaca Facho, La Leche Valley. Image from the James A. Ford archive. Courtesy of the

Division of Anthropology, American Museum of Natural History, New York.

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4.24. View of some of the twenty niches in the painted wall of Huaca Facho in 1959. Photograph by James A. Ford. Courtesy of the Division

of Anthropology, American Museum of Natural History, New York.

4.25. Anthropomorphized shield and club painted within Niche 14 at Huaca Facho, as seen in 1959. Photograph by James A. Ford. Courtesy

of the Division of Anthropology, American Museum of Natural History, New York.

Like other late Moche paintings, these figures conveyed mythologized ideas of militarism (the winged, animated weapons) coupled with representations of ritual practice (the proffering of the vessel). Here those ideas were synthesized as a series of repeated, composite emblems, not expanded as a narrative sequence. The twenty niches at Huaca Facho also contained an abundance of images scratched into their side walls in several styles including late Moche, Lambayeque, and others that resembled the style of rock art known from Chachapoyas, east of Cajamarca.64 The most common were geometric patterns including architectural step-frets, schematic human figures with rayed or feathered headdresses, and emulations of the animated weapons painted within the niches. The latter replicated the particular appearances of these animated weapons (not a generic idea of animated weapons) in the specificities of their gestures, wings, costumes, and goblets. The multiple scratched emulations of the painted weapons were the work of multiple individuals exhibiting greater and lesser dexterity (figure 4.26). It seems that none, however, touched the painted surface of the principal icon. The scratched figures within the niches became palimpsestic.65 One figure blended into the next, as like images were incised one over another in what Whitney Davis has called “replicatory chains” of overlapping sequences of disambiguation and depiction in rock art.66 These images were created through iterative practices of individual image viewing, mental comprehension, and pictorial response. As Davis has written, “replicated images and artifacts can be treated as fossilized evidence of cognition and, in narrower cases, of human consciousness.”67 The reflexivity of these scratched images was, on the one hand, part of a broader practice of marked responses

to mural art that occurred at various sites over the course of centuries. But, on the other, Huaca Facho was unique. In certain ways, these niches approximated receptacles, caves, and cameras. In the most functional view, niches like these are generally understood in Andean architecture as receptacles for the placement of important objects, even the mummies of ancestors. But what might have been placed within the painted niches at Huaca Facho? There is no documentation of anything that the hacendados might have found there in the 1940s. It may have been the scratched images themselves that were placed in the niches as “image acts” of affirmation, recollection, or votive offering (always on the side walls, never touching, defacing, or obscuring the paintings).68 The niches might also be likened to caves: semienclosed shelters marked with accumulations of images that, had they appeared on stone faces instead of on plastered walls, would be called petroglyphs.69 The scratched figures with rayed headdresses were unlike anything found in north-coastal mural art but they bore a resemblance to rock art of the Chachapoyas area (see figure 1.7). A graffito incised on a nearby wall depicted the body of an animal, likely a deer, pierced by spears. It bore no relationship to the niche paintings but recalled hunting scenes seen in rock art throughout South America.70 The formal slippage between petroglyphs and incised graffiti paralleled the transposition of pictographic practices in the placement of the white painted figures (if not graffiti, perhaps dipinti) on the walls of the temples at Kotosh (see figure 1.8 a–d). Throughout this long visual history, from Preceramic to the end of Moche and thereafter, practices of extemporaneous image making ran as a steady counterpoint to formal mural programs.

4.26. The animated weapons painted on the back wall of Niche 14 (center), flanked by graffiti scratched into its side walls. Illustrations from

the James A. Ford archive. Courtesy of the Division of Anthropology, American Museum of Natural History, New York.

Arch aeo-Iconology  • 177

4.27. Detail of the images painted and scratched within Niche 14 at Huaca Facho. Digital model by Tim Trombley, Lisa Peck, and Lisa Trever,

based on documentation from the James A. Ford archive at the American Museum of Natural History, New York.

Lastly, the image-filled niches at Huaca Facho could be thought of as cameras: “chambers” for the creation and exposure of images (figure 4.27). Each picture chamber was large enough for an adult to place their head and upper body inside, if not crawl entirely within, in order to see the painted surface up close—or to reach the depths of the side walls with a tool in hand to add to the scratched assemblage. Entering the niche, the beholder-as-markmaker would be largely removed from the world outside. The effect may have been one of immersion within the world of the painted image and its replications. In its time, the experience may have been one of altered or “virtual” reality. The multiplicity of the niches at Huaca Facho also meant that individuals could take part in parallel visual experiences in each of the twenty or more picture chambers—separately and simultaneously en masse.71 SEEI N G PAST S EEING

Spatial analysis of a monument allows one to understand how its design suggested ideal forms of behavior and comportment and to imagine how it might have been

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experienced in the past. Archaeologically informed study of the monument, as it grew and was changed and aged over time, affords complementary perspectives on the lived entanglement of the monumental and the human. Observation of the forms, styles, and imagery of mural art supports interpretation of the messages, effects, and affects that their makers sought to convey and to create in those who experienced them. But attention to the textures, residues, and markings of lived experiences that inhere in the materiality of monuments and their surrounds convey indexical traces of how those meanings were received and interpreted. If archaeo art history makes possible the writing of histories of image making that unfolded through time, from place to place and for one community or another, archaeo-iconology allows one to see moments of perception, recognition, and response in the deep past. Scratched images and the material traces of past actions in the company of murals permit indirect observation of phenomena (those phenomena being localized meanings, the subject of iconology) that cannot be measured directly. Mental acts of meaning making in the deep past can only

be approached—as in matters of physics—through observation of their effects on the surrounding fields of the material world. The wordplay of “seeing past seeing” is two-fold. In one way, I am referring to observation of material evidence that reveals past ways of seeing. In another, it is certain that vision cannot be isolated from other forms of sensorial experience. One must also look beyond archaeology’s and art history’s emphases on the visual to make sense of the lived realities of these places. Although vision has dominated modern archaeological science, and is necessarily central to image studies, archaeology’s methods are well suited to broader recoveries of the experiential dimensions of life.72 Within the Moche huacas, experiences of and responses to images were not only optical or visual. The act of taking an object in hand—perhaps the coolness of a sharp rock, or the ridged form of a broken shell—as a tool to sketch a figure into the textured surface of a mural would have been an experience both tactile and haptic. Guided by vision and by touch, episodes of splashing beverages or blood

onto pillars and walls would have been tasted and smelled as much as seen. Within Huaca de la Luna’s Old Temple, the broken ceramic trumpet and whistles in the shapes of warriors were deliberately set at that site of repeated liquid pourings on the Complex Theme relief, as offerings of both image and sound. In 1899, Max Uhle made note of a parallel assemblage of sonic artifacts—a ceramic trumpet and two whistles, these in the form of musicians—that had been embedded into the surface of a wall within the funerary structure that would later bear his name, at the western foot of the Old Temple.73 In this highly unusual instance, mural art was made from the artifacts of sound itself. The “confluence of the visual with the aural” was especially pronounced within Moche temples and their built environments, as Dianne Scullin has shown.74 By observing incidents of ancient vision, as well as by looking beyond vision as an ultimate aim, we might apprehend moments of individual and collective human experiences, of people “weaving their own lines of becoming into the texture of material flows comprising the lifeworld.”75 In doing so, we might comprehend these monuments as fuller forms of life.

Arch aeo-Iconology  • 179

CO NCLUSION

ON THE HUACA

W

ithin the temples above the river, the makers smoothed cool, heavy clay over the walls.1 The damp, earthy smell entered their nostrils as the clay caked their hands and dried on their skin. They talked as they worked, sharing stories of their families and the occasional joke. They related accounts of the new things they had seen and stories they had heard when the last llama caravan had come down from the mountains, as well as rumors of the affairs of their neighbors in the valleys north and south. Nearby, the paint makers were performing their tasks. The clacking sounds of their mortars could be heard all the way to the farmers’ fields. They ground the white shells and the bright rocks, mixing them with cactus juice, stirring, mixing, and grinding again. Stomachs rumbled as midday approached. The smoke from the kitchen fires down below reached the temples, followed by the smells of roasting yucca and grilling fish. The shouts of children rose from the canals where they played. The marine layer of morning fog was burning off, and the sun would soon be shining in full force. With it, the winds would mount and begin to blow sand, obscuring the makers’ vision and making the work harder. They picked up the pace to complete the span of the new wall. But they took care not to rush, not to efface the paintings

that had been made during the time of their grandmothers and grandfathers. In making the temple anew, they also understood their obligation to preserve what had come before. Working in concert from surface to surface, they whitewashed the damp walls before they could dry, rubbing cloth soaked with paint onto the fresh surfaces. The one in charge had returned—the master of knowledge, the elder storyteller, the interpreter of images. They lifted the bone stylus and set to work to tell the old stories in new ways for their present. Even so, they were aware that the painted stories they were making would disappear from view with the next generations. But they also knew that their paintings, like the ones before them, would remain secreted within the body of the huaca, promising possibilities of future returns.

The ancient and premodern histories of South America cannot be written from textual archives like the ones that chronicled the movements of Pizarro and his forces as they marched along the Inca roads and were disquieted by the landscape that they did not understand. In the absence of ancient texts, modern researchers have come to rely on ancient images as points of access to the past. Yet works

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of art and architecture present the world not as it was, but rather as their makers wanted it to be seen. Images and practices of image making have always had their own social histories. Images are mediations, not time machines. To understand them requires comprehension of the rhetorical, affective, and persuasive work that images were made to do, and continue to do still. One of the principal arguments of this book has been that the writing of ancient South American history requires art history as much as archaeology. Despite disciplinary struggles between their practitioners, archaeology and art history need each other, maybe more so for the ancient Andes than for many other areas of premodern studies. Artists presented the core narratives, subjects, and ideas of ancient Moche history on walls and in other media. Other narratives accrued in physical traces that accumulated within built environments and landscapes. In these latter material narratives, one can perceive traces of human actions and aspects of the lived experiences of communities and individuals who made, encountered, engaged with, and lived their lives among the monuments that are the subject of this book. This book has approached the meanings, values, and aesthetics of Moche murals from multiple perspectives of shifting historical coordinates of space and time, up and down the coast of what is now Peru and Chile, from 2300 BCE until nearly 900 CE. Eschewing what has become a conventional method in Andean studies of iconographic extraction and decontextualization, in these chapters I have explored interrelated aspects of corporeality, materiality, archaism and revival, mediality and the aesthetics of replication, proxemics and phenomenology, geopolitics, situated narrative, materialized temporality, the forensics of image response, and multisensoriality. In what follows I attempt to summarize the conclusions— and concluding suggestions—that have emerged through these explorations. First, there was an alterity to the traditions of the ancient Pacific coast that has been elided by historical focus on the Central Andean region (crosscutting coast, mountains, and tropical forest) in South American archaeology. Uncritical readings of Spanish colonial texts about the Incas back onto interpretations of deeper coastal antiquity risk rehearsing imperial conquests—both Hispanic and pre-Hispanic. Moche artists’ attention to figuration is only anomalous when their work is framed by later Inca and other highland traditions. When considered instead with respect to what had preceded it—rather than

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retrospectively from what followed—the roots of Moche mimesis can be found in coastal practices that had begun to take form by the third millennium BCE. Ideas and meanings moved widely along the coast, north and south, beyond the modern borders of nation-states or archaeological culture areas. In exploring the origins of coastal mural art, as capaciously defined here, I find that sculpted clay relief preceded mural painting as the plastic technique of greatest significance. Rock painting was not the origin point for mural art, although affinities among petroglyphs, pictographs, and figural graffiti would appear, throughout this long history of image making from Kotosh to Huaca Facho, as extemporaneous practices that formed an important counterpoint to formalized mural programs. In the earliest Preceramic examples, sculpted murals exhibited a greater debt to other practices of working raw clay into mimetic forms of life—as figurines, earthen sculptures, and even the remade bodies of the dead. The inner materiality of bone embedded within the clay bodies of the Moche frieze at Huaca Cao Viejo finds its echo in much earlier meta-images at Huaca Ventarrón, Buena Vista, and Vichama, where artists had likewise called attention to nuanced relationships between interior form and exterior appearance. In Moche figuration, there was a compounded accretion of corporeal sculptural traditions of ancestral Preceramic mimesis; the imagery of divine predators found in the colossal sculpted friezes of Cupisnique and other traditions; and Moche artists’ own centering of a martial culture that privileged masculine bodies of elite warriors (both victorious and vanquished). This genealogy of coastal corporealities was not a matter of unbroken continuity or passive inheritance, but was often one of active revival and ongoing negotiation. The history of Moche mural art—like the history of Moche society at large2—is most effectively written as a history in two parts separated by transformations that took place during the seventh century CE. During that time, the north coast of Peru became an area of increasing inter­connectivity and, at times, heightened tensions with highland communities. These changes seem to have been catalyzed by the Wari expansion out of the southern highlands and the extension of its trade routes throughout the north. In the earlier history (ca. 200–650 CE), the foundations for Moche mural art were established—combining references to menacing ancestral divinities, interlocking aquatic designs broadly shared by north-coastal communities, and emphasis on martial combat and warrior culture.

In these compositions—which have been observed at Huacas de Moche, Huaca Cao Viejo, Huaca Dos Cabezas, and La Mina—artists invoked affiliations with the past and their present in the establishment of monumental imagery that would become iconic in its own time. Mural programs and their relative visibility varied from courtyards to plazas as artists made differential uses of the medium and its varied effects. Throughout this corpus artists placed emphasis on repeating figures painted and sculpted on the walls of courtyards and monumental facades and, at times, remade entire mural programs from one century to the next. In at least one instance, they replicated the entire likeness of the Old Temple elsewhere—over the earlier form of Huaca Cao Viejo. The second history of Moche murals (ca. 650–850 CE) saw some continuities from the earlier era, principally in paintings of warriors in procession on the walls of Pampa Grande, Galindo, Pampa la Cruz, El Castillo, Guadalupito, and Pañamarca. But the medium was largely transformed in this late period. Time-intensive clay modeling of murals in relief was dispensed with and the techniques of mural painting became more economical and expedient. The repetitious bodies of the old gods began to disappear; the  aesthetics of replication and emulations of textile design were greatly reduced. In their place, artists experimented with pictorial narratives, not only in murals but across media. In mural painting, late Moche tellings of shared narratives were adapted to local circumstances, as seen in the New Temple of Huaca de la Luna and at Pañamarca. The different tenor of these paintings may be explained by the variable nature of coast-highland relations from valley to valley during the period of the Middle Horizon. In the New Temple, highland warriors were depicted as the defeated foes and sacrificial victims of the animated Moche weapons and regalia in the Revolt of the Objects mural. At Pañamarca, highland men and women were included within reverential scenes of procession and devotional activities. Even in the imagery of the Sacrifice Ceremony mural at Pañamarca, the ethnicity of captive bodies was unmarked, violence was not made explicit, and blood sacrifice was rendered metaphorically in the images of prisoners-as-jars. Although narrative painting may have been a pictorial strategy selected for increasingly multicultural social settings, late Moche murals were painted for private viewing as much as for public audiences. The seventh-century transformations of the medium

of Moche mural art, from the awe-inspiring presences of sculpted bodies to more didactic forms of planar imagery, may have been accompanied by a shift from Indigenous coastal ideas of the image as sculptural form (c’häpmong) to highland Quechua concepts of the image as marked surface (quillca). That is, not only did highland subjects (the fallen warriors in the Revolt of the Objects mural at Huaca de la Luna, the coca chewers and possible quipucamayoc at Pañamarca) begin to appear in new ways in Moche mural art during this era, but also the very nature of what an image was, and the work that it could do, may have fundamentally changed during this era of intense cultural dynamism. In turning from archaeo art history (critical-historical study of art, images, and their making as situated within coordinates of space, time, and social difference of the deep past) to what I refer to more specifically as archaeoiconology (the forensic study of image perception, meaning making, and response), the view from the excavation unit becomes indispensable. Fine-grained details of the textures, residues, and marks of lived experiences are easily overlooked in photographs and are often left out of modern illustrations. But these material traces serve as a chronicle of monuments, their images, and the lives that were led among them. In the image acts of figural graffiti, we can observe the recursivity of individual actions of response to painted images, as well as what may have been the materialization of mental images of religious experience. The replicatory chains of painted and scratched images within the picture chambers at Huaca Facho offer further perspectives on visual perception, cognition, and ancient “new media.” The lifelike clay bodies of prisoners at Huaca Cao Viejo that provoked acts of image violence and the image-filled niches of Huaca Facho that could be bodily entered by the living constitute the inverse bookends of this extended study of premodern image encounters. But even within this iconological focus on images and their localized meanings, as comprehended through the archaeological evidence of material histories, vision cannot be understood as a form of perception detached from other senses. The Moche huaca is both subject and method. That is, these monuments, as situated within the fullness of archaeology and environment, both constitute and contain their own material archives. As a concretization of lived space and lived time, the huaca may be a more fitting model for the multitudinous, multidimensional shape of human history—a volumetric architecture of space-time—than the

Con clusion  • 183

two-dimensional linear unfurling of timelines and textual scripts.3 One through-line that has connected the chapters of this book is coastal artists’ sophisticated handlings of relationships between interiority and exteriority (in the use of bones within the bodily reliefs of Huaca Cao Viejo or the hidden armature within the murals of textile screens of Huaca Ventarrón) and makers’ sensitive awareness of what lay beneath the surfaces of the huacas (earlier huacas, as well as the bodies of ancestors). To the core metaphors of clay and flesh, huaca and body, can be added monument and history, material and time.4 The painted and sculpted walls of the huacas have only survived to the modern era because their makers made decisions to inter them and thereby preserve them. When left exposed to the elements without ongoing care, the

184 • Conclusion

painted clay surfaces of adobe walls soon begin to disintegrate. Their makers knew this. The material ephemerality of the huacas required human attention to retouch, repair, repaint, and, eventually, entirely remake their vibrant surfaces. Moche makers understood the exigencies and requirements of their earthen materials. Living in close company with the land and their environment—as farmers, builders, and buriers of the dead—Moche communities were keenly aware of what lay beneath the surface of the land and how time affected materials, both above and below ground. Their actions were not accidental but deliberate. Any endeavor to read history from this material record is indebted to the wisdom and care of these people who, long ago, decided to entomb and encase their architecture and its images before setting out to build anew.

NOTES

I N TR OD U C T I O N. I MAG E   E NCO UN TERS

1. “Lo del templo del sol en quien ellos adoran era cosa de ver, porque tenían grande edificio y todo él por de dentro y de fuera pintado de grandes pinturas y ricos matices de colores, porque los hay en aquella tierra.” Estete, “Noticia del Perú,” 249. All translations are by the author unless otherwise indicated. This anonymous chronicle, written between 1535 and 1540, is attributed to Miguel de Estete, although some historians argue that it was written by a different member of Pizarro’s company. Graubart, “Estete, Miguel de,” 206–207. 2. “Y en las partes que están a menudo las poblaciones va a trechos, dos y tres y cuatro leguas más o menos, plantado de árboles de una parte y de otra, que se juntan arriba y hacen sombra a los caminantes; y donde éstos faltan, van paredes hechas de una parte y de otra, y en ellas pinturas de monstruos y pescados y otros animales para que mirándolos pasen tiempo los caminantes.” Estete, “Noticia del Perú,” 270. 3. The “Spanish” company that Pizarro led into Inca territory consisted of Iberians and Mediterraneans (including Castilians, Andalusians, Catalans, Greeks, and others), free Black men (including men born in Spain), enslaved African and afrodescendiente men and women, and enslaved Indigenous men and women from Central America. Lockhart, The Men of Cajamarca; Restall, “Black Conquistadors.” 4. The Spanish first arrived in what is now Peru in the midst of an Inca civil war of succession. Pizarro’s victories in Cajamarca and Cusco would not have occurred were it not for the assistance of

thousands of Indigenous Andean allies who opposed Atahualpa—and the Incas more generally—and who welcomed, provisioned, and guided the “conquistadors,” first to Cajamarca and then into the heart of the empire. Mikecz, “Beyond Cajamarca.” 5. Cummins, Toasts with the Inca, 14–20. See also Herring, Art and Vision in the Inca Empire. 6. The word “huaca” (at times spelled guaca or wak’a) comes from Quechua (the highland language of the Incas and others) and refers broadly to various categories of numinous beings, places, and things. Salomon, “Introductory Essay.” The word’s meaning on the Peruvian coast is more constricted. There it is used principally to describe the remains of pre-Hispanic adobe architecture in the landscape. 7. Boone, Stories in Red and Black, 29. Boone offers a broader definition of writing as “the communication of relatively specific ideas in a conventional manner by means of permanent, visible marks” (ibid., 30), which is more appropriate to understanding Central Mexican pictography and could be extended to Inca quipus, if by “marks” one includes knots on cords. 8. Brokaw, A History of the Khipu. The Incas used quipus primarily for accounting; on the possibility of deciphering narrative quipus, perhaps in logosyllabic form, see Hyland, “Writing with Twisted Cords.” 9. Estete, “Noticia del Perú,” 260–263; Estete, “La relación del viaje,” 110–112; Pizarro, “A los magníficos señores,” 81–83. 10. Although several early Spanish colonial texts refer in passing to the pre-Inca temples and palaces of the northern kings of the Lambayeque (also known as Sicán)

and Chimú dynasties at Chot (i.e., Huaca Chotuna) and Chan Chan, respectively, their descriptions are remarkably spare. The architecture of Chan Chan impressed these early writers, but they did not linger on their descriptions. Nor did they comment on Chan Chan’s earthen friezes, although these must have been seen from time to time in excavations that began in the sixteenth century in search of silver and gold. Sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Spanish authors reserved more attention for the socalled “idols” of these coastal centers, which reportedly took the forms of carved posts, a golden fox, a green stone, fish, and other animals. For further discussion of these sources and their use for archaeology, see Rowe, “The Kingdom of Chimor”; Ravines, Chanchán: Metrópoli chimú; Moseley and Cordy-Collins, The Northern Dynasties; Pillsbury, “Sculpted Friezes”; and Donnan, Chotuna and Chornancap. 11. The first Spanish soldiers and scribes in Peru described the landscape that they saw through the language of the Iberian Reconquista, frequently referring, for example, to Indigenous temples as “mosques” (mezquitas). MacCormack, “The Fall of the Incas,” 422–423. 12. “Era cosa de ver.” Estete, “Noticia del Perú,” 242; see also 249 and 261. 13. “Estaban enlucidas de tierra y pintura de varios colores, con muchas labores curiosas á su modo, si bien al nuestro toscas, y diversas figuras de animales mal formadas, como todo lo que estos indios pintaron.” Cobo, Historia del Nuevo Mundo, 4:50 [bk. 13, ch. 17]. English translation from Cobo, Inca Religion and Customs, 87. For modern documentation of the

