heeding Ekho: post-processual archaeology meets art

J. William Waterhouse. "Echo and Narcissus" 1903

Recently, I had the opportunity to conduct a podcast interview with PKAP 2009 artist-in-residence, Ryan Stander in the studio adjacent to my little nook here (the Paul Aaron Ferderer Memorial Office). The primary topic of our interview was Ryan’s show entitled Topos/Chora: Photographs of the Pyla-Koutsopetria Archaeological Project which opened on the twenty-ninth of February at the Empire Theater in Grand Forks. Now and then our discussion strayed to Ryan’s blogging on art, space and the sacred as well as other issues in the ordering and conceptualization of space, that is, the cultural construction of landscapes which is such a key point of interest throughout Ryan Stander’s work as well as along the progress of PKAP. Kathy took on the burden of preparing the interview questions herself, so I went into the interview armed with a remarkably thoughtful series of questions which drew not just from a consideration of the works included in the show, but also on Ryan’s musings over the last few years on his blog, The Axis of Access. Sara has also been of tremendous assistance in setting up the technological side of the recording and now, of being its editor-in-chief. Here’s hoping that my Garrison Keillor voice cut the lefse …

Little does Ryan know that we’re planning to leave in the Lake Wobegon bit, complete with sound effects:  by “just for fun” I meant “intended to be the main feature of the site” …

As a veteran of PKAP myself, I have taken particular interest in the concept of this show (Topos/Chora, that is, not PHC). The idea of an artist-in-residence with PKAP isn’t entirely new, considering that Joe Patrow accompanied the first UND crew out to Cyprus in 2006 as a documentary filmmaker. Even during the 2009 field season when Ryan was shooting, there was yet another documentary filmmaker working in conjunction with PKAP by the name of Ian Ragsdale. Likewise, I don’t think that there has been anyone on the team to date who hasn’t taken at least a few photographs of archaeological fieldwork in action and a few of us, at least, were not unconscious of some rudimentary elements of photographic composition.

But Ryan endeavored to produce art: photographic images of an archaeological site and archaeological work in action as art. Ryan, a relative outsider to archaeology — an observer — is reflecting on archaeology through his artistic medium. Not only that, but he is inviting the viewer of his work to reflect on archaeology through his work.

This is where things get a little spacey.

Or a lot spacey.

Any archaeologist who has followed PKAP is probably already conscious of the Post-processual leanings of the project as a whole and, to various degrees, of its scholars. In fact, I would go so far as to say that PKAP is one of the more exemplary Postprocessualist-oriented projects in Cyprus, judging from my own experience with PKAP and from the impression which I got at the 2008 CAARI conference in Nicosia. It’s kind of PKAP’s schtick, as it were. That’s not to say that the project isn’t actually driven by specific research questions nor that those research questions aren’t intended to “further illuminate our understanding” of x, y and, z, but it can lend the impression to an outsider that the project is either a tad quixotic or that these relative greenhorns have bitten off more than they can chew.

Under closer investigation, this impression is quite wrong on both counts. If anything, PKAP guards more fiercely against cowboy archaeology than many other projects and quasi-projects on the island. Working closely with the Department of Antiquities and eschewing “boys with toys” who are less concerned with research questions and more concerned with thrill, the PKAP directors are especially conscious of the archaeological innovations to come, taking care not to damage for no reason what techniques of the future might be able to study better. The data measurable at any site multiplies with the precision of and shifts in questions asked. Here, the scholars are especially conscious of that fact. All archaeologists — all researchers — can be said to have bitten off more than they can chew once one takes into account the vastness of potential implicit in their subject matter.

With the PKAP sites, there is no rush. The threat of urban or suburban development, which so often forces the archaeologist’s hand, is minimal, so the PKAP scholars have the leisure to “do it right” in a way which makes their work stand out in comparison to other projects at similar sites lacking higher concentrations of “important” monumental architecture and artifacts. Actually, the presence of high concentrations of “culturally significant” monumental architecture and artifacts doesn’t necessarily halt real estate development, even in the old town of Nicosia, as the Orthodox Church in Cyprus makes plans for even more monumental architecture of its own. Besides, cultural significance is all relative anyway: that stuff was then, this is now. This is living, that is dead. This is relevant, that is obsolete.

That’s just it: those who would say such things are more right than many archaeologists would like to admit. Where would the archaeologist’s craft be if it weren’t for the past equivalents to today’s fast food chains, suburban housing projects, office buildings, industrial parks, and big box stores  ”infesting” the landscape and plopping down on top of something else? Material culture doesn’t cease to be material culture the closer its “birth date” is to the present. Put another way, when you pave paradise, you only give it a new life. To quote Marc Bloch’s quote of Henri Pirenne: “If I were an antiquarian, I would have eyes only for old stuff; but I am a historian, therefore I love life!” One could easily replace “historian” with “archaeologist” here — or, at least, one would think.