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polychrome murals at Pachacamac, see Muelle and Wells, “Las pinturas del Templo de Pachacamac”; and Colonna-Preti, Eeckhout, and Luján-Dávila, “Pinturas y pintores en Pachacamac.” 14. On the Spanish colonial-era destruction and sanctioned looting of sites on the north coast of Peru, see Zevallos, Huacas y huaqueros; and Delibes, Desenterrando tesoros en el siglo XVI. 15. “Por cosas dignas de memoria quiero poner dos que en la guaca grande de Trugillo se vieron por los años de 1602 . . . Un dia cayò un grande lienço de pared, i descubriò chafalonias de plata, cascabeles, i ojas de oro bajo, i entre todo una figura de oro finisimo . . . a esta forma un Obispo . . . Descubriose un lienço entero de pared, i en el pintados con pinzel burdo, i colores bastardos muchos onbres armados a cavallo con sonbreros, espadas de rodajas, lanças de ristre en las manos, i figuradas barbas en el rostro.” Calancha, Corónica moralizada, 486. See also Bonavia, Mural Painting in Ancient Peru, 72. 16. “De que onbre armado, o de que onbre a cavallo pudieron sacar los Indios esta pintura? Ya de decirse que estos Indios, i los del Cuzco tuvieron antiquisimos oraculos, como lo repetia su Rey Guaynacapac (i dejamos probado) que una gente armada con barbas, i sobre animales, avian de ser los sugetadores deste lnperio, i los señores deste vasallaje, enseñando mejor ley i Religion que la suya. Con estas pinturas aparecio el Obispo; a todos nos admirò, i cada qual juzgò como sentia, i los mas atentos lo atribuyeron a pronostico, que advertidos del demonio o alunbrados del cielo pusieron en pintura a los que conquistando sus tierras les avian de abrir puerta a la salvacion de sus animas, i poniendo oregera Real a nuestros Obispos, le colocaron entre las pinturas de los Españoles.” Calancha, Corónica moralizada, 486. 17. MacCormack, “Calancha, Antonio de la,” 98; Adorno, Guaman Poma, 27–29. 18. Sandweiss and Quilter, El Niño, Catastrophism, and Culture Change. 19. Given his impossible description of Spanish cavalry in the pre-Hispanic mural of Huaca del Sol, it may be surprising that Calancha also offered perspicacious observations of this superimposed form of construction. But it was important to his claim that he give proof that the painted wall was an ancient one, not a latter-day colonial work. Calancha noted that it was due to the covering of one wall with another that such images would be preserved and

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their memories kept: “Ya dige que una pared està contigua con otra como un pliego de papel, que cubre a otro, o lienços o laminas, que arrimadas se juntan. . . . Para que las pinturas se perpetuasen, i los memoriales no se perdiesen.” Calancha, Corónica moralizada, 486. 20. Pillsbury and Trever, “The King, the Bishop, and the Creation of an American Antiquity.” 21. Martínez Compañón, Trujillo del Perú, 9:5–7. The only architectural ornament seen in the watercolors is a stonework frieze on a structure from the Chachapoyas area. Ibid., 9:4. 22. Pillsbury, “Sculpted Friezes,” 19–25; Pillsbury, “Reading Art without Writing.” Those documentary projects at Chan Chan coincided with the widespread adoption of photography. The textile-like reliefs, and the patterns they formed through the effects of light and shadow, offered an ideal subject for the new documentary medium. 23. Within one of the first colonial casonas in Trujillo—the ca. 1560 Casa García Holguín, located at Jirón Independencia 527—conservator Ricardo Morales identified three layers of murals painted with preHispanic materials and techniques (personal communication, 2016): a rectilinear design, followed by a mudéjar design; and then a Renaissance-style floral pattern. Other remains of early modern mural painting can be seen at the portals and within the patios of colonial architecture within central Trujillo. Eighteenth-century murals in the Casa de Emancipación are similar in style to the watercolors made for Martínez Compañón. Painters trained in a common pictorial tradition, may have created both the murals and the watercolors. Restrepo, “‘Trujillo del Perú’ en la Biblioteca Nacional de Colombia,” 68. 24. Protzen, “Max Uhle and Tambo Colorado”; Wright et al., “Mural Paintings in Ancient Peru.” 25. “Así, poco se sabe de ella. La documentación es casi nula y la evidencia directa casi inexistente. El tiempo y la incuria del hombre lo han destruido todo.” Bonavia, Ricchata Quellccani, 6. 26. Much, but not all, of this history is recounted in Bonavia, Mural Painting in Ancient Peru, 47–109. 27. Alva and Donnan, Royal Tombs of Sipán. 28. Pillsbury, Moche Art and Archaeology in Ancient Peru. 29. The literature that each of these projects has produced over thirty years is

extensive. Representative recent publications include Uceda, Morales, and Mujica, Huaca de la Luna; Franco, “El complejo arqueológico El Brujo”; and Mujica et al., El Brujo. 30. Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting. 31. Bonavia, Mural Painting in Ancient Peru. 32. I thank Avinoam Shalem (personal communication, 2019) for his provocation to think beyond conventional descriptions of artistic media. 33. Souvatzi, Baysal, and Baysal, “Is There Pre-History?,” 4. 34. Younging, Elements of Indigenous Style. 35. Cañizares-Esguerra, How to Write the History of the New World. 36. Gordon Willey and Philip Phillips famously declared that “American archaeology is anthropology or it is nothing.” Willey and Phillips, Method and Theory in American Archaeology, 2. Willey and Phillips claimed to “paraphrase Maitland’s famous dictum,” but in fact they turned it on its head. In 1911, the latter had written, “My own belief is that by and by anthropology will have the choice between being history and being nothing.” Maitland, The Collected Papers of Frederic William Maitland, 3:295. On anthropological archaeology’s “territorial message” to the humanities, see Kubler, “History—or Anthropology—of Art?,” 763. 37. In other areas of American archaeology—for example, in northern Mexico and the US American Southwest— the disciplines of archaeology and history remain more tightly intertwined, at times regarded as “archaeohistory.” DiPeso, “The Northern Sector of the Mesoamerican World System,” 11; Whalen and Minnis, Casas Grandes and Its Hinterland, 47–49. The contiguity of archaeology and history—that is, archaeology as a form of materially inscribed history—has been less present in Andean studies. Exceptions include Wernke, “An Archaeo-History of Andean Community and Landscape.” 38. Souvatzi, Baysal, and Baysal, “Is There Pre-History?,” 12. See also Smail and Shryock, “History and the ‘Pre,’” 722. 39. “History begins with bodies and artifacts: living brains, fossils, texts, buildings.” Trouillot, Silencing the Past, 29. 40. In 1670, the British antiquarian John Aubrey wrote: “These Antiquities are so exceedingly old, that no Bookes doe reach them: so that there is no way to retrieve them but by comparative antiquitie,

which I have writ upon the spott, from the Monuments themselves,” as quoted in Schnapp, “The Birth of the Archaeological Vision,” 218. 41. Stephens, “Cómo leer ruinas.” 42. Squier, Peru, 3, see also 571–576. 43. See, for example, Roberts, “Landscapes of Indifference.” 44. Mould de Pease, “Squier, Ephraim George,” 653. 45. Before this, archaeologists had few means for determining “absolute” dates (compared to relative dates based on ceramic or architectural seriation) for ancient works without inscriptions. In 1948, however, art historian George Kubler obtained what we can now confirm were remarkably accurate dates for artifacts (including Moche ceramics and wooden sculpture) deposited on the guano islands off the coast of Peru by measuring the depths of the bird excrement within which they were buried and calibrating them to known historical horizons. Kubler, “Towards Absolute Time,” 29–50. 46. AMS has greatly improved the accuracy of dating smaller carbon samples. At the same time, archaeologists have become more attuned to the problems of “old wood,” especially in arid environments like the Pacific coast of South America where forests are few and wooden beams and posts were frequently reused, sometimes over centuries. By focusing instead on annual plants that more certainly expired at, or near, the same time as the events investigated, archaeologists have been able to create more precise chronologies. For discussion of the state of the field of reliable radiocarbon chronology for Moche archaeology in particular, see Koons and Alex, “Revised Moche Chronology.” 47. The problem of how to reckon with time has long been central to the possibility of writing ancient South American art history. Rowe, “La posibilidad de una historia del arte del antiguo Perú.” 48. Kubler, “Period, Style and Meaning in Ancient American Art,” 132. 49. Kubler, “Aesthetics since Amerindian Art before Columbus,” 40. 50. Rowe, “Cultural Unity and Diversification in Peruvian Archaeology”; Rowe, “Stages and Periods in Archaeological Interpretation”; Stone-Miller, “An Overview of ‘Horizon’ and ‘Horizon Style.’” 51. “Figuration” is defined here as “the representation in two or three dimensions

of aspects of the visible world.” Morley, “Material Beginnings,” xvii. 52. Burger, Chavin. 53. Ikehara, “Multinaturalismo y perspectivismo”; Lathrap, “Jaws”; Weismantel, “Seeing Like an Archaeologist.” 54. Arkush and Tung, “Patterns of War in the Andes”; Ikehara, “Leadership, Crisis and Political Change”; Ikehara and Chicoine, “Hacia una reevaluación de Salinar.” 55. Millaire, with Morlion, Gallinazo. 56. Millaire, “Gallinazo and the Tradición Norcosteña,” 13. Millaire built on Garth Bawden’s earlier work on the relationship between Gallinazo and Moche. Bawden, “The Structural Paradox.” 57. Surette, “Virú and Moche Textiles.” 58. Bonavia, Mural Painting in Ancient Peru, 44, fig. 27. At the Moche site of El Castillo de Santa, Claude Chapdelaine and his team reported a yellow plastered frieze of adobe bricks arranged as cross motifs, which they related to earlier Gallinazo traditions. Chapdelaine, “Moche Political Organization in the Santa Valley,” 265. See also Bennett, The Gallinazo Group, 107–108, fig. 9, pls. 2, 4, 5. 59. Millaire, “Woven Identities in the Virú Valley,” 160. 60. Castillo, “Gallinazo, Vicús, and Moche,” 227. 61. Larco, Los mochicas (1938, 1939); Larco, Los mochicas (2001). Earlier work by Max Uhle and others had referred to the same traditions as Proto-Chimú or Early Chimú. 62. Some researchers maintain the conquest model of Moche intruders colonizing Gallinazo communities. See, for example, Chapdelaine, Pimentel, and Gamboa, “Gallinazo Cultural Identity.” Without physical evidence of warfare, however, it is difficult to base models of conquest on cultural difference and images of combat. 63. Larco, Cronología arqueológica, 28–36. 64. Quilter and Castillo, New Perspectives on Moche Political Organization. 65. Castillo and Donnan, “Los mochica del norte y los mochica del sur.” 66. So, too, in Maya archaeology, earlier models of political unity have been replaced by a more nuanced understanding of political competition and alliances among royal centers. In the Maya area, the realization of these political and social dynamics has been greatly facilitated by the decipherment of inscriptions on ancient monuments. Martin and Grube, Chronicle of the Maya Kings and Queens. Although

Moche studies cannot benefit from epigraphic perspectives, multidisciplinary approaches to the analysis of human remains, material culture, and monumental practices hold great potential for clarifying the relationships among and within the populations of these centers. See, for example, Klaus et al., “Biological Distance Patterns among the Northern Moche Lords.” 67. Castillo, “Moche Politics in the Jequetepeque Valley.” 68. Chapdelaine, “Moche Political Organization in the Santa Valley”; Chapdelaine, “Moche Art Style in the Santa Valley.” 69. Scholarly expectations color how variations in the “classic” Moche style, as Larco defined it, have been interpreted. For example, at Huancaco in the Virú Valley, Steve Bourget excavated contexts with Moche-style ceramics that do not match classical types known from farther north in the Moche heartland. He concluded that neither the ceramics nor the people of Huancaco should be considered “Moche.” Bourget, “Cultural Assignations during the Early Intermediate Period”; Bourget, “Somos diferentes.” Elsewhere in the Virú Valley, Jean-François Millaire interpreted Huancaco-related, Moche-style ceramics at Huaca Santa Clara as evidence of local accommodation to Moche imperialism. Millaire, “Moche Political Expansionism as Viewed from Virú.” Christopher Donnan argued that the Huancaco ceramics represent one of many Moche substyles that expressed local cultural and political identity. Donnan, “Moche Substyles.” The interpretation of ceramic styles as proxies for ethnic or political identities remains a largely undertheorized matter in South American archaeology. 70. In the northern valleys, archaeologists have devised a more flexible chronological sequence of Early, Middle, and Late Moche to replace Larco’s sequence. See, for example, Castillo, “The Last of the Mochicas.” 71. Although some scholars still maintain a start date of about 50 CE, reliable carbon dating of contexts associated with Moche ceramics begins after 200 CE and continues into the ninth century. Koons and Alex, “Revised Moche Chronology”; Koons, “Moche Geopolitical Networks”; Quilter and Koons, “The Fall of the Moche”; Lockard, “A New View of Galindo.” 72. This idea comes from ongoing conversations with Hugo Ikehara (personal communication, 2019).

NOTE S TO PAGES 9– 15 • 187

73. Lau, Ancient Alterity in the Andes; Lau, “Intercultural Relations in Northern Peru.” 74. Bruhns, “The Moon Animal.” 75. Lau, “Object of Contention.” 76. Pardo and Rucabado, Moche y sus vecinos; Scher, “Dressing the Other.” 77. Rucabado, “Los otros, los no-moche.” 78. Shimada et al., “Cultural Impacts of Severe Droughts in the Prehistoric Andes,” 261. 79. Billman and Huckleberry, “Deciphering the Politics of Prehistoric El Niño Events.” 80. Moseley, Donnan, and Keefer, “Convergent Catastrophe and the Demise of Dos Cabezas.” 81. Uceda, “Theocracy and Secularism”; Uceda and Canziani, “Evidencias de grandes precipitaciones.” 82. Chapdelaine, “Moche Political Organization in the Santa Valley”; Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting. 83. Caramanica et al., “El Niño Resilience Farming on the North Coast of Peru”; Dillehay and Kolata, “Long-Term Human Response to Uncertain Environmental Conditions in the Andes.” 84. Some scholars argue still for a Wari conquest of Moche. See, for example, Giersz and Makowski, “El fenómeno wari.” 85. Lau, “Intercultural Relations in Northern Peru,” 42–43. 86. Castillo, “La presencia de Wari en San José de Moro”; Castillo, “The Last of the Mochicas”; Castillo, Fernandini, and Muro, “The Multidimensional Relations between the Wari and the Moche States.” 87. Stone, “Technique and Form in HuariStyle Tapestry Tunics”; Bergh, “TapestryWoven Tunics.” 88. Jiménez, “The Evolution and Changes of Moche Textile Style.” 89. Shimada, Cultura sicán. 90. Vogel, The Casma City of El Purgatorio; Moseley and Day, Chan Chan. 91. D’Altroy, The Incas. 92. Cummins, Toasts with the Inca; Mackey and Nelson, Life, Death and Burial Practices. 93. Cook, Demographic Collapse. 94. Vargas Llosa, Death in the Andes; Arguedas, The Fox from Up Above and the Fox from Down Below. 95. Vizenor, Survivance. 96. “Indigeneity results from violent colonial encounters and constitutes the other side of coloniality. Rather than thinking of it as a fixed identity, it can be conceived as an ongoing process and a relational category, which includes both

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self-identification and identifications by others such as colonizers, settlers, the church, the state, and—with a high amount of symbolic capital—scholars.” Kaltmeier, “On the Advantage and Disadvantage of Heritage,” 24. 97. On Indigenous coastal language revival, see Eloranta and Bartens, “New Mochica and the Challenge of Reviving an Extinct Language.” For a recent communitybased program to record folklore, see Relatos de la Campiña de Moche. 98. Following current conventions in art history and archaeology, I use the words “Andes” and “Andean” here in their broad academic sense to refer to the South American region along the Pacific coast and Andes Mountains, inclusive of southern Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, and northern Chile and Argentina, sometimes referred to also as the “Central Andes.” To specify the highaltitude areas of the Andes Mountains and their foothills in particular, I use “highland” or “highland Andean.” 99. Murra, “El control vertical de un máximo de pisos ecológicos.” See also Van Buren, “Rethinking the Vertical Archipelago.” 100. Topic and Topic, “Coast-Highland Relations in Northern Peru.” New evidence has led to revised theories (e.g., the “kelp highway hypothesis”) for the first peopling of the Americas from northeast Asia via a “Pacific Rim coastal corridor,” not overland as traditionally accepted, about 20,000 years before the present. Braje et al., “Finding the First Americans.” 101. Shimada, Pampa Grande and the Mochica Culture, 91. 102. Beekman and McEwan, Waves of Influence. 103. Nakatsuka et al., “A Paleogenomic Reconstruction.” It should be noted that this paper was based on relatively small sample sizes, especially for the north coast of Peru. 104. Nakatsuka et al., “A Paleogenomic Reconstruction,” 1138–1139. 105. Valdez, “Complejo cerámico: Mayo Chinchipe.” 106. Urban, “Is There a Central Andean Linguistic Area?” 107. Torero, “Deslindes lingüísticos en la costa norte peruana”; Cerrón-Palomino, La lengua de Naimlap; Urban, Lost Languages; Quilter et al., “Traces of a Lost Language.” 108. For rare photographs of Muchikspeaking communities at the turn of the century, see Schaedel, La etnografía muchik. 109. Urban, Lost Languages, 62. 110. Urban, Lost Languages, 64.

111. Urban, Lost Languages, 69. 112. Salas, Diccionario; Brüning, Mochica Wörterbuch. 113. Eloranta, “Language Contact across the Andes.” 114. Urban, “Is There a Central Andean Linguistic Area?” 115. Urban, Lost Languages, 207–208, 212–213, 220–221. 116. Urban, Lost Languages, 228. 117. Herrera, “Multilingualism on the North Coast of Peru.” 118. Urban, Lost Languages, 67, 70. 119. Urban, “Linguistic and Cultural Divisions in Pre-Hispanic Northern Peru”; “Dillehay, “Un comentario.” 120. The most explicit uses of Inca history to interpret the imagery of Moche art, as part of a homogeneous pan-Andean culture, include Hocquenghem, Iconografía mochica; and de Bock, Human Sacrifices for Cosmic Order and Regeneration. 121. Increasingly, archaeologists, anthropologists, and art historians have also been applying models of animism and perspectivism developed in Amazonian ethnography across space and time to a broad swath of “Amerindian” subjects, including Moche art and visual culture, as an alternative to Western epistemologies. Tantaleán, “Andean Ontologies,” 11–12. 122. Coronado, The Andes Imagined. For the use of Quechua terms to guide panAndean art historical interpretation via an “Andean worldview,” see Stone, Art of the Andes, 16–19. 123. The distinction is most explicitly articulated in Pasztory, Pre-Columbian Art. See also DeMarrais, “Animacy, Abstraction, and Affect in the Andean Past.” 124. Paternosto, The Stone and the Thread. 125. Pasztory, Pre-Columbian Art, 20. 126. Moche textiles are not well known in museum collections, although important examples have been excavated at sites up and down the north coast of Peru. Preservation is not as good there as it is on the more arid south coast, so what survives is often quite fragmentary. The range of techniques found in Moche textiles, however, is extensive. See, for example, Conklin, “Moche Textile Structures.” Excavated collections include those from the northern site of Pacatnamú and the southern site of El Castillo de Santa. Ubbelohde-Doering, On the Royal Highways of the Inca, 22–84; Chapdelaine and Pimentel, “Un tejido único Moche III”; Surette, “Virú and Moche Textiles.”

127. Pillsbury, “Luminous Power.” 128. The political heterogeneity and competitive “arts race” among ancient Maya centers present a possible parallel to the political and artistic dynamics of the Moche world during the same centuries. Benson, “Maya Political Structure.” 129. Bourget, Sacrifice, Violence, and Ideology; Bourget, “Rituals of Sacrifice”; Verano, “War and Death in the Moche World.” 130. Donnan, Moche Portraits. 131. Panofsky, “Iconography and Iconology.” 132. Donnan, “The Thematic Approach”; Donnan and McClelland, The Burial Theme. By contrast, Anne Marie Hocquenghem focused on the identification of myths and rites. Hocquenghem, Iconografía mochica. For critique of the modern formation of the canon of Moche art and representation, see Scher, “Destituir a los sacerdotes.” 133. Quilter, “The Narrative Approach.” 134. Benson, “Iconography Meets Archaeology”; Wiersema, Architectural Vessels of the Moche. 135. Alva and Donnan, Royal Tombs of Sipán; Donnan and Castillo, “Excavaciones de tumbas.” For example, although Donnan identifies the Lord of Sipán (Tomb 1) with his Figure A from the Presentation Theme on the basis of his crescent-shaped golden headdress, the deceased ruler was buried with multiple headdresses with different forms. At San José de Moro, where highstatus women have been identified as the Moche priestess (Donnan’s Figure C), the women themselves were not wearing the recognizable plumed headdress. Rather, it was their anthropomorphized coffins that were thus attired. 136. Donnan, Moche Art of Peru; Jackson, “Moche as Visual Notation”; Jackson, “Proto-Writing in Moche Pottery.” Taking the textual model further, Edward de Bock referred to Moche vessels with figural imagery as “documentos de cerámica.” De Bock, “Templo de la Escalera y Ola,” 308. 137. Larco, Los mochicas (1938, 1939); Larco, Los mochicas (2001). 138. Salas, Etimologías mochicas, 115–120; Gayoso, “¿Por qué Aiapaec y Chicopaec no son nombres de dioses?” See also Prządka-Giersz, “Ai Apaec.” 139. As Yuri Berezkin and Elizabeth Benson both observed, there are important differences in the subject matter depicted on Moche fineline ceramics between Moche I–III and Moche IV–V styles, which correspond roughly to the division between

early to middle Moche (200–600 CE) and late Moche (500/600–850 CE). Benson, “Cambios de temas y motivos”; Berezkin, “The Social Structure of the Mochica.” 140. Makowski, “La deidad suprema en la iconografía mochica.” 141. Weismantel, “Cuni Raya Superhero,” 179. 142. Avila, The Huarochirí Manuscript, ch. 5, 54–60. 143. Benson, The Mochica, 27. 144. Panofsky’s method of iconographic analysis, which has often been invoked either explicitly or implicitly in Moche studies, was founded on references to textual narratives (biblical, hagiographical, etc.). As such, Moche iconographic analysis can rarely proceed beyond “preiconographical” recognition, following Panofsky’s model. Castillo, Personajes míticos; cf. Hocquenghem, Iconografía mochica, 19–36; cf. Cordy-Collins, “The Moon Is a Boat!” 145. This danger is not unique to the interpretation of ancient South American imagery. On the comparable risk of overanalysis and “free association” in parallel searches for meaning in early Chinese bronzes, see Bagley, “Meaning and Explanation.” 146. The bottle is housed at the Ethnologisches Museum, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin (V A 3187). Seler, Peruanische Alterthümer, pl. 32, no. 4. 147. The illustration, based on a 1908 copy of the lost original, appeared in Lehmann and Doering, The Art of Old Peru, 17, fig. 9. In the caption, the authors attributed the bottle to the Trujillo area. A photograph of the vessel appeared in Schmidt, Kunst und Kultur von Peru, 190, no. 2. The illustration was later reproduced in works by Gerdt Kutscher, who detailed the genealogy of the image originally created for Seler. Kutscher, Chimu, 60–61, fig. 56; Kutscher, Nordperuanische Keramik, 10–11, 45–46 (on the history of the drawings); 38–39, 71–73, pl. 75 (on the vessel). 148. Kutscher was one of the only authors who approached the enigma of the bottle’s imagery with a lighter touch, describing its visual content but not assigning a particular interpretation. Kutscher, Chimu, 60–61. 149. Means, Ancient Civilizations of the Andes, 86, fig. 20. 150. Hocquenghem, Iconografía mochica, 132–138, fig. 129. 151. Makowski, “Las divinidades en la iconografía mochica,” 162, fig. 85. See

also Bonavia and Makowski, “Las pinturas murales de Pañamarca,” 47, fig. 20. 152. Golte, Moche, 368–369, fig. 13.49. 153. Pardo and Rucabado, Moche y sus vecinos, 52, fig. 21n. 154. Weismantel, “Obstinate Things.” 155. Stephen Houston has remarked on the “loquaciousness” of ancient Maya art and its tendencies toward ventriloquy, drawing on scholarship by Lorraine Daston and Joseph L. Koerner. Houston, “The Best of All Things,” 99. See also Daston, Things That Talk. 156. Debates concerning the endurance of ancient traditions against the ruptures of historical change (i.e., continuity versus disjunction) have animated the field of Pre-Columbian studies for the better part of its history. The issue took center stage at a symposium related to the Before Cortés exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1970. Bernal et al., The Iconography of Middle American Sculpture. See also Quilter, “Continuity and Disjunction in PreColumbian Art and Culture.” 157. Donnan, Moche Art and Iconography, 82–85, figs. 66 and 67. There are several other known examples of this type of mold-made bottle, for example, in the Museo Larco in Lima. 158. Calancha, Corónica moralizada, 606–607. 159. Donnan and McClelland, The Burial Theme. 160. Calancha, Corónica moralizada, 556. 161. See, for example, Rostworowski, Curacas y sucesiones; and Rostworowski, Costa peruana prehispánica. 162. Douglas Sharon and Christopher Donnan argued in the 1970s for the continuities of practice between that of curandero Eduardo Calderón and those depicted in Moche iconography. Again, though, gendered distinctions arise. The hooded, owlfaced figures of Moche “shamans” depicted in ceramic art often appear to be female, not male. Sharon and Donnan, “Shamanism in Moche Iconography.” See also Joralemon and Sharon, Sorcery and Shamanism. 163. Sharon and Donnan, “Shamanism in Moche Iconography,” 51. 164. Dean, “The Inka Married the Earth,” 503. 165. Lepinski and McFadden, Beyond Iconography. 166. As Whitney Davis has written, “At the most general level, an archaeology of meaning that principally does iconography—the identification of the external source and reference of a symbolic

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form—without ‘iconology,’ an examination of disjunctive sense and use, will remain logocentric.” Davis, Replications, 126–127. 167. There are important exceptions to this tendency. Christopher Donnan and Donna McClelland’s important study of fineline ceramic painting—as it varied in form, technique, and imagery through Larco’s Moche I to V styles—is a foundational text, constituting a kind of “Corpus Vasorum Mochicorum.” Donnan and McClelland, Moche Fineline Painting. See also McClelland, McClelland, and Donnan, Moche Fineline Painting from San José de Moro. 168. Art historical studies that have focused primarily on excavated Moche objects have been surprisingly few. They include Margaret A. Jackson’s work (with Glenn Russell) on the ceramics of Cerro Mayal, her more recent research on the Complex Theme murals at Huaca de la Luna and Huaca Cao Viejo, and Sarahh Scher’s analyses of ceramics and unfired clay effigies from Huaca de la Luna, including those excavated in 1899 by Max Uhle and more recently by Santiago Uceda, Steve Bourget, and colleagues. Jackson, Moche Art and Visual Culture; Russell and Jackson, “Political Economy and Patronage”; Jackson, “La narrativa de las Pléyades”; Scher, “Malleable Victims and Discourses of Dominance.” 169. Kubler, “History—or Anthropology— of Art?,” 766. 170. Within the debates on the definitions of “art” (typically framed in opposition to “artifact”), and their suitability to premodern American settings, I have found the greatest utility in Alfred Gell’s definition of “artworks”: “They are objects that are scrutinized as vehicles of complicated ideas, intended to achieve or mean something interesting, difficult, allusive, hard to bring off, etc. I would define as a candidate artwork any object or performance that potentially rewards such scrutiny because it embodies intentionalities that are complex, demanding of attention and perhaps difficult to reconstruct fully (cf. Kant’s notion of the ‘free play of cognitive powers’).” Gell, “Vogel’s Net,” 36. See also Trever, “A Moche Riddle in Clay.” 171. Bredekamp, Image Acts, 283. 172. Victorio, “Reflexiones en torno al estudio del arte del Perú antiguo,” 60. 173. Fowles, “Absorption, Theatricality and the Image in Deep Time,” 680. 174. This work builds on earlier scholarship on Moche mural art that also

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emphasized the contextualization of visual meaning. Quilter, “Moche Mimesis”; Morales, “Iconografía litúrgica y contexto arquitectónico.” 175. The English equivalent, “archaeohistory of art,” is more cumbersome, especially in adjectival form. Trever, “Cómo escribir una historia del arte,” 104. 176. There is abundant literature on the archaeology of art. Relatively little of it, however, has been written from perspectives of art history. There are surprisingly few studies of images—and human engagement with images, in particular—within the materially rich settings of field archaeology. Important works in this vein, which tend to be focused on Paleolithic and Neolithic images— especially rock art—outside of the Americas, include Tilley, The Materiality of Stone; Bradley, Image and Audience; and Jones and Cochrane, The Archaeology of Art. Within the Andes, see Grieder, The Art and Archaeology of Pashash. 177. Mitchell, “What Is an Image?,” 505. See also Elkins and Naef, What Is an Image? 178. Mitchell, “What Is an Image?,” 521–523. 179. Bahrani, The Infinite Image. 180. Ingold, Making. 181. Gell, Art and Agency. 182. Mitchell, What Do Pictures Want? 183. Freedberg, The Power of Images. 184. Hvidtfeldt, Teotl and Ixiptlatli. For applications of the concept of ixiptla (teixiptla, ixiptlatl) in art history, see Boone, “Incarnations of the Aztec Supernatural”; Russo, “Plumes of Sacrifice”; and Finegold, Vital Voids. 185. Houston, Stuart, and Taube, The Memory of Bones, 67. See also Brittenham, The Murals of Cacaxtla, 78. 186. Taylor, Camac, camay y camasca. On camay’s application to art making in metal, cloth, and wood, see Lechtman, “Andean Value Systems,” 33; Lechtman, “Cloth and Metal,” 42; and Cummins, Toasts with the Inca, 28–29. 187. Dean, “Metonymy in Inca Art.” 188. Jackson, Moche Art and Visual Culture, 130–131. See also Schumacher de Peña, El vocabulario mochica, 29. 189. Salas, Diccionario, 40. 190. Salas, Diccionario, 5. 191. Brüning, Mochica Wörterbuch, 84. 192. Harth-Terré, El vocabulario estético de los mochicas, 42. 193. Middendorf, Das Muchik oder die Chimu-Sprache, 61. Isidora Isique reported the meaning of the same word (siaeg mon)

as imagen (image) to Walter Lehmann in 1929. Schumacher de Peña, El vocabulario mochica, 22. 194. Sepúlveda et al., “Unraveling the Polychromy.” 195. Dean, “The Trouble with (the Term) Art,” 31–32. On the colonial Quechua transformation of quillca to also mean “writing,” “book,” and “paper,” see Rappaport and Cummins, “Between Images and Writing.” 196. Brüning, Mochica Wörterbuch, 24, 116. 197. In using the word “encounters” in the context of colonial Madagascar, Zoë Crossland explained that “the term’s failure to articulate clear assumptions about the nature of these meetings and engagements means that it provides a felicitous starting point for a gradual tracing of the relationships that were involved, with all of their ambiguities and political and economic repercussions.” Crossland, Ancestral Encounters, 12. 198. O’Sullivan, Art Encounters Deleuze and Guattari. See also Back Danielsson, Fahlander, and Sjöstrand, Encountering Imagery; and Cornell and Fahlander, Encounters, Materialities, Confrontations. 199. As David Summers has written, “Iconographic questions should not be stated in the form ‘What did this mean, and how do the forms in which it was realized express that meaning?’ but rather ‘Why did people continue (or not continue) to make images of the Virgin Mary or Quetzalcoatl, or even unidentifiable personages, in the ways they did?” (emphasis added). Summers, Real Spaces, 17. 200. Vernon Knight has also called for the importance of archaeological field data in assisting with iconographic analysis through providing stylistic chronologies, general social setting, and narrative sequences of images configured within architecture and caches. Knight Jr., Iconographic Method, 37, 61–63, 106. His proposals did not extend as far as this book’s methods, however, in imagining the forensic recovery of ancient experiences of images (archaeo-iconology). 201. “Este planteamiento deja de lado la vieja y falsa oposición entre arte y arqueología, al permitir formular proyectos que demuestran que la convivencia de ambas disciplinas es posible y necesaria.” Pardo, “Objeto ritual,” 231. 202. Guernsey, Human Figuration and Fragmentation, xiv. 203. In ancient Mesoamerican studies, productive intersections between art

history, field archaeology, and social anthropology are evident in scholarship, including Brittenham, “Style and Substance”; Freidel, Rich, and Reilly, “Resurrecting the Maize King”; O’Neil, Engaging Ancient Maya Sculpture; Mollenhauer, “Sculpting the Past”; and Gillespie, “Journey’s End(?).” 204. Within the growing field of historical archaeology, see, for example, Ferguson, Uncommon Ground; and Deetz, In Small Things Forgotten. What remains rare in historical archaeology is attention to the work of images, as in Wilkie et al., “Ode to a Grecian Boy.” 205. Kubler, “Science and Humanism among Americanists,” 167. 206. Haraway, “Animal Sociology,” 59. CH AP T ER 1 . M URA L OR IGI NS A N D   COASTA L CO RPO REA L IT IES

1. The site name refers to stories of modern shamans who practiced within the ruins of the archaeological complex, located near the town of Magdalena de Cao, in the Chicama Valley of Peru. Mujica et al., El Brujo. 2. The prisoners are depicted in a state of full or partial sexual arousal, as observed in Scher, “Markers of Masculinity,” 186. 3. Franco, “Sacrificios humanos en el mundo moche,” 120–122. 4. Verano, “War and Death in the Moche World,” 116. 5. Schaedel, “Coast-Highland Inter­ relationships,” 444. 6. Summers, Real Spaces. 7. For a twentieth-century Quechua perspective on “inside” (ukhu), as a shift in consciousness, visible presence, and historical removal, see Allen, “The Incas Have Gone Inside.” 8. Ortman, “Conceptual Metaphor.” 9. Joyce, “Performing the Body”; Hamilakis, Pluciennik, and Tarlow, Thinking through the Body; Borić and Robb, Past Bodies. 10. Hamilakis, Pluciennik, and Tarlow, “Introduction,” 4. 11. Joyce, “Archaeology of the Body,” 140. See also Joyce, “When the Flesh Is Solid.” 12. Bahn, “The Earliest Imagery around the Globe,” 3–6. Secure radiocarbon dates are relatively rare for South American rock art—but they put most of the earliest examples in the postglacial range of about 12,000 to 9,000 BP. There is some suggestion of much earlier rock art—for example, at Pedra Furada in northeast

Brazil, which may be as early as 30,000 BP, during the Upper Paleolithic or Early Ice Age—but the dates for these paintings are controversial. Guidon, Peintures préhistoriques du Brésil. 13. For a cross-media account of the origins of figural image making in Peru in particular, beginning in about 6000 BCE and continuing through the end of the first millennium BCE, see Burger, “The Emergence of Figuration.” 14. Bonavia, Mural Painting in Ancient Peru, 6. Bonavia based this statement on the resemblance of the cave paintings of Monte Calvario (also known as Udima, Cajamarca) to Chavín art. 15. Muelle and Ravines, “Toquepala.” 16. Mejía, “Pintura chavinoide”; Núñez, Petroglifos del Perú, 2:359–442. 17. Langlois, “Utcubamba,” 196, fig. 41. 18. Kauffmann, Los chachapoyas. 19. Bonavia, Mural Painting in Ancient Peru, 10. 20. Izumi and Sono, Andes 2; Izumi and Terada, Andes 4; Onuki, “Prólogo”; Onuki, “Una reconsideración de la fase Kotosh Mito.” 21. Matsuzawa, “Constructions,” 140, fig. 82; 160, fig. 94; pl. 29e. The archaeologists also noted, but did not illustrate, other small white figures on the walls of the early architecture at Kotosh. For radiocarbon dates, see Izumi, “The Development of Formative Culture,” 66. See also Onuki, “Una reconsideración de la fase Kotosh Mito,” 119. 22. Matsuzawa, “Constructions,” 154, pl. 26. 23. Hostnig, Arte rupestre del Perú. The simple human form with arms raised resembles what Jean Guffroy referred to as the “adoration” and “salutation” positions seen in ancient Peruvian petroglyphs. Guffroy, Imágenes y paisajes rupestres, 100–101. 24. Izumi and Sono, Andes 2, 46, see pl. 16, color plate 1; Matsuzawa, “Constructions,” 151–156, pls. 25 and 26, color plates 1 and 2. 25. Matsuzawa, “Constructions,” 154; Izumi, “The Development of Formative Culture,” 68. 26. Burger, Chavin, 48; Burger, “The Emergence of Figuration,” 246. 27. Terada, “Conclusions,” 306. 28. Matsuzawa described this practice as “temple entombment.” Matsuzawa, “Constructions,” 176. The Templo Blanco was treated similarly. Yoshio Onuki later emphasized the idea of temple “renovation”

over “entombment,” arguing that these architectural and ritual practices were not funerary. Onuki, “Una reconsideración de la fase Kotosh Mito,” 105–107. 29. Unfortunately, the reliefs at Kotosh did not last long after they were unearthed in the 1960s. The first pair of arms, excavated in 1960, was found destroyed when the archaeologists returned to Huánuco in 1963. Only parts of the fingers remained intact. During the second field season, the team decided to remove the second relief from the wall and send it to the national museum in Lima for safekeeping. Onuki, “Prólogo,” 32–33. 30. Since the Japanese project at Kotosh, other archaeologists have invoked ideas of the renovation or regeneration of the temple to explain architectural processes of renewal that were accompanied by acts of religious and/or political significance. For example, in the Moche area, see Uceda and Canziani, “Análisis de la secuencia arquitectónica,” 157–158; and Uceda and Tufinio, “El complejo arquitectónico religioso moche,” 216–218. The deliberate closure, interment, and refurbishment of architecture were by no means unique to the ancient Andes. See, for example, Brittenham, “Style and Substance.” 31. Alva, Ventarrón y Collud. 32. Alva, Ventarrón y Collud, 75. 33. Ignacio Alva has interpreted the subtle variations in the two fish as diagnostic of different species. He has also suggested that the bipartite arrangement referenced Andean forms of social and cosmological duality. Alva, Ventarrón y Collud, 124. 34. Alva, Ventarrón y Collud, 82. 35. Alva, Ventarrón y Collud, 121, fig. 139. 36. Alva, Ventarrón y Collud, 121–124. 37. Archaeometric analysis has determined that the pigments used were minerals and clays, especially iron oxides and, in the third temple, green earth. Each surface had a single pictorial layer. Wright, Alva, and Laval, “The Origins of Mural Painting.” 38. The upper areas of both murals had been cut down during a subsequent rebuilding of the temple. They survive today to a height of about 1.4 meters. The two surfaces of the west mural measure 1.4 m and 1.1 m wide. The east mural, which suffered additional damage from later looting, is smaller at 1.4 m and 0.7 m wide. Alva, Ventarrón y Collud, 68–69. In 2017, a fire that had spread from nearby sugarcane

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fields tore through the flammable structure that had been built to protect the excavated temple and burned its interior, including the murals. 39. A similar line, beginning at the mouth and ending with a spiral at the belly, was drawn in a graffito of a deer at the ancient Maya center of Tikal in Guatemala. In describing the image of “a deer with interesting X-ray of entrails,” Helen Webster noted that similar depictions were found “in Indian art of the Southwestern United States.” Webster, “Tikal Graffiti,” 40. 40. Alva, Ventarrón y Collud, 126. 41. Donnan, “Deer Hunting and Combat.” 42. Alva, Ventarrón y Collud, 68. 43. Pillsbury, “Reading Art without Writing”; Cohen Suarez, Heaven, Hell, and Everything in Between. 44. Bird, Hyslop, and Skinner, The Preceramic Excavations at the Huaca Prieta. 45. The latter is especially well documented for the Incas. Murra, “Cloth and Its Functions in the Inca State.” 46. Benfer et al., “La tradición religiosoastronómica”; Benfer, “Monumental Architecture.” 47. Benfer, “Monumental Architecture,” 346. 48. Benfer et al., “La tradición religiosoastronómica,” 77. 49. Benfer et al., “La tradición religiosoastronómica,” 77. 50. Benfer et al., “La tradición religiosoastronómica,” 78. 51. Benfer et al., “La tradición religiosoastronómica,” 80. 52. In popular accounts of its discovery, the face has sometimes been described as a reloj solar (sundial). Ten years after its discovery, the Buena Vista sculpture was damaged by vandals. As at Kotosh, the Buena Vista artwork had survived four thousand years intact below ground, only to be subjected to blows soon after its exposure. Fortunately, though, the damage to the Buena Vista sculpture was partial and reparable. After the assault the sculpture was completely reburied. Robert A. Benfer Jr., personal communication, 2017. 53. See, for example, Carmichael, “The Life from Death Continuum.” 54. For the definition of “sunset” (puesta del sol) as cul xllang (literally, “blood sun”) in Muchik, see Salas, Diccionario, 5. 55. Elsewhere at Buena Vista, step-fretshaped windows adorned the walls, creating a geometric play of light and shadow. See, for example, Benfer et al., “La tradición religioso-astronómica,” fig. 10.

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56. Benfer et al., “La tradición religiosoastronómica,” 76, fig. 20. 57. Benfer, “Monumental Architecture,” 339, 348. 58. Benfer et al., “La tradición religiosoastronómica,” 69, figs. 16 and 17. Traces of paint remained on the opposite jamb of the doorway, which may have been similarly decorated. Benfer, “Monumental Architecture,” 339. 59. Alternatively, Alva has suggested that what Benfer thought to be a fox might instead be an embryonic zarigüeya, although that interpretation does not explain the distinctive appearance of the feet. Alva, Ventarrón y Collud, 121, fig. 142. 60. At Caral, which was founded around 2900 BCE in the Supe Valley, a team led by archaeologist Ruth Shady has found walls painted in solid colors, varying in tone from phase to phase, with some evidence of images modeled in relief. Shady, Caral, 221– 227. So far, what is known to have survived of figuration is limited to isolated remains of figures, faces, and motifs, modeled and incised here and there on the architecture of Caral and its surroundings. Shady et al., Centros urbanos. 61. Shady et al., Vichama. 62. Shady et al., Vichama; Shady et al., Historia recuperada. 63. This earthen sculpture was somewhat similar to the creatures that appeared carved on the sides of a fragment of a Preceramic wooden bowl discovered in a cache within Huaca de los Sacrificios at Áspero. Two amphibians with humanlike hands approached the lip of the vessel and peered over the edge with their bulbous eyes. Feldman, “Preceramic Corporate Architecture,” 78, fig. 5. 64. Carlín, “Descubren nuevos frisos de la cultura Caral.” 65. Shady et al., Vichama, 62–63. In other parts of the excavations at Vichama, the archaeologists recovered other wrapped unfired clay figures, including a remarkable group of three brightly painted sculptures interred within a basket near the Edificio Las Hornacinas. Ibid., 34–35. 66. Shady and others have suggested that the Vichama friezes related to an ancient episode of famine brought about by the cyclical environmental disasters from ENSO (El Niño Southern Oscillation) events along the Pacific coast. Paz, “Vichama: El pueblo que sobrevivió a la hambruna.” 67. Bischof, “Cerro Sechín y el arte temprano centro-andino”; Bischof, “Los periodos Arcaico Tardío, Arcaico Final y

Formativo Temprano”; Fuchs, “Nuevos datos arqueométricos.” See also Kaulicke, Las cronologías del Formativo. 68. Burger, Chavin, 78–79; Vega-Centeno, “Punkurí en el contexto del Formativo Temprano,” 18; Vega-Centeno, “Patrones y convenciones.” 69. Samaniego, “Arte mural de Punkurí.” 70. Julio C. Tello was the first to study this “ídolo,” which he described as “una estatua de un demonio en figura de jaguar, modelado según el estilo Chavín,” in 1933. Tello, Arqueología del valle de Nepeña, 79. We now understand that Punkurí predated Chavín de Huántar, perhaps by as much as a millennium. Lorenzo Samaniego re-excavated the feline in 1998 and found that its face had been destroyed by huaqueros (looters of archaeological sites). Samaniego, “Arte mural de Punkurí,” 23. 71. Comparable, very early (ca. 1800 BCE) mural art has also been found at San Juanito to the north in the Santa Valley. Chapdelaine and Gagné, “A Temple for the Dead at San Juanito.” 72. Fuchs et al., “Del Arcaico Tardío al Formativo Temprano.” 73. Pozorski, Pozorski, and Marín, “Newly Discovered Friezes.” 74. Maldonado, Arqueología de Cerro Sechín: Tomo I; Samaniego et al., Arqueología de Cerro Sechín: Tomo II. 75. Tello studied the site and its monoliths during his 1937 expedition to the Casma Valley, as did subsequent research projects between 1969 and 1984. Tello, Arqueología del valle de Casma, 84–288; Samaniego, “La escultura del edificio central de Cerro Sechín.” 76. Bischof, “Los murales de adobe.” 77. The feline mural first documented by Tello was restored (in fact, repainted) in 1971. Bischof, “Los murales de adobe,” 130. See also Bonavia, Mural Painting in Ancient Peru, 11–19. 78. Bischof, “Los murales de adobe,” 136. 79. Here I am adapting “meta-image” from W. J. T. Mitchell’s “metapicture,” which “is not a subgenre within the fine arts but a fundamental potentiality inherent in pictorial representation as such: it is the place where pictures reveal and ‘know’ themselves, where they reflect on the intersections of visuality, language, and similitude, where they engage in speculation and theorizing on their own nature and history.” Mitchell, Picture Theory, 82. 80. Feldman, “Preceramic Unbaked Clay Figurines”; Feldman, “Preceramic Corporate Architecture,” 78–81, fig. 7.

81. Onuki, “Pottery and Clay Artifacts,” 210–211, pl. 51a; Izumi, “The Development of the Formative Culture,” 64–65; Onuki, “Una reconsideración de la fase Kotosh Mito,” 109–110, fig. 4-5. 82. Shady, Caral, 186–188; Shady et al., Vichama; Shady et al., Centros urbanos. 83. Feldman, “Preceramic Unbaked Clay Figurines,” 17–18. 84. In northern Chile, early communities made vaguely humanlike figurines out of wood and clay. Arriaza, Beyond Death, 113–114, fig. 41. 85. Hand-modeled, fired ceramic figurines of humans from Valdivia, Ecuador, are among the most ancient forms of figural image making in South America, dating to as early as 3500 BCE. Later Ecuadorian figurine production adopted the use of molds. Lathrap, Collier, and Chandra, Ancient Ecuador; García, Las figurinas de Real Alto; García, La figurina como reflejo de un modo de vida valdivia; Cummins, “The Figurine Tradition of Coastal Ecuador.” 86. Shady, Caral, 187. 87. Feldman, “Preceramic Corporate Architecture,” 81. 88. Arriaza, Beyond Death; Arriaza et al., “Chinchorro Culture.” 89. Guernsey, Human Figuration and Fragmentation, xii. 90. Moche morticians typically did not mummify the dead, but postmortem treatment included “intentional practices of corpse manipulation” that may speak to “an ontology of malleable bodies.” Muro, Castillo, and Tomasto-Cagigao, “Moche Corporeal Ontologies,” 127, 131. 91. The mummies of the Inca kings led active social lives in the imperial capital of Cusco as well as in the provinces before their remains were rounded up by Catholic extirpators and either burned or buried. Bauer, “The Mummies of the Royal Inca.” Along the Utcubamba River, in the northern cloud forest of Chachapoyas, the mummified dead were interred within sculptural sarcophagi. Although the hulls of the cliffside sarcophagi were shaped like standing figures, the remains of the dead within were tightly flexed and bundled. Kauffmann, Los chachapoyas, 235–257. 92. Infant and fetal mummies are unusual cross-culturally. Their existence may indicate that there was little consideration of earned social standing in decisions to mummify the dead. Standen, Arriaza, and Santoro, “Chinchorro Mortuary Practices on Infants.” 93. Arriaza, Beyond Death, xiv. 94. Reed brushes found in the burials

of women suggest that it may have been women who, in life, had been the painters of the mummies. Arriaza et al., “Chinchorro Culture,” 50–51. 95. Meskell, “The Nature of the Beast.” 96. Zainab Bahrani has described the remade head as “an auto-icon, an extension of the person who is deceased and who remains present not simply by means of a mark or a sign but by a physical remnant, a trace that is solid and tangible. . . . It is clear that in the example of the Jericho heads, the skull is used to represent itself, and so the work and the referent—the thing represented—coalesce and are conjoined in the same locus.” Bahrani, The Infinite Image, 51. 97. Arriaza, Beyond Death, 114. 98. Arriaza, Beyond Death, 115. 99. Donnan, La Mina, 99–100, 112–113; Donnan, Moche Tombs at Dos Cabezas, 72–77. 100. Stevanović, “The Age of Clay.” 101. Belting, “Image, Medium, Body,” 308. 102. Merleau-Ponty, The Visible and the Invisible, 130–155. 103. “El laberinto me muerde con su tarasca insaciable. Palpo un muro . . . lo palpo . . . lo palpo . . . lo palpo . . . Está tibio y suave; parece carne núbil.” Garrido, Visiones de Chan Chan, visión III, n.p. 104. “Ya soy, otra vez, al fin, arcilla frágil . . .” Garrido, Visiones de Chan Chan, visión IV, n.p. 105. Archaeologists who have worked at Ánimas Altas (ca. 250 BCE–50 CE), located in the lower Ica Valley, have documented unpainted murals with iconography in low relief that drew upon both Paracas Ocucajestyle imagery, including the recurrent Ocular Being, and imagery of fanged beings that recall the painted textiles in the Chavín style from Karwa on the south coast. Bachir, “El Edificio de los Frisos”; Cordy-Collins, “An Iconographic Study of Chavín Textiles.” At present, far fewer murals are known from Peru’s south coast than from the north. 106. Richard Burger and Lucy Salazar defined the area of the Manchay culture as between the Chancay and Lurín Valleys. Burger and Salazar, “The Manchay Culture.” 107. Tello, “Discovery of the Chavín Culture in Peru.” 108. Burger, “The Radiocarbon Evidence”; Rick et al., “La cronología de Chavín de Huántar.” 109. Rick, Rick, and Rojas, “¿Chavín pictórico?”; Mesía, “Intrasite Spatial Organization,” 10, 214, fig. 78; Lumbreras, Chavín de Huántar, 147.

110. Rogger Ravines and William Isbell first uncovered these friezes in 1974. The temple has been investigated more recently by Héctor Walde. When the friezes were excavated in 1975, the archaeologists found small, doll-like figures that were vibrantly painted with the same kind of fanged mouths seen in the relief and elsewhere in Manchay and Chavín visual culture. The little figures had been buried, perhaps as offerings, in pits directly in front of the sculpted reliefs. Ravines and Isbell, “Garagay.” In 1994, Burger and Salazar discovered a larger (73 cm long), puppet-like “effigy” with a similar fanged face at Mina Perdida that dated to 1405 to 1120 BCE. Like the Garagay figures, it was made of organic materials, unfired clay, and paint, and was wrapped in a textile. Burger and SalazarBurger, “A Sacred Effigy from Mina Perdida.” 111. Burger and Salazar-Burger, “The Second Season of Investigations at the Initial Period Center of Cardal”; Burger and Salazar, “The Manchay Culture.” 112. For discussion of changes in scale of mural art of this period, see Quilter, “Moche Mimesis.” 113. In other forms of Cupisnique material culture, monstrous predators were seen to prey upon humans and collect their severed heads. Cordy-Collins, “Archaism or Tradition?” 114. Ikehara, “Multinaturalismo y perspectivismo.” 115. Onuki, “La iconografía en los objetos.” 116. Tello, Arqueología del valle de Casma, 49–66, pls. 4, 5. See also Pozorski and Pozorski, “Recent Excavations at Pampa de las Llamas–Moxeke.” 117. “Las figuras presentan varias capas de enlucido y de pintura, las que se descascaran con facilidad por ser muy frágiles.” Tello, Arqueología del valle de Casma, 60. The sculpted figures of Garagay were also painted with up to ten layers of paint. Ravines and Isbell, “Garagay,” 262. 118. Moseley and Watanabe, “The Adobe Sculpture of Huaca de los Reyes”; Pozorski, “El complejo Caballo Muerto”; Pozorski, “The Early Horizon Site of Huaca de los Reyes.” 119. Alva, Ventarrón y Collud, 187–202. 120. Shibata, “Cosmología tripartita en Huaca Partida”; Shibata, “El sitio de Cerro Blanco de Nepeña.” 121. Helmer, Chicoine, and Ikehara, “Plaza Life and Public Performance.” 122. Ghezzi, “Religious Warfare at Chankillo,” 76–79.

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123. Bennett, The Gallinazo Group. 124. The slashing of the bodies of the prisoner reliefs may recall Mary Richardson’s 1914 knife attack on Velásquez’s Rokeby Venus in London’s National Gallery, an act that Alfred Gell diagrammed in his theory of the social and psychological agency of art. Gell, Art and Agency, 62–65; Freedberg, The Power of Images, 409–412. The provocations behind the Moche act were, however, likely quite different, as I discuss in chapter 4. 125. Bourget, Sacrifice, Violence, and Ideology, 113–129; Scher, “Malleable Victims and Discourses of Dominance.” 126. Chauchat and Gutiérrez, “Excavaciones en la Plataforma Uhle,” 35, 38–39; Asmat and Córdova, “Conservación de escultura en barro.” 127. Quilter, “Moche Mimesis,” 33. 128. Rowe, “The Influence of Chavín Art on Later Styles”; Alva, “Los mochica, herederos del Periodo Formativo.” 129. Jeffrey Quilter observed that “whereas Initial period and Chavín art tend to confront the viewer with larger-thanlife portrayals of supernaturals, Moche architectural art emphasizes human forms, rendered on a human scale.” Quilter, “Moche Mimesis,” 30. 130. Rucabado, “Los otros, los no-moche,” 275n14. 131. Bergh, “Death and Renewal in Moche Phallic-Spouted Vessels”; Bourget, Sex, Death, and Sacrifice; Scher, “Markers of Masculinity”; Weismantel, “Moche Sex Pots.” 132. This frieze at Huaca Cao Viejo could be compared to the implicit eroticism of the body of the dead captive sprawled on the stairs of the acropolis in the late eighthcentury Maya murals of Bonampak, Mexico. Miller, “The Willfulness of Art,” 19–21. CH AP T ER 2 . FOR M UL AT IN G T RA D I T I ONS

1. I envision this use of the dais based on scenes painted on Moche ceramic bottles, for example, in Donnan and McClelland, Moche Fineline Painting, figs. 4.48 and 4.69. 2. Uceda, Morales, and Mujica, Huaca de la Luna, 108–111. 3. The three layers of painting belong to Edificio BC. Uceda, Morales, and Mujica, Huaca de la Luna, 77. The first was part of Edificio C. The second and third were part of Edificio B. Tufinio, “Excavaciones en la Unidad 15 de la Plataforma I,” 25. Within the small rooms behind the dais, the walls were painted white. 4. “Temple” is the word used by the site

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archaeologists based on the fact that they have found no areas of food preparation or other domestic activity within this structure. That does not, however, foreclose the possibility of elite residence (with food preparation taking place elsewhere) or political activities. There is no reason to expect that religious and political life were separate, as in a division of “church and state.” More likely, each suffused the other, as in other areas of the preHispanic American world. See, for example, Townsend, State and Cosmos in the Art of Tenochtitlan; cf. Uceda, “Theocracy and Secularism.” I continue to use “temple,” however, interchangeably with the local term “huaca,” because it has become conventional and also because neutral alternatives of “building,” “structure,” and “platform” fail to convey the undeniable potency of the “Old Temple” within this landscape and built environment. 5. The color lithograph illustrated here was made after the painted replica that Pedro Azabache created from photographs and tracings of the original mural. The illustration is an extrapolation of a portion of the wall uncovered in 1955. Garrido, “Descubrimiento de un muro decorado.” 6. The repeating catfish design is seen elsewhere in north-coastal mural art, for example at Huaca Cotón in the Jequetepeque Valley. Reindel, Monumentale Lehmarchitektur, 200–204, fig. 53. 7. The Proyecto Arqueológico Huacas del Sol y de la Luna was directed by archaeologist Santiago Uceda and conservator Ricardo Morales, with support from the Universidad Nacional de Trujillo and a host of partners, from its beginning in 1991 until Uceda’s death in 2018. It continues under Morales’s direction, in collaboration with archaeologist Carlos Rengifo. Their team’s work has produced many publications, including Uceda et al., “Investigaciones sobre la arquitectura y relieves polícromos”; Uceda, “Investigations at Huaca de la Luna”; Uceda and Morales, Moche: Pasado y presente; and Uceda, Morales, and Mujica, Huaca de la Luna. This chapter is informed by these publications, by the project’s detailed technical reports (Informes técnicos), and by my own site visits between 1998 and 2019. 8. The mural’s similarity to textile design has been noted since it was first uncovered. Garrido, “Descubrimiento de un muro decorado,” 28. See also Mackey and Hastings, “Moche Murals from the Huaca de la Luna.” In their study, during the Chan

Chan–Moche Valley project of 1969 to 1975, Mackey and Hastings suggested that the abstractions seen in the paintings were an effect of Wari imperial expansion. We now know that these paintings date to about 450 to 500 CE, predating that expansion by at least a century. These images were native to Moche visual culture. 9. Prümers, “Los textiles de la tumba del ‘Señor de Sipán,’ Perú,” 281–289. 10. The preliminary guidelines functioned like the temporary basting stitches that Paracas embroiderers, on the south coast, had used to organize pictorial space and the alignment of figures. Paul, “Procedures, Patterns, and Deviations,” 27. 11. Pillsbury, “Reading Art without Writing.” 12. Painted cloth, such as the twometer-high and, at one time, more than twenty-three-meter-long Chimú “Prisoner Textile” (1200–1290 CE), may have covered the walls of a building, perhaps a palace, as a “temporary mural.” Hamilton, “New Horizons in Andean Art History,” 86. Braided cords on Wari textile panels may have been used to affix them to walls. King, “The Wari Feathered Panels,” 36; Giuntini, “Feathered Panels.” Textiles were also hung like woven murals on the walls of Nasca tombs on the south coast of Peru. Ubbelohde-Doering, On the Royal Highways of the Inca, 142, 179. 13. Houston, “The Best of All Things,” 91. The emulation of one medium in the other also worked in the opposite direction. At the post-Moche site of Sicán (ca. 900–1100 CE), Izumi Shimada and his team recovered painted textiles that were mounted on metal sheeting to adorn the walls of elite tombs. The combination of painted textiles on metal backings emulated the form of painted walls, made portable. Szumilewicz et al., “Biography and Symbolism of Sicán Painted Textiles.” 14. Millaire, “Gallinazo and the Tradición Norcosteña.” 15. Mural paintings with interlocking serpents, catfish, seabirds, and waves can be seen in many parts of the Old Temple, including Plaza 2, as well as on the central structure within Plaza 3c and in the Templete del Dios Marino at the northeast corner of Plaza 1. 16. See, for example, Uceda, Morales, and Mujica, Huaca de la Luna, 109–110. On the application of reconstructed narratives from late Moche ceramic imagery (Larco’s phases IV and V) as a universal interpretation of the events that took place within Moche centers, see Donnan, “Moche State Religion,” 51–58.

The flattening effects of this approach are addressed in Scher, “Destituir a los sacerdotes.” 17. The remains of over a hundred young men who had experienced violent deaths, as well as injuries that are consistent with combat while alive, have been found in Plaza 3a, and dozens more from two events in the earlier Plaza 3c, of the Old Temple. Bourget, Sacrifice, Violence, and Ideology, 32–137; Verano, “Warfare and Captive Sacrifice.” For other forensic evidence of practices of blood sacrifice, see Bourget and Newman, “A Toast to the Ancestors.” 18. Donnan, Scott, and Bracken, “Moche Forms for Shaping Sheet Metal.” Morales has pointed out the iconographic and compositional affinities not only between murals and textiles but also between murals and metalworks. Morales, “Iconografía litúrgica y contexto arquitectónico.” 19. Russell and Jackson, “Political Economy and Patronage,” 171. 20. Gell, “The Technology of Enchantment.” 21. Morales, “Iconografía litúrgica y contexto arquitectónico,” 440–441. 22. Wengrow, The Origins of Monsters; Ledderose, Ten Thousand Things; Houston and Matsumoto, “Molded Meaning.” 23. Benjamin, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.” 24. This subject presents both literal and figurative possibilities for excavating an ancient “media archaeology.” See Parikka, What Is Media Archaeology? 25. Vilma Rojas Santos (“La serpiente y el Cerro Blanco,” 2006) and José Armas García (“El origen de las Huacas del Sol y de la Luna,” 2013) contributed accounts of this narrative to storytelling competitions held in the local school. Relatos de la Campiña de Moche, 8–17. The story was retold in Uceda, Morales, and Mujica, Huaca de la Luna, 47. 26. The site archaeologists typically date the Old Temple to 50 to 600 CE and the New Temple to 600 to 850 CE. Uceda, Morales, and Mujica, Huaca de la Luna, 62. The date ranges I offer in this chapter are based on my recalibrations of published and unpublished data (using OxCal 4.4 with SHCal13) and on the modeled, calibrated dates found in Koons and Alex, “Revised Moche Chronology,” including the supplemental appendix online (https:// journals.uair.arizona.edu/index.php /radiocarbon/rt/suppFiles/16919/0). Uceda et al., “Fechas radiocarbónicas”; Moisés Tufinio, personal communication, 2020. In brief, recalibrating these dates with

the 2013 Southern Hemisphere curve shows that the Old Temple’s last major phase of construction (Edificio A) may have taken place between about 550 and 700 CE, not around 500 CE, as has been repeated in the project’s publications. Although Uceda and colleagues have written that the Old Temple was closed by 600 or 650 CE, the radiocarbon data indicate that the closure probably occurred later, perhaps around 700 to 750 CE. These uncertainties are due to the fact that the chronologies of Huaca de la Luna, including both the Old Temple and the New Temple, are based on only six published and three unpublished radiocarbon dates. I address the New Temple dates in chapter 3. 27. Zevallos, Huacas y huaqueros, 18. 28. Uceda argued that Huacas de Moche began as a theocracy. But, by the seventh century, the center of power shifted from the temples of Huaca de la Luna to the expansion of Huaca del Sol, which Uceda interpreted as a palace and administrative structure. With this transformation, he argued for a change to a more secular form of state. Uceda, “Theocracy and Secularism.” 29. In his 1899 to 1900 excavations, Max Uhle recovered fragments of Moche wall painting from Huaca del Sol (his Site A), as well as fragments of polychrome relief from the early Chimú site on top of Cerro Blanco (Site H). Morales, “Max Uhle: Murales y materiales pictóricos.” 30. Uceda, Morales, and Mujica, Huaca de la Luna. 31. Uceda et al., “Fechas radio­ carbónicas,” 224. 32. Uceda and Canziani, “Análisis de la secuencia arquitectónica.” 33. The project’s terminology followed nomenclature that had been established at Huaca Cao Viejo. These letter designations were based on the architectural profiles of the Old Temple’s main platform (Platform I). Edificios E and F were only attested in limited areas. The sequence of the north facade does not exactly parallel that of the platform. 34. Uceda and Canziani, “Análisis de la secuencia arquitectónica,” 157. 35. Uceda, “Huaca de la Luna,” 272. 36. Uceda and Tufinio, “El complejo arquitectónico religioso moche.” 37. For analysis of access patterns within the Old Temple, see Castillo et al., “Excavaciones en la Plaza 1,” 165–167. 38. For example, in 2014, the Banco Central de Reserva del Perú released

a nuevo sol coin with an image of this sculpted face and a view of the rhomboid friezes in the series Riqueza y Orgullo del Perú. 39. In at least one place within these reliefs, bone was embedded in the wall, although the published reports do not provide details. Morales, Solórzano, and Asmat, “Superficies arquitectónicas,” 217. 40. Uceda, “Investigations at Huaca de la Luna,” 53. 41. Uceda, “Investigations at Huaca de la Luna,” 53–54; Morales, Solórzano, and Asmat, “Superficies arquitectónicas,” fig. 193. 42. For example, Uceda and Canziani, “Análisis de la secuencia arquitectónica,” 155. 43. Cf. Quilter, “Moche Mimesis,” 41. 44. Campana and Morales, Historia de una deidad mochica. 45. Benson, The Mochica, 27–28; Rucabado, “Los otros, los ‘no-moche,’” 268; Zighelboim, “Mountain Scenes.” 46. This vessel was placed as a “marker” (un testigo o marcador) of Tomb 17, which had been inserted into the construction fill that covered Edificio D, before the construction of Edificio BC. The sculptural vessel bore the image of this divinity at the foot of a mountain, holding serpents in each hand (like the image that appeared in the first layer of the Mural Garrido). Tufinio, “Excavaciones en la Unidad 12A (Ampliación Norte),” 33–35, fig. 32. 47. Uceda, “El complejo arquitectónico religioso moche”; Uceda, “Huaca de la Luna.” 48. Archaeologist Steve Bourget, for example, has referred to the central figure as an octopus. Bourget, Sex, Death, and Sacrifice, 52–54, 231; Bourget, Sacrifice, Violence, and Ideology, 16–18. 49. Gálvez and Runcio, “El life (Trichomycterus sp.).” 50. Few traces of that building (Edificio A) have survived to the present. Uceda and Canziani, “Análisis de la secuencia arquitectónica,” 142, 147, fig. 141. 51. Moore, “The Archaeology of Plazas,” 791. See also Meneses et al., “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2010), 79–84. 52. “Obviamente, los [muros] más importantes presentan murales policromos. Este factor nos indicaría que los espacios que no tienen representaciones iconográficas, y que sólo están enlucidos y pintados de blanco, no cumplieron una función ritual o litúrgica, y en consecuencia son áreas destinadas a servicio, tránsito y reposo, como los interiores de los recintos

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sacros, corredores y otros ambientes de pequeñas dimensiones.” Morales, Solórzano, and Asmat, “Superficies arquitectónicas,” 215. See also Morales, “Iconografía litúrgica y contexto arquitectónico.” 53. In the analysis, this pillared hall is referred to as the salas oraculares o hipóstilas. Castillo et al., “Excavaciones en la Plaza 1,” 167, fig. 65. 54. Meneses et al., “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2009), 84. 55. Uceda, Morales, and Mujica, Huaca de la Luna, 72. 56. In 2014, the site archaeologists estimated that there may have been 250 figures in these two friezes. Castillo et al., “Excavaciones en la Plaza 1,” 149. 57. Tufinio, “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2006), 50–51. The average height of an adult Moche man was about 1.58 m (that is, 5'2"); the average height of an adult Moche woman was about 1.47 m (4'10"). Verano, “Características físicas,” 318–319, table 9.4. 58. Tufinio, “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2005), 69. 59. Cordy-Collins, “Archaism or Tradition?”; Salazar-Burger and Burger, “La araña en la iconografía.” 60. Alva, “Spiders and Spider Decapitators.” 61. “Las variadas representaciones en alto relieve del E5AB indicarían la presencia de más de un artesano encargado de la realización de cada panel. Si bien todos los personajes muestran el mismo diseño iconográfico, no todos son idénticos entre sí, mostrando algunas características propias, como dijimos no existen dos personajes iguales. Esto podría ayudar a entender como es que los artesanos trabajaron en los relieves de este escalón. Así podríamos imaginarnos que el mural fue dividido en tres partes y encargadas a tres maestros artesanos distintos cada uno con un estilo propio, los que a su vez tuvieron a su cargo un grupo de asistentes que eran los que directamente iban a ejecutar las obras sobre el paramento. Así, las diferencias entre las representaciones de un mismo grupo obedecen a los diferentes estilos que tuvieron cada uno de los asistentes, pero que se ciñeron a la autoridad y estilo del maestro artesano.” Meneses et al., “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2009), 97. 62. Benson, The Mochica, 27–30. 63. Bruhns, “The Moon Animal.” 64. Armas et al., “Excavaciones en la Plaza 1,” 67.

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65. Armas et al., “Excavaciones en la Plaza 1,” 66. 66. The inner, descending serpent relief is not illustrated here. See Morales, “Iconografía litúrgica y contexto arquitectónico,” fig. 14.16a. 67. César Gálvez and Jesús Briceño observed the vertical transition from naturalistic to supernatural images for the visual program of Huaca Cao Viejo, which, in its last phase, replicated the program of Huaca de la Luna’s Old Temple. Gálvez and Briceño, “The Moche in the Chicama Valley,” 154. 68. “The environment thus communicates, through a whole set of cues, the most appropriate choices to be made: The cues are meant to elicit appropriate emotions, interpretations, behaviors, and transactions by setting up the appropriate situations and contexts. The environment can thus be said to act as a mnemonic” (emphasis in the original). Rapoport, The Meaning of the Built Environment, 80. 69. This is what Henri Lefebvre called the mental space of architects, removed from the sensorial lived world of users. Lefebvre, The Production of Space, 300, 360–363. 70. Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life. 71. Eco, “Function and Sign,” 182–186. 72. This discussion of the possible effects of ambulatory torchlight on the repeating bodies of the captive frieze is indebted to conversations with Justin Underhill on “pictorialized illumination.” See also Underhill, “Forensic Visualization.” 73. Gordilla et al., “Acciones de conservación,” 529. 74. Inconsistencies appear in the labeling of the phases of the Old Temple in some later publications because the upper platform and the north facade were not always rebuilt at the same time. I have based my descriptions and illustrations in the present volume on the original excavation reports in Armas et al., “Excavaciones en la Plaza 1”; Tufinio, “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2005); and Tufinio, “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2006). My ordering of the Edificios follows Tufinio’s usage and master profile. Tufinio, “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2005), fig. 115. See also Uceda, “Theocracy and Secularism,” fig. 3. 75. Uceda and Tufinio, “Complejo arquitectónico religioso,” 217, table 20.1. This calculation does not account for the time required to prepare and apply clay mortar between the adobes, for the clay

plaster smoothed onto wall surfaces to dry, or to build the roofs. Nor does it account for the time, energy, and training required to source, process, and apply the materials of the mural paintings or reliefs. Uceda and Mujica, “Los problemas de nomenclatura y asignación,” 15–16. 76. Morales, “Iconografía litúrgica y contexto arquitectónico,” fig. 14.6f, pl. 14.5d. It appears that the painted relief here (E1BC) was original to Edificio C and was repainted at least twice. Armas et al., “Excavaciones en la Plaza 1,” 58–59. At least one of these repaintings may have corresponded to the renovation of the facade, when the lower levels of Edificio B were built and decorated with the reliefs described above. 77. Uceda, Morales, and Mujica, Huaca de la Luna, 76–85. 78. Donnan and McClelland, Moche Fineline Painting, 64, 118. 79. Chauchat and Gutiérrez, “Excavaciones en el Conjunto Arquitectónico 18,” 120–121, fig. 126; Zavaleta et al., “Investigación arqueológica en el patio norte de la Plataforma Uhle,” 28, 48–49, 56, fig. 15. 80. Moisés Tufinio, who directed this excavation, made the same suggestion: “Un detalle que vale mencionar, es la continuidad del tema icnográfico [sic], (combate ritual) presente en todas las fachadas del frontis norte, en la última fachada no se aprecia, pero es posible que también se haya representado, en la parte faltante del escalón E1A, puesto que de este escalón sólo tenemos registrado, la estructura de adobe y del enlucido, sólo en zócalo un enlucido y pintado color rojo sobre el escalón E2A.” Tufinio, “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2005), 68. See also Castillo et al., “Excavaciones en la Plaza 1,” 150. 81. Along the east side of Plaza 1, in the excavation of a Spanish colonial-era trench, Tufinio documented a relief of a warrior associated with Edificio C, as well as the remains of earlier reliefs of undefined imagery that pertained to Edificio D, both in the context of the lower part of the principal ramp. Tufinio, “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2006), 44–46. 82. Torres and Asmat, “Frontis Norte,” fig. 272. 83. Recently, archaeologists from the Museo Tumbas Reales de Sipán discovered mural paintings of a fishing boat and the humanlike legs of a figure in a lively seascape of fish and a sea lion within the

remains of a feasting hall at Huaca Limón, within the site of Úcupe in the Zaña Valley. The archaeologists have suggested a middle Moche date for this painted hall. If correct, the Huaca Limón paintings would have been contemporaneous with these paintings of the Old Temple. El Comercio, “Este es el último descubrimiento de la cultura Moche.” 84. Morales and Asmat, “Acondicionamiento turístico,” fig. 645. 85. Uceda, Morales, and Mujica, Huaca de la Luna, 260–263; Asmat et al., “Acciones de conservación.” 86. Asmat et al., “Acciones de conservación,” fig. 164. 87. Quilter, “Moche Mimesis,” 30. This figure from the facade of Edificio DE measured 1.80 m (about 5'11") tall. Tufinio, “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2005), 66. 88. Tufinio, “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2005), 66–67, fig. 82. 89. Elsewhere in the Old Temple, painted reliefs of felines attacking humans appeared on the exterior of a building within Plaza 3c, near the area where the remains of sacrificed young men were discovered. This structure may have functioned within those violent practices. Wiersema, Architectural Vessels of the Moche, 109–115. 90. The 2004 to 2005 excavations of this structure were described in detail in Tufinio, “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2005); and Tufinio, “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2006). 91. Tufinio, “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2006), 58. 92. In the excavation reports, the longer, west-facing wall was labeled Tema Complejo 1; the shorter, north-facing wall was called Tema Complejo 2. Subsequently, archaeologists documented two other walls with varied figural imagery at a similar scale, but in a worse state of preservation, within a structure located along the east plaza wall to the north. They named these reliefs Tema Complejo 3 and Tema Complejo 4. The composition of Tema Complejo 3 contained a number of figures, including the Moche hero with snake belts. Castillo et al., “Excavaciones en la Plaza 1,” 116, figs. 19 and 20. 93. “Pesca, guerra, sacrificio, flora, fauna.” Tufinio, “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2006), 55. 94. Trever, “A Moche Riddle in Clay.” 95. Franco and Vilela, “Aproximaciones al calendario ceremonial mochica”; Franco and Vilela, El Brujo; Ochoa, Cosmos moche; Jackson, “La Narrativa de las Pléyades.”

96. To the right of the larger figure casting the rope, a smaller figure faced the opposite direction and held the end of a rope attached to the neck of a deer. Jackson saw this figure as a third Portador de Soga (Rope Bearer). Her reading coincides with the earlier description of three personajes principales in Tufinio’s analysis. Jackson, “La Narrativa de las Pléyades,” 363, fig. 5c; Tufinio, “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2006), 55–58. To my eye, the role of this figure is different. He and the deer appear to be part of the dense fabric of actions depicted within the mural. His relatively slack rope did not perform the same compositional work as did those of the two larger figures who maintained organizational tension through the taut arcs of their ropes. 97. In their 2005 excavations, the archaeologists made a test pit (Cateo #1) in the northwest corner of the room to assess the stability of its foundations. They found an earlier wall, 0.74 m below the floor of the corner room, which was part of an earlier structure that they suggested had a similar mural program. This wall (MA 3) was painted white on its interior. On the northfacing exterior, they found “fragmentos de relieves en color rojo, blanco y amarillo; por estas evidencias suponemos que se trataría de un muro con características similares a los muros del tema complejo 1 y 2.” Tufinio, “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2006), 48. 98. To my knowledge, the wave as compositional structure has not been argued for in other studies of the Complex Theme. Most scholars who have written about these murals deconstruct them into what they see as narrative sequences or cosmological divisions—the dominant iconographic tendency of the twenty-first century—which makes it more difficult to see the compositions holistically. The closest comparative is Camilo Dolorier and Lyda Casas’s proposal of a spiral composition of the mural, which they based on compositions from painted Moche ceramic bottles. It is not apparent to me, however, that the flow of the imagery turns back toward the right at bottom, as their analysis suggests. Dolorier and Casas, “Ritos, tránsito a lo sagrado,” 164, fig. 3a. 99. Morales, “Iconografía litúrgica y contexto arquitectónico,” 436–440. 100. Franco, “Mocollope: Últimos descubrimientos”; Franco, Mocollope: Pasado prehispánico, 61–63, 72–79. These paintings have not been fully excavated.

Mocollope was associated with the nearby ceramic workshops of Cerro Mayal, which has been dated to about 550 to 900 CE. Russell and Jackson, “Political Economy and Patronage,” 164; Koons and Alex, “Revised Moche Chronology,” 1042–1043. 101. Franco, “Mocollope: Últimos descubrimientos,” 106. 102. The El Brujo archaeological project has been directed, since its start in 1990, by Régulo Franco with primary support from the Fundación Wiese. My discussion here is informed by the project’s publications, my visits to the site between 1998 and 2016, and ongoing conversations with Franco. Franco, Gálvez, and Vásquez, “Arquitectura y decoración mochica”; Gálvez and Briceño, “The Moche in the Chicama Valley”; Franco, Gálvez, and Vásquez, “Modelos, función y cronología”; Mujica et al., El Brujo. 103. Quilter et al., “The Well and the Huaca,” 113–115; Koons and Alex, “Revised Moche Chronology,” 1050. 104. Franco, Gálvez, and Vásquez, “Modelos, función y cronología,” 128–132. 105. The reliefs at Huaca Cao Viejo were not extensively repainted, as their counterparts had been in the Old Temple of Huaca de la Luna, but this only partially accounts for the differences in clarity and proportions. 106. Franco and Vilela, “Aproximaciones al calendario ceremonial”; Franco and Vilela, El Brujo. 107. Franco, Gálvez, and Vásquez, “Un cielorraso moche polícromo”; Mujica et al., El Brujo, 170–171. The ceiling of the corner room of the Old Temple might also have been decorated, but its remains were not found in the excavations. Tufinio, “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2006). Ongoing use of the Old Temple by Chimú people may have destroyed or removed remains of the Moche ceiling. A different “post-primary” use of space took place at Huaca Cao Viejo, where Lambayeque burials were intrusive. 108. Franco, Gálvez, and Vásquez, “Arquitectura y decoración mochica,” fig. 4.7. 109. The black-and-white reconstruction of this frieze from Edificio A of the Old Temple (see figure 2.7) is an extrapolation from the very fragmentary form of what was almost certainly a polychrome relief. Uceda and Canziani, “Análisis de la secuencia arquitectónica,” fig. 141. 110. Franco, “Aproximaciones al significado de las representaciones murales mochica,” 19–23.

NOTE S TO PAGES 86– 100 • 197

111. The same idea is suggested in Quilter et al., “The Well and the Huaca,” 114. 112. Quilter and colleagues have argued that extensive changes to the site and its cultural practices accompanied this monumental remaking during the period of about 600 to 650 CE, concluding that “the adoption of new ideas and practices at the El Brujo complex was a radical departure from older ways. The adoption of an artistic program similar to that of the Huaca de la Luna program at Huaca Cao Viejo thus appears to represent not just a close political and social relationship between the two sites, but a reconfiguration of ritual practice and political alliances as well.” Quilter et al., “The Well and the Huaca,” 114–115. 113. Despite dismissing what they caricaturize as “an art history paradigm”— by which they seem to mean approaches to iconography and “culture history” that have been used and continue to be used by many anthropological archaeologists working in the Andes—Haagen Klaus and colleagues have offered intriguing perspectives on how bioarchaeology and art historical study might work in tandem to reveal nuanced relationships among the stratified populations within and across Moche centers and the objects and monuments that they created. Klaus et al., “Biological Distance Patterns among the Northern Moche Lords,” 696, 697. 114. Quilter, “Moche Mimesis,” 41. 115. The architectural sequence described here is based on Mujica et al., El Brujo. In recent years, Franco has revised the specific sequence of the third building (Edificio CED). Régulo Franco, personal communication, 2020. 116. Reindel, Monumentale Lehmarchitektur, figs. 28–29. 117. Mujica et al., El Brujo, 137–139. 118. Mujica et al., El Brujo, 137. 119. Franco, “Aproximaciones al significado de las representaciones murales mochica,” 42–45. 120. Mujica et al., El Brujo, 104–107. 121. Quilter, “Representational Art in Ancient Peru,” 135–157. This lively design has become an icon for the modern archaeological project and its site museum, just as the fanged face within the rhomboids has become emblematic of Huacas de Moche. 122. Mujica et al., El Brujo, 116–121. 123. Mujica et al., El Brujo, 102, 122–131, 208–245; Quilter et al., “The Well and the Huaca,” 112–113. The interior of the

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chamber of a different early tomb within Huaca Cao Viejo was painted with thirtytwo warrior figures. Mujica et al., El Brujo, 180–181. 124. Trever, “The Artistry of Moche Mural Painting,” 273. 125. Mujica et al., El Brujo, 122–131. 126. The north side of the patio was delimited by a low wall with crenellations that were also painted with pairs of crested Moon Animals. Mujica et al., El Brujo, 126–127. 127. Donnan, “Huaca Dos Cabezas.” 128. Donnan, La Mina; Narváez, “La Mina.” 129. Scott, Doughty, and Donnan, “Moche Wallpainting Pigments from La Mina.” 130. Reindel, Monumentale Lehmarchitektur, 225–231. 131. To date, the only Moche center with norcosteño-style mural art that can be securely dated to the later Moche period is Huancaco in the Virú Valley. In his excavations there, Steve Bourget documented red-and-white spiral designs, interlocking fish patterns, and traces of a human figure painted on the walls. Bourget considered Huancaco only loosely affiliated with other Moche polities. Its artists were not strictly beholden to the canons and conventions of Moche art. Bourget, “Somos diferentes,” 261, pl. 8.1b, 264; Bourget, “Cultural Assignations during the Early Intermediate Period.” See also Wiersema, Architectural Vessels of the Moche, 97, fig. 3.64; and Wright, Étude de la polychromie, 60–61, figs. 50–51. 132. As Koons and Alex concluded in their assessment of Moche chronologies, “Time is more significant than space in terms of shared ideology; thus, our idea of the Northern and Southern Moche should be reevaluated.” Koons and Alex, “Revised Moche Chronology,” 1051. See also Koons, “Moche Sociopolitical Dynamics.” CHAPTER 3. SITIN G N ARRATIVE S

1. The oft-published date range for the New Temple (ca. 600–850 CE) is based on two unpublished radiometric dates: (1) from a carbonized sample from a hearth in the domestic occupation beneath the monumental construction, and (2) from a sample of cane from the first phase of monumental construction (Edificio 1, piso 10). Tufinio et al., “Excavaciones en la Plataforma III” (2009), 121. These dates were reported by Beta Analytic in 2008 as 1610 ± 50 BP (Beta-250414) and 1340 ±

50 BP (Beta-250415), respectively. In the project’s publications, these two dates have sometimes been glossed as 340 CE and 610 or 620 CE, respectively, but the complete data have not been published. Beta calibrated these dates with the IntCal04 curve, which is not appropriate for this region. Moisés Tufinio, personal communication, 2020. I recalibrated both dates using OxCal 4.4 with SHCal13. The recalibrated dates are: (1) 425–541 CE (68.3%, 1-sigma), 382–599 CE (95.4%, 2-sigma), median 492 CE for the early domestic occupation; and (2) 667–770 CE (68.3%, 1-sigma), 650–860 CE (95.4%, 2-sigma), median 733 CE for Edificio 1 of the New Temple. This recalibration shows that the foundation of the New Temple took place about a century later than is usually stated, possibly in the early eighth century CE (ca. 700–750 CE). In the absence of additional carbon dates, one might hypothesize that construction of the second phase (Edificio 2) could have taken place a century later (ca. 800 CE), and that use of the New Temple continued well into the ninth century. 2. The first published documentation of these murals comes from Eduard Seler and Caecilie Seler-Sachs’s 1910 visit to Huacas de Moche. Seler, “Archäologische Reise in Süd- und Mittel-Amerika”; Seler, “Viaje arqueológico en Perú y Bolivia.” On Seler’s unfinished Moche research, see Kutscher, Nordperuanische Keramik, 10, 45; and Seler, Peruanische Alterthümer. More of the painted room was exposed after the ENSO rains of 1925. Holstein, “Chan-Chan,” 58, figs. 31–32; Kroeber, Archaeological Explorations in Peru: Part II, 71–73, pl. 15, 16. See also Bonavia, Mural Painting in Ancient Peru, 73–84. 3. Quilter, “The Moche Revolt of the Objects.” 4. Elsewhere, in the fineline paintings on ceramic vessels, spinning and weaving tools are also included within the Revolt of the Objects. Jürgen Golte glossed this combination of things as “los objetos acumulados en los templos.” Golte, Moche, fig. 14.31. The mural of the weavers may have conformed to the logic of the other murals in that it showed the creation of some of the warrior garments as well as, perhaps, the women’s abilities to command the movement of their tools to that end. It is intriguing to think about weaving—as one of the only art practices depicted in Moche art (Trever, “The Artistry of Moche Mural Painting,” 255–257)—as a temple or palace

art. To date, there is evidence of a weaving workshop within the urban area of Huacas de Moche, but not within either the Old or the New Temple. Tufinio, Rojas, and Vega, “Excavaciones en la Plataforma III,” 172. 5. The shape of the mace head is, unfortunately, not complete in what has survived. Tufinio, Rojas, and Vega, “Excavaciones en la Plataforma III,” 131–132. 6. These scenes pertained to what Donnan referred to as the Warrior Narrative. Donnan, “Moche State Religion.” See also Quilter, “The Narrative Approach.” 7. Employing Alfredo López Austín’s idea of “nodal subjects,” Oswaldo Chinchilla has argued for enduring, but by no means oneto-one, relationships between the texts of the Popol Vuh and mythological scenes in ancient Maya art. Chinchilla, Art and Myth of the Ancient Maya, 4. 8. Lyon, “Arqueología y mitología.” 9. Popol Vuh: The Sacred Book of the Maya, 87. 10. Avila, The Huarochirí Manuscript, ch. 4, 53. 11. Krickeberg, “Mexikanisch-peruanische Parallelen.” 12. Quilter noted the likely importance of these images of conflict in late Moche social history, but he did not discuss the specifics of ethnic difference, observed here, that can be seen in the opposing sides of the battle. Quilter, “The Moche Revolt of the Objects,” 59. 13. Lyon, “Arqueología y mitología,” 107. 14. Similarly, though with a greater focus on ritual, Bourget observed that “this scene does not depict a revolt against a preestablished order but the very reiteration of this sacred order. The objects involved are war or ritual implements fulfilling their very function.” Bourget, “Who Were the Priests,” 83. 15. Donnan and McClelland, Moche Fineline Painting, fig. 4.72; McClelland, McClelland, and Donnan, Moche Fineline Painting from San José de Moro, 30–43. 16. Donnan and McClelland, Moche Fineline Painting, fig. 4.69. 17. Jackson, “Moche as Visual Notation,” 234–237. 18. Seler described the foreign weapon painted on the vessels as “eine Art Keule, aber mit einem ganz merkwürdigen Kopfe und mit einem Bündel steif abstehender grosser Federn an der unteren Hälfte des Keulenstabes” (a kind of club, but with a very strange head and with a bundle of large, stiff feathers on the lower half of the club staff). He noted that he saw “die

dieselbe ganz eigenartige Waffe” (the same very peculiar weapon) in the mural. Seler, “Archäologische Reise in Süd- und MittelAmerika,” 218–219, figs. 11–12. See also Hocquenghem, Iconografía mochica, fig. 83. 19. Lau, “Metal in the Recuay Culture,” 152–153, fig. 6.3; Gambini, Santa y Nepeña, 122–123. 20. Tello, Arqueología de Cajamarca, 314–318. 21. Tello’s notes included detailed sketches of this figural vessel, its mace, and shield. Tello, Arqueología de Cajamarca, 315. Moche potters sometimes depicted similarly accoutered men, presumably dressed as Cajamarca warriors, in their own ceramic art. See, for example, Donnan, Moche Portraits, 119, fig. 7.11. 22. Lau, “Culturas en contacto,” 65. The highland coca chewers sometimes wore the same headdress—with a feline head at the front and a feather fan at the back—as the warriors carrying the non-Moche clubs in the mural. See, for example, Rucabado, “Los otros, los ‘no-moche,’” fig. 7. This headdress also appears in images of the Moche hero. 23. Lau, “Object of Contention,” figs. 2–3. 24. Moisés Tufinio led excavations of the New Temple from 2008 to 2010 on behalf of the Proyecto Arqueológico Huacas del Sol y de la Luna. Uceda, Tufinio, and Mujica, “El Templo Nuevo de Huaca de la Luna: Primera parte”; Uceda, Tufinio, and Mujica, “El Templo Nuevo de Huaca de la Luna: Segunda parte”; Uceca, Morales, and Mujica, Huaca de la Luna, 178–199. 25. Donnan and McClelland, Moche Fineline Painting, 62. 26. This painted architecture (banqueta 1 and trono 1) is described in Tufinio, Rojas, and Vega, “Excavaciones en la Plataforma III,” 117, 124–127. The bench face that served as the surface for most of these figures was 60 cm high; the individual figures were described as 20 to 25 cm tall. 27. Allen, Foxboy, 20–21. 28. As discussed in Makowski, “Hacia la reconstrucción del panteón moche,” 24. 29. The foundation of the earlier Edificio 1 dated to about 667 to 770 CE (1-sigma), per my recalibration with the SHCal13 curve (see note 1). Its architecture was remodeled five times before the construction of Edificio 2, where archaeologists located the remains of the revolt murals. Tufinio et al., “Excavaciones en la Plataforma III” (2009), 123. There are no radiocarbon dates for Edificio 2. But, if Edificio 1 was constructed in the early eighth century, as

its recalibrated date suggests, and then remodeled five times, the construction of Edificio 2 and the painting of these murals might have occurred around 800 CE. 30. Lau, “Object of Contention,” 165. Lau has described how the leaders of some northern polities—in the highlands as on the coast—actively incorporated aspects of Wari culture into their own constructions of prestige, whereas others “kept their distance.” Lau, “Intercultural Relations in Northern Peru,” 43. See also Topic and Topic, “Contextualizing the WariHuamachuco Relationship,” 188–212. 31. Castillo and Cusicanqui, “Mochicas y Cajamarcas en la costa norte del Perú”; Castillo, Fernandini, and Muro, “The Multidimensional Relations between the Wari and the Moche States”; Castillo, “The Last of the Mochicas”; Castillo, “La presencia de Wari en San José de Moro.” 32. Lau and colleagues have recently found Moche-style ornaments at the Recuay center of Pashash. Lau, “An Offering Context at Pashash.” In 2019, archaeologists from the Dirección Desconcentrada de Cultura de Cusco found a cache of objects at Pikillaqta, a large Wari center near Cusco, that included a cast copper alloy figurine of the late Moche Owl Warrior (Makowski’s Guerrero del Búho) chewing coca. Alejandro A. Mendoza, “Comparto esta interesante noticia del año 2019 sobre hallazgos de la Sociedad Huari; Pikillaqta y sus ofrendas,” Facebook, published January 13, 2021, https://www.facebook.com /alejandromendozaarqueologia/posts /2775836792681606. 33. A polychrome bottle in a Moche-Wari style of San José de Moro was found in the Rímac Valley. Stumer, “Contactos foráneos,” 17, fig. 5. A Nasca bottle with a stirrup spout in the Moche style was also found even farther south, in the Nasca Valley. Proulx, “Stylistic Variation in Proliferous Nasca Pottery,” 93, fig. 19. 34. Uceda, “La presencia foránea.” More than a century ago, archaeologist Max Uhle also discovered textiles, ceramics, and wooden vessels in Wari styles atop Huaca del Sol. Uhle, Las ruinas de Moche, 174–185. 35. Tufinio et al., “Excavaciones en la Plataforma III” (2009), 172. Uceda argued for a complete ideological shift in the New Temple’s mural iconography toward more “secular” iconography and devotion directed to female divinities and the moon. Uceda, “Theocracy and Secularism,” 140. Neither female divinities nor lunar imagery were present within the New Temple murals,

NOTES TO PAGES 109– 116 • 199

although Quilter had referred to the figure holding the goblet to the right of the throne as “the Woman” (see figure 3.3 in the present volume). Quilter, “The Revolt of the Objects,” 47. This figure wore the head wrap and striped tunic associated with religious practitioners, not the braids or dress of a woman. Uceda’s characterization of this change was also based on the late Moche mural of a woman in the Sacrifice Ceremony uncovered at Pañamarca in 1958. In the northern valleys, a similarly dressed female figure appeared on ceramics in a boat in the form of the crescent moon. Hocquenghem and Lyon, “A Class of Anthropomorphic Supernatural Females”; Holmquist, “El personaje mítico femenino de la iconografía mochica.” 36. The choice of white backgrounds can be understood, in part, as an economical move, together with the cessation of hand-modeled relief and the elaboration of intricate textile designs. As Verónique Wright has shown, most paints used in Moche mural art had a white base (carga) of calcium sulfate or calcium carbonate, to which inorganic pigments and a protein binder were added. By maintaining white backgrounds, the amount of pigment needed to complete a mural could be significantly reduced from prior practices. Wright, “Pigmentos y tecnología artística mochicas,” 310. 37. Reid et al., “The Role of Drought in Wari State Expansion.” 38. Schreiber, Wari Imperialism in Middle Horizon Peru; Tung, “Making Warriors, Making War”; Fonseca and Bauer, The Wari Enclave of Espíritu Pampa. 39. Those theories of Wari imperial conquests of Moche were refuted by members of the 1970s Chan Chan–Moche Valley project. With the rare exception of Santa Rosa de Pucalá, archaeologists have not found evidence of fortifications, largescale violence, or the signature architectural presence of the Wari state on the north coast, as is found in the places it colonized elsewhere. McEwan, “Some Formal Correspondences,” 99–101. 40. Although the footprint of the building is in the signature Wari “D” shape, no Wari ceramics have been recovered in the excavations. Bracamonte, “Un recinto wari con forma ‘D.’” 41. Giersz and Pardo, Castillo de Huarmey; Prümers, Der Fundort “El Castillo”; Prümers, “‘El Castillo’ de Huarmey.” 42. Chapdelaine, “Moche and Wari during the Middle Horizon.”

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43. Uceda, Morales, and Mujica, Huaca de la Luna, 192. 44. Uceda, Morales, and Mujica, Huaca de la Luna, 182, 186–187; Tufinio et al., “Excavaciones en la Plataforma III” (2009), 141–142; Tufinio et al., “Excavaciones en la Plataforma III” (2011), 166–167. 45. There is some similarity between these repeating squares and Inca tocapu. Cummins, “Tocapu,” 293–294. The comparison, though, may be a red herring. There was no direct relationship between the New Temple mural and later Inca visual culture except, as I argue here, via the Wari aesthetics that seemed to have informed both. 46. Stone-Miller and McEwan, “The Representation of the Wari State.” 47. Stone-Miller, “To Weave for the Sun,” 17. 48. Where it has survived, mural art in Wari contexts can be seen to have taken very different forms. For example, architects sometimes used eccentrically shaped adobe blocks, some of which seem to have been in the shapes of feline or human heads. Ochatoma, Cabrera, and Mancilla, El área sagrada de Wari, 46–47. 49. Uceda, Morales, and Mujica, Huaca de la Luna, 184–187; Tufinio et al., “Excavaciones en la Plataforma III” (2009), 142–143; Velásquez and Carranza, “Acciones de conservación en la Plataforma III,” 558. 50. Benson, “Cambios de temas y motivos.” 51. Anders, “Sistema de depósitos,” 267, figs. 20–21; Haas, “Excavations on Huaca Grande.” See also Bonavia, Mural Painting in Ancient Peru, 97–99; and Shimada, Pampa Grande and the Mochica Culture, 235–237, figs 9.11–9.13. 52. Anders described what she saw there as “an anthropomorphic figure with yellow legs (with black boots and a deep pink circle on the ankle) and fan-shaped plumage of varying colors (from left to right: deep pink, light blue, dark blue, yellow, dark blue, yellow, black, deep pink, light blue, dark blue, yellow, light blue) issuing from a circular red center. A black spike projects from the center of the plumage.” Anders, “Sistema de depósitos,” 267, as cited and “amended in personal communication, 1983” in Bonavia, Mural Painting in Ancient Peru, 97. 53. Conrad, “Burial Platforms,” 226–227, 230, pl. 13; Lockard, “Political Power and Economy,” 92–94, 261–264, pl. 8.10. 54. Gabriel Prieto, personal communication, 2020.

55. Wilson, Prehispanic Settlement Patterns, 207, 211, fig. 107. Through his later fieldwork at El Castillo, Claude Chapdelaine suggested dates of about 400 to 650 CE for the site. He observed that this mural had been painted on the last remaking of Huaca de los Murales (Wilson’s Structure 88). Chapdelaine, “Moche Political Organization in the Santa Valley,” 261, 266. 56. Tello, Arqueología de Cajamarca, 23–29. 57. Schaedel, “Mochica Murals at Pañamarca,” 152–154; Bonavia, Mural Painting in Ancient Peru, 53–59; Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 59–65, 94–96, 116–141. 58. Donnan, “Dance in Moche Art,” 97–120. 59. Donnan, “Dance in Moche Art,” figs. 4–5. 60. Ikehara, “The Final Formative Period,” 70–86. 61. On the south coast of what is now Peru, during the late Nasca period (Nasca 7) of about 600 CE, knowledge of Moche art and martial culture had an impact on local ceramics. It was then that images of warriors in combat and references to the landscape first entered Nasca ceramic painting. Proulx, “Stylistic Variation in Proliferous Nasca Pottery,” 92. This appearance seems correlated to the increased interactions between Moche on the north coast and Wari in the southern highlands, for which Nasca was one of several intermediaries. 62. Recent fieldwork led by the author with Hugo Ikehara, Marco Pfeiffer, and Michele Koons has begun to document the earlier foundations of Pañamarca, and the placement of the site within the environmental history of the lower Nepeña River over the longue durée. Unpublished research has established pre-Moche dates of construction from the fourth to second century BCE (Final Formative) and the third to fourth century CE (Gallinazo). 63. Proulx, An Analysis of the Early Cultural Sequence of the Nepeña Valley, Peru, 15–16. 64. Rengifo, “Shaping Local and Regional Identities.” 65. Barth, Ethnic Groups and Boundaries. 66. Proulx, An Archaeological Survey of the Nepeña Valley, Peru; Proulx, Archaeological Investigations in the Nepeña Valley, Peru; Chicoine, “Death and Religion in the Southern Moche Periphery.” 67. Wilson, “Prehispanic Settlement Patterns”; Makowski, “Religion, Ethnic

Identity, and Power”; Giersz, “Los guardianes de la frontera sur”; Giersz and Prządka, “Cronología cultural.” 68. Proulx, “Territoriality in the Early Intermediate Period.” 69. Lau, “Object of Contention”; Lau, Ancient Alterity in the Andes. 70. Lau, Andean Expressions, 251–254. 71. Ikehara, “Leadership, Crisis and Political Change.” 72. Schaedel, “Mochica Murals at Pañamarca”; Bonavia, “Una pintura mural de Pañamarca”; Bonavia, Mural Painting in Ancient Peru, 48–71; Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 142–203. 73. Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 299–301. 74. Schaedel, “Mochica Murals at Pañamarca,” cover; Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 53–55, figs. 37–39. 75. Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 177. 76. Hocquenghem, Iconografía mochica, fig. 199; Makowski, “Hacia la reconstrucción del panteón moche,” 113, fig. 68. Makowski has interpreted this painting as “una variante local de un tema popular,” in which “los dioses mellizos se enfrentan a mano armada.” Bonavia and Makowski, “Las pinturas murales de Pañamarca,” 50. What I see here, though, is not equivalent to Makowski’s Mellizos Divinos, which were distinguished by the differences in their tunics, headdresses, and behavior, but rather his Mellizo Terrestre in battle with himself (not in battle with the Mellizo Marino). 77. Donnan and McClelland, Moche Fineline Painting. 78. Castillo, Personajes míticos; Bourget, “El mar y la muerte en la iconografía moche”; Golte, Iconos y narraciones. 79. A closer comparison is found in Moche metalwork. Boone, Andean Art at Dumbarton Oaks, 1:149–153. 80. Prümers, Der Fundort “El Castillo,” figs. 73–74. 81. Although Bonavia stated that the scene “has a long tradition on the Peruvian coast,” identical twins in combat were rarely seen in Moche art. He likened this mural’s subject to ceramic vessels in the shape of luchadores (wrestlers) from the Vicús tradition of Alta Piura. Bonavia, Mural Painting in Ancient Peru, 49. One such vessel in the collection of the Banco Popular del Perú is shaped in the form of a pair of identical figures, both dressed in loincloths, pulling each other’s hair. Lumbreras, El arte y la vida vicús, 40–41. See also figure 2.48, lower-right corner, in the present volume.

82. Bonavia, “Una pintura mural de Pañamarca”; Bonavia, Mural Painting in Ancient Peru, 48–71. 83. This mural was central to the early development of Donnan’s “thematic approach,” as well as to his later proposals for a Moche “state religion.” Donnan, “The Thematic Approach”; Donnan, “Moche State Religion.” It was also key to Hocquenghem and Lyon’s identification of female supernaturals. Hocquenghem and Lyon, “A Class of Anthropomorphic Supernatural Females.” On the history of this mural painting, its many modern copies, and its destruction, see Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 71–89. 84. This figure has been associated with high-status women (referred to as “priestesses”) buried at San José de Moro in coffins that were fitted with masks and similar plumed headdresses. Donnan and Castillo, “Excavaciones de tumbas.” Images of a similarly crowned woman also appeared on painted ceramic vessels from San José de Moro and in early post-Moche murals at Huaca Bandera in the Lambayeque Valley. McClelland, McClelland, and Donnan, Moche Fineline Painting from San José de Moro; Curo and Rosas, “Complejo Arqueológico Huaca Bandera Pacora,” 259. 85. McClelland, “Ulluchu: An Elusive Fruit,” 49–50, figs. 3.19–3.23. 86. The panoply was made with a different palette and with a different style of incised underdrawing over a thicker layer of clay plaster than the interior mural. It should be considered a separate painting from the interior mural, likely created by different artists and/or in a different moment. Bonavia, “Una pintura mural de Pañamarca,” 26. 87. See also Trever, “The Artistry of Moche Mural Painting,” fig. 9.17. 88. A similar subject was presented, in metaphoric form, as felines pouncing on fallen humans in the painted relief images on the exterior of the building within Plaza 3c of the Old Temple of Huaca de la Luna. See Uceda, Morales, and Mujica, Huaca de la Luna, 162–165. The human is often described as a woman; it has been suggested that the scene is sexual. The hairstyle is consistent, however, with the appearance of a male figure who has lost his headdress. The body is heavily eroded but shows no clear evidence of female dress or anatomy, as has been suggested in the modern reconstructions. 89. Bonavia described these seated prisoners as bearing “something strange

that could be a receptacle of a kind commonly used in Moche sceneography to collect prisoner’s blood.” Bonavia, Mural Painting in Ancient Peru, 59. In his prior report on the mural, he similarly wrote, “Llevan estos personajes algo raro—ya descrito—a la altura del hombro derecho. Nunca habíamos visto nada parecido, pero pudiera ser un recipiente. En otras representaciones mochicas, se ve que en un recipiente parecido se recoge la sangre del sacrificado.” Bonavia, “Una pintura mural de Pañamarca,” 37. 90. Donnan noted that the basin and goblets seen here were unique in his corpus, but he did not note the unusual aspects of these prisoners’ bodies. Donnan, “The Thematic Approach,” 153. 91. Benson, “Death-Associated Figures on Mochica Pottery,” 108. 92. For example, see Alberti, “Designing Body-Pots”; and Brittenham, “When Pots Had Legs.” 93. Schaedel, “Mochica Murals at Pañamarca,” 153, fig. 12. 94. Donnan and McClelland, Moche Fineline Painting, 64, 116. 95. For images of the Moche hero “fishing” underwater, see, for example, Donnan and McClelland, Moche Fineline Painting, 187–189. 96. Within the Old Temple at Huaca de la Luna, the pillars of the salas hipóstilas were slightly slimmer than those at Pañamarca and were painted white without decoration. Uceda, Morales, and Mujica, Huaca de la Luna, 132–133. In the New Temple, broad pillars were built to support the roof of the upper chamber in its final phase. Ibid., 194–195. 97. Colonnades have been documented at Huambacho, Sute Bajo, and Caylán. Ikehara and Chicoine, “Hacia una reevaluación de Salinar.” At Huaca Partida and Cerro Blanco, columns were decorated with colossal figures from earlier religious traditions. Shibata, “Cosmología tripartita en Huaca Partida”; Shibata, “El sitio de Cerro Blanco de Nepeña,” fig. 14; Tello, Arqueología del valle de Nepeña, 149–150. 98. In 1934, Toribio Mejía described seeing wood posts within the tall walls of Platform II at Pañamarca. Tello, Arqueología del valle de Nepeña, 128. 99. Spence-Morrow and Swenson, “Moche Mereology,” 161, fig. 6.5. 100. A colonnade of square pillars once supported a roof within a courtyard atop Huaca Cao Viejo in its earliest phase, but these were slenderer (about 30–40 cm

NOTES TO PAGES 128– 143 • 201

square) and were painted white with images of stylized catfish found only at the top. Mujica et al., El Brujo, 104–107. A single pillar within the patio of the Señora de Cao was painted with step-wave patterns. Ibid., 122–123. 101. Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 299. 102. Like other areas of Pañamarca, and indeed all sites on the Peruvian coast, this area has suffered destruction from looting. Its location at the west side of the granite hill, which serves as the foundation for the site’s monumental architecture, has also made it especially vulnerable to erosion and salinization caused by the winds that move up the valley from the Pacific Ocean. 103. This sample represents no more than 10 percent of the painted interior of the temple. Our excavations documented five painted pillars and painted walls on three of the four sides of the structure. The outlines of several more pillars and other walls could be seen at the modern surface to the west. Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 203–292. Detailed surface mapping of the pillared structure was an objective of fieldwork that was to be conducted in 2020 with support from a grant awarded from the National Geographic Society. Implementation of that work was delayed by the Covid-19 pandemic. 104. By “galleried” I mean a labyrinthine series of passageways like the galerías at Chavín de Huántar. The modern meaning of the word as a space of art exhibition is a fortuitous overlap. 105. Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 299–300. 106. Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, app. 4. 107. See, for example, Hocquenghem, Iconografía mochica, fig. 143. 108. Benson’s observation of the depiction of women with long braids in sacrificial scenes with ceramic vessels is relevant here: “The ropelike quality of the braids is often emphasized in a possible relationship to the ropes tied around the necks of captives or sacrificed body parts, or around jug necks.” Benson, “Women in Mochica Art,” 66. 109. Kolar, “Conch Calls into the Anthropocene.” Moche potters also made shell-shaped trumpets in ceramic, sometimes with incised designs. Gudemos, “Huayllaquepa.” Our excavations at Pañamarca recovered a fragment of a ceramic shell trumpet amid collapsed walls over the area where we rediscovered

202 • NOT ES TO PAGES 143– 159

the paintings of the Iguana and the Strombus Monster in Platform II. Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 154. 110. The precise physical and temporal relationships between the pillars and the enclosing walls remain to be clarified. Our 2020 fieldwork, which was delayed by the pandemic, was to include excavation along the corridor between the northeast wall and Pillars 3 and 5 in order to define these relationships and document more of the temple’s mural painting. 111. See, for example, Donnan and McClelland, Moche Fineline Painting, figs. 4.19 and 4.90. 112. Benson, “Women in Mochica Art,” 67. 113. Donnan, “Dance in Moche Art,” figs. 11 and 13. 114. McClelland, “Ulluchu: An Elusive Fruit,” 56–57. 115. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 63.226.13. Wiersema, Architectural Vessels of the Moche, figs. 3.39–3.40. 116. Splitstoser, “Wari Khipus”; Cherkinsky and Urton, “Radiocarbon Chronology of Andean Khipus,” 32–36. 117. Hyland, “Writing with Twisted Cords”; Hyland and Lee, “Indigenous Record-Keeping.” See also Salomon et al., “Khipu from Colony to Republic.” 118. This form of “ten” was used principally to count people and animals: “Si se cuenta hombres, caballos, cabras, cañas y todo lo que no sea moneda, frutas ni días, entonces diez es na.pong.” Villareal, La lengua yunga o mochica, 112. 119. “Na . . . preposición que se añade à tin y dice lo mismo por.” Villareal, La lengua yunga o mochica, 31. “Pong, pongiio . . . la piedra, el cerro.” Ibid., 37. 120. González Holguín, Vocabulario de la lengua general. 121. Chicoine, Ikehara, and Shibata, “Beyond Chavín.” 122. By contrast, local Moche ceramics in the Nepeña Valley tend to lack complex fineline painting. They were similar to what Claude Chapdelaine has described in the Santa Valley. Chapdelaine, “Moche Art Style in the Santa Valley.” See Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 229, 237–238, 292–297; and Rengifo, “Moche Social Boundaries.” 123. We recovered small bundles of precious things—including Spondylus shell from coastal Ecuador and dark blue stones from the highlands—wrapped in cotton textiles within the excavations of the pillared

temple. Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 233–235. 124. In their bioarchaeological study of oxygen isotopes in the bones of individuals buried at Huacas de Moche and El Brujo, J. Marla Toyne and her co-authors found evidence for the inter-valley migration of women (individuals whose skeletal anatomy was identified as typically female) that supports a “patrilocal residential pattern.” Toyne et al., “Residential Histories of Elites and Sacrificial Victims,” 25. 125. For example, in the Old Temple of Huaca de la Luna, muralists incised damp walls before they painted them white. In the New Temple, painters did the same but filled the white-painted incisions with black before applying colors. The same process can be seen on fragments of mural painting, now in the Hearst Museum at UC Berkeley (4-2616a, 4-2616b, 4-2616c), that Max Uhle collected in 1899 from Huaca del Sol. At Pañamarca, painters incised the walls after they had already been painted white, scratching through the surface, and then applied colors. Only sometimes did they finish the images with black lines. 126. Koons, “Moche Sociopolitical Dynamics,” 485. 127. Winter, “After the Battle Is Over,” 28. 128. Alva and Meneses de Alva, “Los murales de Úcupe.” 129. Pillsbury, “Reading Art without Writing.” 130. Winter, “After the Battle Is Over,” 28. 131. Koons, “Moche Sociopolitical Dynamics,” 487–488. CHAPTER 4. ARCH AE O - ICON O LOGY

1. Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 259–260. 2. Boivin, “Life Rhythms and Floor Sequences,” 368. 3. Of the hundred layers of plaster observed on ancestral walls (Room 218) at the Hopi pueblo of Awatovi (Arizona), twenty-six were decorated with painting. Smith, Kiva Mural Decorations at Awatovi and Kawaika-a, 16–21, fig. 34c. 4. Bailey, “Time Perspectives.” Although “palimpsest” originally referred to a writing surface that was inscribed, erased, and then reinscribed, it is more commonly used now to describe “a multilayered record.” “Palimpsest, n. and adj.,” OED Online, December 2018, Oxford University Press, http://www.oed.com/view/Entry/136319 (accessed February 5, 2019). 5. Lefebvre, The Production of Space, 222.

6. The earliest pillar painting has been carbon dated to about 650 CE. The botanical materials left around the time of the final whitewashing date to about 800 CE. Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 299–300. If we estimate a generation as roughly twenty-five years, this span of a century and a half can be understood in human dimensions as about six generations. 7. Our fieldwork at Pañamarca recorded the deposition of Moche and post-Moche ceramic vessels, botanical remains, and other artifacts including textiles, metalwork, and featherwork within the pillared temple. Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 203–244. 8. To photograph painted details of Pillar 3 and the northeast wall discussed in chapter 3, for example, I had to place my body on the ground and—to capture the full width of the pillar—step back so that my back nearly touched the painted surface on the opposite side of the very narrow corridor. 9. Jackson, Moche Art and Visual Culture, 37. 10. This sequence is documented in detail in Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 203–292. 11. The pigments used in other murals at Pañamarca have been reported as iron oxides (hematite for reds, limonite for yellows, and magnetite for gray-blues) mixed with the white of calcium carbonate. Bonavia, “Una pintura mural de Pañamarca,” 48–49. 12. These iconographic sequences are laid out in Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, app. 4. 13. Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 267–269. 14. Carbonized plant remains recovered from Floors 3 and 4 produced calibrated AMS dates of: 674–765, 674–765, 684–766, and 684–767 CE (1-sigma). These dates pertained to the process of renovating the pillared temple, laying Floor 3, and—very soon thereafter—creating the fourth mural painting program. Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 299–300. 15. Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 263–264. 16. In what one might consider a parallel practice of exhumation, Moche people frequently reentered tombs and moved the remains of the dead. Millaire, “The Manipulation of Human Remains.” 17. Swenson, “Trace, Revelation, and Interpretant,” 361.

18. Analysis of stable carbon isotopes performed in the Pearson Laboratory for Molecular Biogeochemistry and Organic Geochemistry at Harvard University demonstrated that this material consisted of a mixture of C4 sources (possibly maize) and unknown C3 sources (δ13C = –20.0 ± 0.5). Liquid chromatography tandem mass spectrometry (LC–MS/MS) analysis was conducted by Melanie Miller, with the assistance of Christine Moore and Cynthia Coulter at the Immunalysis Corporation laboratory in Pomona, California. That work did not identify any psychoactive or hallucinogenic compounds. There were, however, some indications of estragole and nicotine. The former is associated with many kinds of fragrant herbs. The latter could have come from an array of plants including nightshades (potato, pepper, etc.), not necessarily tobacco. 19. Microscopic analysis of the residue conducted by Neil Duncan at the University of Central Florida revealed the presence of calcium oxalate crystals, or druses, that are consistent with Opuntia ficus-indica but not Echinopsis pachanoi. Duncan found druses in the residue but not in the painted plaster of the sample. 20. Evidence of pouring liquids to close tombs, as ongoing engagement with the deceased, and to terminate architecture has been found at other Moche sites. Koons, “Moche Geopolitical Networks,” 145. 21. Tufinio, “Excavaciones en el Frontis Norte” (2006), 52–54. 22. Wright identified blood cells penetrating the surface of the wall, evidencing repetitive practice of its pouring. Her test for human hemoglobin was negative. She was unable to test the DNA of the blood sample because of degradation. Wright, Étude de la polychromie, 126–128; Wright, “Pigmentos y tecnología artística mochicas.” 23. Scullin, “A Materiality of Sound.” 24. Tufinio, “Presencia Chimú Temprano.” 25. Maize cobs left alongside post-Moche “Casma Molded” bowls near Pillar 2 were dated to: 772–861, 776–883, 894–975, and 909–1018 CE (1-sigma). Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 299–301. 26. These are similar to Chimú makers’ marks on adobes used at Manchán in the Casma Valley. Mackey and Klymyshyn, “Construction and Labor Organization in the Chimu Empire,” 102–103. These graffiti may have been made around the same time that copious amounts of organic and cultural materials were placed in a pit (Rasgo 5) dug in front of Pillar 5. Botanical

materials recovered from that context have been carbon dated to about 1050 to 1250 CE, which overlaps with the first half of the Chimú era (ca. 1000–1470 CE). Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 226–227, 300. 27. Connerton, How Societies Remember. 28. Barthes, “The Photographic Message.” 29. Pillsbury, “Reading Art without Writing.” At Huaca de la Luna, post-Moche graffiti in the form of backward D’s, crosses, and other geometric forms were deeply gouged into Moche walls. See figures 2.18 and 3.12 in the present volume. It can be difficult to date figural graffiti. These marks appeared in areas that would have been exposed during the Chimú reoccupation of both the Old Temple and the New Temple, but that were buried under windblown sand thereafter. The archaeological reports do not dwell on these marks. They are catalogued in Wellons, “‘Graffiti’ as Image Making.” 30. Baird and Taylor, “Ancient Graffiti in Context,” 6. 31. Keegan, Graffiti in Antiquity; Champion, Medieval Graffiti; Russo, The Untranslatable Image. 32. Owen, “Traces of Presence and Pleading”; Champion, Medieval Graffiti, 61–69. 33. The placement of scratched images on the walls of restricted interior spaces was discussed as “clandestine resistance” at Formative sites in the Casma Valley in Pozorski and Pozorski, “Graffiti as Resistance,” 143. In his analysis of the Peircian semiotics of graffiti at the late Moche site of Huaca Colorada, Edward Swenson emphasized instead the “spectral or ghostly quality” of these marks. Swenson, “Trace, Revelation, and Interpretant,” 350. 34. Hurst et al., “The Artistic Practice of Cave Painting,” 36. 35. Baird and Taylor, “Ancient Graffiti in Context,” 6. 36. Oliver and Neal, “Wild Signs: An Introduction,” 2. 37. Fowles, An Archaeology of Doings. 38. Wellons, “‘Graffiti’ as Image Making.” 39. Franco, Gálvez, and Vásquez, “Graffiti mochicas”; Swenson, “Trace, Revelation, and Interpretant”; Ubbelohde-Doering, “Eingeritzte Zeichen auf Tempelwänden Nord-Perus.” 40. Examples of painted graffiti (that is, dipinti) have been found at Huaca Colorada. Swenson, “Trace, Revelation, and Interpretant,” 366.

NOTES TO PAGES 159– 171 • 203

41. Winter, “Agency Marked, Agency Ascribed.” 42. These graffiti were catalogued as A1 and A2. Franco, Gálvez, and Vásquez, “Graffiti mochicas,” 380, 383, fig. 6a and b. As at Pañamarca, however, the temporal relationship of the scratched images with the friezes can be ambiguous. Red paint could be seen within the lines of both scratched figures, which might have been part of the original mural or a repainting. 43. In their peripheral placement and occasional echoing of mural imagery, these images are conceptually similar to the graffiti scratched into the guardapolvos (dark borders painted along the bases of walls) of colonial Mexican mural paintings. Russo, The Untranslatable Image, 76–77. 44. These were catalogued as D3 and D4. Franco, Gálvez, and Vásquez, “Graffiti mochicas,” 372, 375, figs. 14–16. 45. Wellons, “‘Graffiti’ as Image Making,” PI-3. 46. The distillation of mural imagery in incised graffiti is consonant with the abstracted images that Jackson has studied on ceramic molds from the late Moche site of Cerro Mayal. Potters incised the exteriors of the molds with schematic imagery that selected out salient aspects of the interior images of the molds (her first of three categories of “mold inscriptions”). Jackson, Moche Art and Visual Culture, 94–97. 47. The archaeologists referred to this feature as the Chimú “altar.” Tufinio, “Presencia Chimú Temprano,” 254. 48. The owls were catalogued as A19 and A20 in Franco, Gálvez, and Vásquez, “Graffiti mochicas,” 387, 392, figs. 20f, 24, and 25a. 49. A descending owl appears in at least one example of Moche fineline ceramic painting. Donnan and McClelland, Moche Fineline Painting, 99, fig. 4.46. 50. Curatola Petrocchi, “La voz de la huaca,” 290–291. 51. Juliet Wiersema determined that architectural vessels were included among the Moche bottles with whistles that could be played to produce one or more tones. The “aural presence” of the whistling sounds emanating from the temples depicted on those sculptural bottles would further suggest associations between the Moche religious experience and sound. Wiersema, Architectural Vessels of the Moche, 119–237. 52. The attentive reader might note that this ceramic painter seems to have made an error in this depiction of the hero’s iguana

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companion. In most depictions, the figure has a reptile face and a spiked tail, and wears a headdress with a vulture head and feather fan. This example has the headdress and the tail, but his face is that of a fox. The same conflation of anthropomorphic iguana and fox figures can, however, be seen on another Moche bottle in the Museo Larco (ML013653). See Kutscher, Nordperuanische Gefäβmalereien des Moche-Stils, pl. 305. 53. Compare to Donnan and McClelland, Moche Fineline Painting, 109. 54. As nocturnal predators, owls were associated with the world of the dead, with darkness, and with prisoner sacrifice in Moche iconography. Franco, Gálvez, and Vásquez, “Graffiti mochicas,” 392. 55. Owen, “Traces of Presence and Pleading,” 41. 56. Webster, “Tikal Graffiti,” 39. 57. Patrois, “Río Bec Graffiti,” 444. 58. Trever, The Archaeology of Mural Painting, 157–162; Trever et al., “A Moche Feathered Shield,” 103–118. 59. Fuchs et al., “Del Arcaico Tardío al Formativo Temprano”; Patzschke, “Die Graffiti der formativzeitlichen Anlage”; Cornejo, “Informe final del Proyecto de Investigación Tambo Colorado: Temporada 2013,” 119. 60. See, for example, the mural paintings and graffiti-covered walls that incorporated iconography of the Sacrifice Ceremony at the transitional Moche-Lambayeque site of Huaca Bandera. Curo and Rosas, “Complejo Arqueológico Huaca Bandera Pacora.” 61. Bonavia, Mural Painting in Ancient Peru, 99–104. 62. The archives of James A. Ford are held at the American Museum of Natural History (AMNH) in New York. The Huaca Facho materials include photographs, slides, notes, and original field drawings. A selection of this material was published in Donnan, “Moche-Huari Murals from Northern Peru.” In 1968, Donnan and Joel Grossman returned to the site, which by then had suffered extensive damage. Grossman, “A Huaquero’s Discard.” This discussion is based on my own archival research with the Ford papers at the AMNH in New York. 63. Similar red- and yellow-painted architecture with square niches has been documented at Huaca Bandera. Narváez, “El arte mural moche en Túcume y Pacora,” 38–39. 64. In his study of Ford’s unpublished work at Huaca Facho, Donnan illustrated the paintings of the winged panoplies

separately from the graffiti that was incised on the side walls of the niches. Donnan, “Moche-Huari Murals from Northern Peru,” 89–90. Christiane Clados reconstructed the appearance of some of the niches using Donnan’s publication. Based on the evidence in Donnan’s article and the AMNH archive, I disagree with her conclusion that the incised figures were “prototypes” for the painted figures. Clados, “Pre-Hispanic Graffiti and Social Organization in Peru.” 65. Elsewhere, accretional images like these have been interpreted as gestural traces of past events of storytelling. Fowles and Arterberry, “Gesture and Performance in Comanche Rock Art.” 66. Davis, Replications, 2. 67. Davis, Replications, 4. 68. For Horst Bredekamp, the “image act” was based on the latent capacity of images to impact observers, which he defined in contradistinction to the notion of “image act” (or “pictorial act”) derived from the linguistic model of the “speech act” (or “speech-act-event”). Bredekamp, Image Acts, 29–35. My usage embraces both the agentive and the communicative aspects of the term, whereby the effect of the (painted) image on the engaged observer is their generation of another (scratched) image. 69. Gomi Echevarría has argued that the Quechua word quilca (also spelled quillca)— meaning marked surface and the act of marking of a surface (see introduction)— is more appropriate to the description of rock art in the Andes. His argument could be extended to graffiti, as well, to refer to the marked wall and to the practice of its marking without the judgments of value and temporality that inhere within European vocabulary. Echevarría, “‘Quilca’ y ‘arte rupestre.’” 70. Donnan, “Moche-Huari Murals from Northern Peru,” 91. 71. This scenario of the bodily separation of a shared visual experience presents a premodern comparative to late nineteenthcentury spectacles of perception (albeit not electrified, mechanized, or artificially illuminated—though possibly animated by torchlight) discussed in Crary, Suspensions of Perception. 72. Hamilakis, Archaeology and the Senses. 73. Uhle, Las ruinas de Moche, 289–290, pl. 5, nos. 8 and 9. 74. Scullin described how “the media of architecture, sound-producing artifacts and iconography combined to orient the Moche sensorium in a particular, multi-media

way, where sight and sound were not immediately separable and gain their efficacy and meaning from each other.” Scullin, “A Materiality of Sound,” 402. 75. Ingold, “The Textility of Making,” 96. CO NC LU S I O N . ON THE HUACA

1. This narrative is, as the reader can surmise, based on my own time working on site at Pañamarca: sensing the daily movement of clouds, sun, and wind;

learning the topography of the site and the lower valley; and being surrounded by the material traces of past lives and past acts of image making. In writing these lines, I do not claim any special access to the past, nor do I mean to assert a false universality of experience. I offer this imagined vignette of the lifefulness of the making of the huaca as a deliberate bookend to the opening scene of Pizarro’s march—to counterbalance the power of the Spanish accounts that

have dominated historical study of the preHispanic past. 2. Koons and Alex, “Revised Moche Chronology,” 1051–1052. 3. Swenson and Roddick, Constructions of Time and History in the Pre-Columbian Andes. 4. As John Robb has written, “Material temporality has implications for understanding the shape of human history.” Robb, “Material Time,” 136.

NOTES TO PAGES 179– 184 • 205

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INDEX

Note: Page numbers in italic type indicate information contained in images/image captions or tables. accelerator mass spectrometry (AMS), 9, 187n46 additive vs. subtractive/extractive process, 42, 170 “aesthetics of replication,” 30–31, 61–64, 182–183. See also replication as design approach agriculture, development of, 12–13, 15, 20 Ai-Apaec (“Creator”/hero figure): Old Temple rhomboid friezes of, 67–70; overview of iconography, 23–26; table/ timeline of names for, 24. See also divine combat imagery; Divinidad de las Montañas (the Mountain God); Moche hero imagery; snake belt figure; twins myth and imagery Allen, Catherine, 116 Alva, Ignacio, 40 American Museum of Natural History (AMNH), 175, 204n62 ancestral divinities, imagery of, 62–63, 67, 157. See also Decapitator imagery; Moche hero imagery Andean cross (chacana) design, 42 Andean cultures, overview, 10, 17–20 Ánimas Altas site, 54 anthropomorphic imagery, examples of: aggressor/combative images, 22, 141; amphibious creatures, 46–48; divinity/ hero figures, 22, 86, 140; spiders, 33, 34, 75; weapons, 108, 109–117, 119, 163, 175, 176–177 aquatic imagery: catfish, 12, 68–69, 70, 71, 102, 104, 143; graffiti on, 173; late Moche

224

period, 117, 143; as norcosteño coastal form, 12, 62, 67, 68–69, 70, 92–93, 96; textile figures, 61. See also wave imagery “archaeo art history,” definition and concept overviews, 28–31, 178, 183 archaeohistory, 186n37. See also historical archaeology “archaeo-iconology”: definition and concept overviews, 28–31, 159–160, 178, 183, 190n200; pictorial interactive responses (graffiti), 31, 32, 33, 57, 160, 168–178, 194n124; pillared temple analysis, 161–168 archaeology of art, 190n176 arm/hand symbolism, interpretations of, 38–39, 73–74, 75, 76 Áspero site, 52, 192n63 Atahualpa, 1 “auto-icon” concept, 54 Azabache, Pedro, 4 backgrounds, analysis of, 70, 117, 124, 140, 157, 161, 200n36 Bahrani, Zainab, 193n96 Baird, J. A., 171 belief systems and supranatural beings, overviews, 23, 24, 25–28 Benfer, Robert, 44–45 Benson, Elizabeth, 23, 75, 81 Berlin fineline bottle, iconographic interpretations of, 25–26, 174–175 bird imagery, 153, 154; bird-women imagery, 145, 146; carrion birds, 27–28; condors, 81, 86, 104, 106; headdresses, 141; hummingbirds, 116, 163; owls, 174, 175, 204n54; Owl Warrior, 26, 118, 119, 124; sea birds, 12, 61, 62, 70, 71, 148, 149 “black mummies,” 53–54

blood: and pouring of libations, 168, 179; representations of, 50, 51, 140–141; sacrifice, 22, 63, 140–141, 183 bodies as vessels metaphor, 59, 114, 141, 145, 146, 147, 156, 183 bodily presence, techniques in effecting, 33–36, 54 Bonavia, Duccio, 36, 38, 201n81, 201n89 bone as structural element, 33, 35, 36 boustrophedon arrangement of figures, 94–95 Bredekamp, Horst, 204n68 broken (purposely) effigies, 52, 57–59 Brüning, Hans Heinrich, 29 Buena Vista site, 44–46 burial practices: elite tombs, 7, 23, 104; “entombment” of structures/art, 39–40, 65, 67; mummification/encasement, 53–54; proxy figurines, 48, 52 Burial Theme imagery and narrative, 27–28, 72, 141 Caballo Muerto site, 56, 57 Cajamarca, as Inca center, 1 Cajamarca, as pre-Inca culture, 13, 15, 114–115, 116, 156 Calancha, Antonio de la, 3–4, 26–28, 186n19 camay (essence), 29 cameras, image niches as, 178 Campiña de Moche (contemporary village), 64, 68 Caral site, 46–49 carbon dating, 9 Casma Valley, 49, 56 Castillo de Huarmey site, 117, 138 catfish imagery, 12, 68–69, 70, 71, 102, 104, 143

celestial imagery/associations, 44–45, 95, 96 ceramics, chronologies of, 9, 13–15 Cerro Blanco (mountain) myth, 64–65, 68, 72 Cerro Sechín site, 49–50, 51 Chachapoyas cultural area, 37, 177, 186n21, 193n91 Chan Chan (Chimor capital), 5, 15 c’häpmong (image), 29, 183, 190n19. See also “image,” definitions and concepts Chavín de Huántar site, 11, 55–56, 156 Chicama Valley, 12, 13, 97 Chimor (Chimú empire), 5, 15–16 Chinchorro “mummies,” 52–54 chronologies overview, 9, 13–15 chullpas (burial towers), 17 ch’uspa (woven bag), 115 clay as medium: flesh, clay as, 30, 36, 52, 54; Preceramic art, 52–54, 57–59 climatic conditions, 15. See also El Niño Southern Oscillation (ENSO) coastal cultural traditions: figuration and corporealities, overviews, 33, 35–36, 54–55, 57, 59, 182; vs. highland models, 17–20; imagery formulation, interpretation of, 63–64. See also norcosteño tradition/style Cobo, Bernabé, 3 coca chewing, 14, 115, 153, 156, 183 colonial interpretation, imposition of, 9, 17–20, 26–28, 35, 182 colors, paint: late Moche period styles, 117, 124, 129, 140, 145–150; pigments, analysis of, 191n37; Preceramic images, 40; Preceramic techniques, 42–44. See also backgrounds, analysis of colossal imagery: early and middle periods, 33, 34, 59, 72, 75, 77–78, 98, 100; Preceramic period, 44, 55–56, 57; Punkurí feline, 49; repetitive, 64 Complex Theme mural: graffiti on, 171; liquid poured on, 160, 168, 169, 179; Old Temple corner structure, 93–96, 97; re-creation of Old Temple designs at Huaca Cao Viejo, 99, 100, 101 compositional logic and repetitive designs, 30–31, 81, 84, 102 constellations, 45, 95. See also celestial imagery/associations cords/strands imagery, interpretation of, 154–156 Corónica moralizada (Calancha), 26–28 corporealities of figuration in coastal tradition, 33, 35–36, 54–55, 57, 59, 182 counting devices, theory on, 156 creator deity. See Ai-Apaec (“Creator”/ hero figure) “critical-historical” approach to art history, 28, 183

Crossland, Zoë, 190n197 Cupisnique culture: revival of in Moche art, 59, 75, 86; visual styles/traditions, 36–37, 54–56, 182 Cusco, as Inca capital, 1, 15–16 dating techniques and observations, 9, 187n45, 191n12, 195n26, 198n1, 199n29, 203n6 Davis, Whitney, 177, 189n166 Dean, Carolyn, 28 Decapitator imagery: graffiti on, 171–173; Huaca Cao Viejo, 104, 106; Old Temple, 84, 85, 86, 88; Pañamarca, late Moche period, 129, 130, 132, 133, 141. See also Spider Decapitator imagery deep history concepts, 9, 11, 28–30, 183 deer, 33, 35, 35, 40–44 deities. See Ai-Apaec (“Creator”/hero figure); belief systems and supranatural beings, overviews dipinti (painted graffiti), 177, 203n40 divine combat imagery, 86, 87, 92–93, 128–133, 138, 141. See also Moche hero imagery Divinidad de las Montañas (the Mountain God): as Decapitator, 106, 129; graffiti on imagery, 172; Huaco Cao Viejo imagery, 101, 106, 107; interpretations of imagery, 23, 25; Old Temple imagery, 67–70. See also Ai-Apaec (“Creator”/hero figure) doll/puppet-like effigies, 193n110 Donnan, Christopher B., 133 Dos Cabezas site, 15, 54, 106 “Dragon” imagery: Old Temple figures, 80, 81, 85, 91; Recuay “Dragon” (Moon Animal), 14, 15, 81, 104–106 droughts, 15 Early Horizon period overview, 9, 55–56 Edificio Principal, Vichama site, 46–49 Edificios of Old Temple. See facades, Old Temple; platform, Old Temple effigy figures, 52, 57–59, 193n110 El Brujo (The Sorcerer) complex, 7, 33. See also Huaca Cao Viejo El Castillo de Santa site, 122 elite class power symbolism, 7, 20, 22–23, 64, 104 El Niño Southern Oscillation (ENSO), 5, 15, 59 embodied seeing, 54, 161–168 embroidery design, 69, 70 emergence themes, 46–49, 52, 67, 192n63 “encounters,” definition, 30, 190n197 “entombment” of structures/art, 5, 38, 39–40, 65, 67, 184, 191n28 espingo seeds (Nectandra sp.), 154, 155 exteriority and interiority, conceptualizations of, 30, 45–46, 52, 57, 182, 184

facades, Old Temple: Edificio A, 81–84, 86, 97; Edificio AB, 73, 74, 75–81; Edificio B, 84–85; Edificio BC, 86, 87; Edificio C (penultimate facade), 73, 84, 86, 88, 89, 90, 91; Edificio D, 92; Edificio DE (antepenultimate facade), 86, 92, 99; Edificio E, 92; facade and plaza imagery, 7, 72–96; facade renewals, timeline and section profile, 65, 66, 84, 85, 93 fanged figures: Decapitators, 81, 86; divine predators, 11, 26–27, 36, 67–68, 102, 106, 182; effigy figures, 193n110; Fisherman, 75, 91; marine monster, 86, 92–93, 133, 138. See also feline figures, examples of; snake belt figure Feldman, Robert A., 52 feline figures, examples of: graffiti, 171; large-scale, 49, 50, 55, 56, 57; relief and painted images, 26, 118, 140, 142, 148, 163, 166 female figures, 25–28, 140, 145, 146–147, 153, 168–169 figuration, evolution of and overviews, 11, 20, 30–31, 36–37, 182, 187n51 figurines, 52–54, 57–59, 193n110 fineline ceramic painting, examples of, 20, 23, 25, 140 Fisherman imagery and interpretations, 75, 79, 81, 86, 89–90, 91, 196–197n83. See also Moche hero imagery fish imagery. See catfish imagery; Fisherman imagery and interpretations flat painting vs. relief techniques: art historical preferences for, 7–8, 38; change to flat art, early and middle periods, 86, 91, 92, 93, 117, 122, 157; early dominance of relief, 30, 36, 40, 44, 50, 52, 55 flesh, clay as, 30, 36, 52, 54 floods, 15, 59 floreros (vases), 151, 167 Ford, James A., 175, 204n62 Franco, Régulo, 171, 197n102 Galindo site, 122 Gallinazo culture, 12, 187n62 Garagay site, 55, 92, 193n110 Garrido, José Eulogio, 54 Gell, Alfred, 190n170 gender, markers of, 26, 28, 145, 189n162, 199–200n35. See also genitals, representation of genitals, representation of, 46, 47, 59 genomic profiles of Andean cultures, 18 geometric designs: abstractions of coastal life forms, 61–62, 106, 117–118, 119, 157; Preceramic period, 36; and textile design, 12, 44 graffiti: congruous marginalia, 171–173; dipinti (painted graffiti), 177, 203n40; of

Ind ex  • 225

divine visionary encounters, 174–175; as pictorial response to art, 31, 32, 33, 57, 160, 168–178, 194n124; on plain walls, 173–174 grids: in mural planning, 104, 106, 140; and traditional textile structure, 69; urban settlement layout, 64–65. See also geometric designs Guadalupito site (Inka Pampa/Pampa de los Incas), 122, 123 Guernsey, Julia, 30 Harth-Terré, Emilio, 29 heads, bodiless, symbolism of, 44–45 hero figure, Moche. See Moche hero imagery highland cultures: Cajamarca culture, 13, 114–115, 116; Chavín de Huántar site, 11, 55–56, 156; Huamachuco culture, 13, 15; Kotosh site, 37–40, 50, 52, 177; privileging of in iconographic interpretation, 17–20, 35, 182; relations and cultural exchange, 15, 17–20, 116, 118, 128–129, 156, 182–183; Wari culture, 15, 16, 116, 117–128. See also Recuay culture historical archaeology, 191n204. See also archaeohistory “history,” definition and modern concepts of, 8–9 Hocquenghem, Anne Marie, 116 “horizontal”/“vertical” exchange patterns, 18 Huaca Cao Viejo, 2; corner room of courtyard, 70–71, 99–100, 104–106; early shared designs in Moche culture, 102–107; Old Temple re-creations, 96–102; prisoners, figural representations of, 32, 33–35, 57, 59 Huaca Colorada, 143, 163, 167, 171 Huaca de la Luna. See New Temple (Huaca de la Luna); Old Temple (Huaca de la Luna) Huaca de los Reyes, 56 Huaca del Sol (Huaca Capuxaida/ Pachacamac), 3–4, 5–6, 65 Huaca Dos Cabezas site. See Dos Cabezas site Huaca El Castillo (Mocollope), 97 Huaca Facho (La Mayanga), 160, 175–178 Huaca Licapa, 12 Huaca Limón, 196–197n83 Huaca Partida site, 49, 56, 57, 201n97 huacas, definition, 2, 185n6, 194n4 Huaca Santa Rosa de Pucalá, 117 Huacas de Moche (Huacas del Sol y de la Luna), 64–65. See also Huaca de la Luna; Huaca del Sol (Huaca Capuxaida/ Pachacamac) Huaca Ventarrón, 40–44, 62 Huamachuco culture, 13, 15 Huancaco site, 187n69, 198n131

226 • Index

Huarochirí Manuscript, 23, 113–114 hunting imagery, 36, 43–44, 177 Hyland, Sabine, 156 Iguana imagery, 92, 141, 142 “image,” definitions and concepts, 29–30 “image acts,” 177, 204n68 Inca Empire, 1, 16, 17–20 incised designs: as preparatory sketches, 8, 67, 118, 122, 140, 153, 202n125; to represent interiority, 45–46, 52. See also graffiti inclusions in relief sculptures. See support strategies for art/structures indigenismo and indigeneity, 17, 20, 188n96 Inka Pampa site (Guadalupito), 122–123 interiority and exteriority, conceptualizations of, 30, 45–46, 52, 57, 182, 184 interregional/intercultural dynamics, 15, 17–20, 116, 118, 128–129, 156, 182–183 irrigation technology, 12–13, 15 Isique, Isidora, 29, 190n193 Jackson, Margaret, 29, 197n96 jars, bound, symbolism of. See bodies as vessels metaphor Jequetepeque Valley, 14, 106, 143, 167. See also Pacatnamú site Koons, Michele, 157 Kotosh site, 37–40, 50, 52, 177 Kubler, George, 30, 187n45 La Leche Valley, 175 La Mayanga (Huaca Facho), 160, 175–178 La Mina site, 54, 107 languages, Andean profile, 18, 19 Larco Herrera, Rafael, 13 Larco Hoyle, Rafael, 13–14, 23, 65, 124 large-scale figures. See colossal imagery Lefebvre, Henri, 159, 196n69 Lehmann, Walter, 29, 190n193 libations as offerings. See poured/splashed liquids on mural art linguistics, profiles and cultural interaction, 18–20, 29–30, 35 liquids poured/splashed on art. See poured/ splashed liquids on mural art lizard imagery, 75, 77, 81 lo andino concept, 20 longue durée approach, 9, 11–17. See also deep history concepts looting, damage from, 3, 72, 192n70, 202n102 Lummis, Charles F., 5 luxury symbols and elite power, 22, 64 Manchay culture, 55–56 marine monster, 86, 92–93, 133, 138 Markham, Clements, 9

martial-themed imagery: New Temple, late Moche, 117–119, 120–121, 122–128; and sociopolitical relations, 124, 128; as symbol of power, 20, 22–23, 59, 182. See also divine combat imagery; prisoner/ captive imagery; warrior imagery Martínez Compañón y Bujanda, Baltasar Jaime, 4, 5 mascarones (suprahuman faces as confrontational ornaments), 67–68 masculinized power, 36, 59, 64, 182 material preservation issues, 5–7, 191n28. See also “entombment” of structures/art material remains as history, 8–9, 30 McClelland, Donna, 133 Mellizo Marino (Marine Twin), 81, 133, 143. See also Fisherman imagery and interpretations; Moche hero imagery Mellizos Divinos (Divine Twins), 133, 138, 201n76. See also twins myth and imagery Mellizo Terrestre (Terrestrial Twin), 133. See also Moche hero imagery Merleau-Ponty, Maurice, 54 “meta-images” (metapicture), 52, 182, 192n79 metaphors and Moche art: bodies as vessels, 59, 114, 141, 145, 146, 147, 156, 183; clay as flesh/bone as armature, 30, 36, 52, 54; heads, bodiless, 44–45 Middendorf, Ernst, 29 Mitchell, W. J. T., 29, 30, 192n79 Moche culture, overviews: art and culture, 1–3, 20; cultural identity and modern interpretive perspectives, 17–20; early exploration and discoveries, 5–6; early shared image and architecture designs, 102–107; evolution of, 11–15; map of territory, 13; post-Moche regional profiles, 15–17, 117, 160; social and artistic development, 20–28; southern environs and territories, 128–129 Moche hero imagery: Fisherman imagery and interpretations, 75, 79, 81, 86, 89–90, 91, 196–197n83; and marine monster, combat with, 91–92; Pañamarca examples, 141–143, 145, 148, 149–150; supranatural and cultural context for, 23–24, 174–175. See also Ai-Apaec (“Creator”/hero figure); divine combat imagery Mochera con la Huaca del Sol (Azabache), 4 “Mochica” label, 13 Mocollope site, 96–97 modularity in design. See replication as design approach mold-made ceramics, 26, 64, 193n85 Mollep legend, 27–28 monumental imagery, early discoveries, 6–7 Moon Animal imagery, 14, 15, 81, 104–106. See also “Dragon” imagery

Morales, Ricardo, 194n7 mountain god. See Divinidad de las Montañas (the Mountain God) Moxeke site (Pampa de las Llamas-Moxeke), 56, 56 Muchik language and terminology, 18, 19, 20, 23, 29–30, 45, 156 multiplicity in design. See replication as design approach mummies, 52–54 mural art overviews: early exploration and discoveries, 5–7; focus of this study, 1–2; medium, survey and analysis of, 7–8; origins of and Preceramic period, 36–37 Mural Garrido, 60, 61, 67, 68 Mural Painting in Ancient Peru (Bonavia), 36 music/instruments. See sound, aural experience and objects Neal, Tim, 171 Neciosup, Pedro, 8 Nepeña Valley, 49, 56. See also Huaca Partida site; Pañamarca site New Temple (Huaca de la Luna): late Moche evolution of design, 116–117; late Moche martial imagery, 117–119, 120–121, 122–128; Revolt of the Objects murals, 108, 109–116; site of, 65, 66 niches, 38, 39, 56, 105, 106, 175–178 norcosteño tradition/style: aquatic imagery, 12, 62–63, 67, 68–69, 70, 92–93, 96; decline/evolution in use of, 116–117, 140, 143, 157; definition, 12; early shared designs in Moche culture, 102–107 north-coastal tradition (tradición norcosteña), 12. See also norcosteño tradition/style Ocular Being imagery, 193n105 offerings: as part of viewing experience, 167–168, 175; post-Moche era continuation of, 59, 160, 174 Old Temple (Huaca de la Luna): art overviews, 61–63, 65; corner structure of plaza, 93–96, 97; early shared designs in Moche culture, 102–107; historical profile and physical overview, 64–67; levels, diagrams of, 66; Mural Garrido, 60, 61, 67, 68; pre-Hispanic graffiti in, 171, 173–174; re-creation of designs at Huaca Cao Viejo, 96–102; rhomboid friezes, iconographic analysis, 67–71; unfired clay effigies, smashed, 58, 59. See also facades, Old Temple; platform, Old Temple Oliver, Jeff, 171 owl imagery, 174, 175, 204n54 Owl Warrior images, 26, 118, 119, 124 Pacatnamú site, 20, 21, 140, 171

Pachacamac site, temples, and oracle, 3, 15, 29, 174 Pampa Grande site, 7, 119, 122 Pampa la Cruz site, 122 Pañamarca site: Decapitator imagery, 129–133; early discoveries, 7; late Moche imagery, overview, 124, 126–127; pillared temple, 8, 125, 143–157, 163, 167–168; regional (Nepeña Valley) profile, 128–129; site maps, 125, 130–131; twins in combat imagery, 130–131, 133–138 Panofsky (Erwin) iconographic method, 22, 189n144 Pardo, Cecilia, 30 petroglyph techniques, 42 Pez Demonio, “Split Top” (marine divinity), 86, 92–93. See also marine monster pigments, sources of, 106, 191n37, 200n36, 203n11 pillared temple at Pañamarca. See under Pañamarca site Pizarro, Francisco, 1 Pizarro, Hernando, 3 placement of images and viewing experience, 161, 163. See also viewing distance Plataforma Uhle, funerary, 66, 86 platform, Old Temple: Edificio A, 97, 195n50, 197n109; Edificio BC, 61–62, 68, 70, 71; Edificio D, 67–70; Edificio E, 66, 195n33; Edificio F, 66, 195n33; platform imagery, 61–62, 67–71; platform renewals, timeline and section profile, 65, 66, 67, 69–70, 195n26 political evolution models, 13–14 Popol Vuh (K’iche’ Maya sacred narrative), 113, 199n7 post-iconographic interpretive methods, 28. See also archaeo art history, definition and concept overviews; archaeo-iconology poured/splashed liquids on mural art, 149, 160, 167–168, 179 Preceramic art and techniques, 9, 36–40, 44–50, 52, 117, 182 predator figures: divine predators, 11, 26–27, 36, 67–68, 102, 106, 182; miscellaneous animals, 174, 204n54. See also Decapitator imagery; “Dragon” imagery; feline figures, examples of prehistory, definition and modern concepts of, 8–9 preservation issues, 5–7, 191n28. See also “entombment” of structures/art prisoner/captive imagery: ceramic jar, 22; Huaca Cao Viejo examples, 32, 33–35, 57, 59; late Moche imagery, 118–121, 122–124; Old Temple imagery, 73–74, 75; Old Temple re-creation at Huaca Cao Viejo, 98–99; Pañamarca pillared

temple, 145, 146; Sacrifice Ceremony/ Presentation Theme imagery, 23, 63, 139, 140–141; smashed effigies, 57–59 proxemics, consideration of, 70, 84. See also viewing distance punctum, definition and example, 169 Punkurí site, 49–50 Quechua language and terminology, 18, 19, 20, 23, 29, 113, 156, 183 quilca/quillca (marked surface), 29, 183, 190n195, 204n69. See also “image,” definitions and concepts Quingnam language, 18, 19 quipus (twisted and knotted cords), 3, 154–156 “radiocarbon revolution,” 9 Recuay culture: influence of, 81, 104, 116; interregional dynamics with, 128–129, 156; map of territory, 13; Recuay “Dragon” (Moon Animal), 14, 15, 81, 104–106 red frames/separators, as style convention, 124, 129, 140, 145–150 relations, cultural. See interregional/ intercultural dynamics relief techniques. See flat painting vs. relief techniques renewal imagery, 44–45 repetition. See replication as design approach replication as design approach: “aesthetics of replication,” 30–31, 61–64, 182–183; amplification of theme through repetition, 67; heterogeneity in, analyses of, 38–39, 40, 75; longevity of iconographic components, 69–70; and narrative approach, evolution to, 107, 117, 143, 183; Old Temple analyses, 67–71. See also grids reproduction/procreation imagery, 45 Revolt of the Objects myth and imagery, 108, 109–117 rock art, 36–37, 38, 177. See also graffiti rupestrian art practices. See graffiti; rock art sacrifice, human: bodies as vessels metaphor, 59, 114, 141, 145, 146, 147, 156, 183; and breaking of figurines, 52; and emphasis on martial culture, 22, 36; and natural catastrophes, 59; Sacrifice Ceremony/Presentation Theme imagery, 23, 63, 139, 140–141 Sacrifice Ceremony/Presentation Theme imagery, 23, 63, 139, 140–141 San José de Moro site, 15, 116 San Juanito site, 192n71 San Pedro cactus (Echinopsis pachanoi), 95, 167 scale of images: Chavín vs. Moche

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techniques, 194n129; as symbol of status/domination, 75, 124; and viewing distance considerations, 46, 70, 72. See also colossal imagery; viewing distance Scullin, Dianne, 179 Seler, Eduard, 114 Señora de Cao tomb, 104, 105, 107 serpent imagery, 56, 73, 81. See also snake belt figure sexualization of figures, 46, 47, 59. See also gender, markers of; masculinized power Shady, Ruth, 46–48, 52 sheet metal work, 64 Shibata, Koichiro, 56 Sipán, royal tombs of, 7, 23, 61, 63 “situated telling” concept, 116, 128–129 size of images. See scale of images smashed figurines. See broken (purposely) effigies snake belt figure, 23, 61, 86, 116–117, 148. See also Ai-Apaec (“Creator”/hero figure); Mellizos Divinos (Divine Twins); Moche hero imagery solar associations, 44–45 sound, aural experience and objects, 45, 154, 168, 179, 204n51 Spanish Conquest, impacts of, 1, 3–4, 17, 84, 118, 129 Spider Decapitator imagery: Huaca Cao Viejo, 33, 34, 59, 98, 100; Old Temple, 72, 75, 76, 78, 81, 83, 84, 88; stirrup spout bottle, 84; textiles, 133. See also Decapitator imagery “Split Top” (Pez Demonio), 86, 92. See also marine monster Squier, E. George, 9 Strombus Monster, 140, 141, 142, 148, 150, 170 subtractive/extractive vs. additive process, 42, 170. See also flat painting vs. relief techniques support strategies for art/structures, 33, 35, 40, 43, 44, 53–54, 143

228 • Index

“survivance” concept, 17 Swenson, Edward, 163, 167 synecdoche, visual, 114 Tambo Colorado site, 6, 175 Taylor, Claire, 171 Tello, Julio C., 49, 55, 56, 115 Templo Blanco, Kotosh, 38, 52, 82 Templo de las Manos Cruzadas, 38, 39 Templo del Disco Amenazante, Buena Vista, 44–46 textiles, and aesthetics links to mural design: cultural exchange of, 15, 117– 118; early and middle period, 12, 61–62, 63, 69, 92, 103, 105; late Moche period overview, 21, 70, 106, 117, 129, 133, 140; pre-Hispanic period overview, 44; Wari examples, 16, 117, 138; weaving, 15, 198–199n4 timeline. See chronologies overview Toquepala rock paintings, 36, 37, 38 Torii, Ryuzu, 56 trade, evidence of, 15. See also interregional/intercultural dynamics trifacial forms, 81 Tufinio, Moisés, 196n80, 199n24 Tumbes, Peru, 1 tumi knives, 33, 34, 59, 81, 86, 102, 133 tuna (prickly pear cactus fruit), 167 twins myth and imagery, 23, 24, 26, 130–131, 133–138 Uceda, Santiago, 68, 81, 194n7 Uhle, Max, 179 ukhu (inside), 191n7 ulluchu (fruit), 59, 140, 175 unfired clay as medium, 52–54, 193n110 “vertical”/“horizontal” exchange patterns, 18 Vichama site, 46–49 Victorio, Patricia, 28 Vicús culture, 12, 13

viewing distance: and embodied seeing, 161–168; images designed for close viewing, 94; and size/scale of imagery, 46, 70, 72, 84 violent imagery: graffiti as interactive response, 32, 33, 57, 171, 194n124; overviews, 22, 49–50; symbolic interpretations, 55. See also martialthemed imagery; predator figures Vizenor, Gerald, 17 wachuma (San Pedro cactus), 167 Wari culture, 15, 16, 116, 117–128 War of the Pacific, 20 warrior imagery: late Moche period, 118–121, 122–124; and Moche chronologies, 14–15; Old Temple corner structure, 94–95; Old Temple plaza and facade imagery, 73–74, 75, 76, 81, 82; Old Temple re-creation at Huaca Cao Viejo, 98–100, 100; Pañamarca pillared temple, 145, 146; Preceramic, Cerro Sechín, 49–50; as symbol of elite power, 22. See also divine combat imagery; martial-themed imagery; Revolt of the Objects myth and imagery water sources and irrigation, 12–13, 15 wave imagery: in geometric patterns, 70, 71, 104, 106, 107; as hair, 61, 67; late Moche period, 117, 140; as norcosteño form, 96 wealth, displays of, 22 weather and climate, 15. See also El Niño Southern Oscillation (ENSO) weaving. See textiles, and aesthetics links to mural design Wellons, Gabriella, 171, 173 Winter, Irene, 157 women. See female figures written language, study of history without, 3, 8–9, 23, 29, 157 zarigüeya (type of opossum), 40, 41