I mentioned “Post-processual” archaeology above and, considering that many people reading this blog are not archaeologists, I think that a definition might be in order. Postprocessualism is a deliberately reflective approach to archaeology and only hesitantly postivistic. While increasing the scientist’s concern with method, it takes it so far that it runs the risk of undermining archaeology’s claim to being a science altogether. To some, this is an un-scientific excess; to insiders, perhaps, it is hyper-scientific to the point of being post-scientific (implying, then, that science has an end). On some level, research conclusions rely on scholarly consensus in order to live — all the more so in fields of inquiry which do not permit controlled experimentation. Numbers don’t lie, but the humans who lend significance to the numbers can never be entirely objective. In the face of consistent, controlled experimentation and sound math, human subjectivity is understandably rendered negligible, but no matter how hard archaeologists may try, they simply cannot carry the scientific method all the way through. Scholarly consensus is vital.

Needless to say, then, when those consenting scholars are overwhelmingly men (of the male sort) or when they come from the colonial or dominant/hegemonic cultural center, then, in general, they can be expected to look at the world more like men, in general, as opposed to women, in general, or as members of a colonizing society and dominant culture, in general, as opposed to members of a colonized society and subaltern culture, in general. The focus on urban centers in archaeology is partially a product of this — along with a heavy helping of pragmatism (urban sites are more compact and yield more artifacts than rural sites). The focus on finite cultures and periodization is yet another artifice born of cultural bias, especially nationalistic assumptions. This, of course, betrays a sort of collective narcissism on the part of the researchers. They look for civilization and empire and they find them; they look for male dominance and they find it — or, when they don’t, the data is anomalous. Scorning the naïvété of past archaeological paradigms, the empiricism-driven Processualists still couldn’t keep from falling in the pond, so to speak.

Postprocessualism, as with “Postmodernism” more broadly, also tends towards narcissism: this time with its emphasis on reflective research. This is a conscious narcissism aimed at reducing unconscious narcissism with the excuse that at least what is in the open can be better accounted-for.

Right into the middle of all this wanders Ryan Stander with his camera, very much like the picnicker who joined the melée at the First Battle of Bull Run/Manassas, with an even more ambiguous sense of his “business” in engaging in this contest. As the archaeologists reflect on their work among themselves, Ryan reflects on their reflecting, and invites us to do the same by means of his carefully-selected, “reflective” photographs.

But we call it art.

The Lost City of Grand Forks, ND

This whole blog thing is going to take some getting used to.  I’ve never kept a personal blog, let alone a semi-professional blog…but hang in there, it will get better!

The past week has been filled with the finishing touches on the online exhibit with hopes of going live early this week.  On our end, I (and Bill) finished the interview and Kathy had her own trials with writing an introduction to a collection of essays.  On the server end (right, Bill?) we’re waiting for some updates to the layout.  But it’s getting to the end of our first go at an online collection.

However, its amazing how mother nature can put a hold on everything, including working on the computer and the internet.  If this next “prolonged snow event” (the words of the NOAA) again cause UND to shut down on Monday, our ETA for the exhibit could be pushed back if the techi’s can’t get in and make our changes.

My theory on this spring in the Red River Valley and UND’s spring semester?  We are going to continue to have Monday snow storms and the University will cancel classes every Monday until the middle of March when the melt starts, and then Grand Forks will submerge into an ocean of snow melt and disappear like Atlantis.  So this semester could possibly be incredibly short.

Remember us, dear readers, when your grandchildren wander museums and listen wide-eyed to the tales of the once real but will be mythical city of Grand Forks, North Dakota that disappeared in one night and sat where there is now a giant lake on the ND/MN boarder.  At least this blog and our online exhibit will live on.

Flying Too Close to the Sun

I love the history of flight, from the mythical story of Icarus and Daedalus to when the Wright brothers soared to new heights at Kittyhawk, North Carolina.  I’ve visited that hallowed ground on many occasions.  Carved into the door that leads under one of the monuments there, you will find the most important moments in flight history recorded.  My favorite mile markers are the myth of Icarus and Daedelus, the conceptual work done by Leonardo D’ Vinci, the first hot air balloon flown by the Montgolfiers, and, of course, the flight at Kittyhawk.

My fellow interns and I, with the support of our advisor and others, are supposed to launch an on-line art exhibit within a couple of days.  I originally visualized the many projects we are undertaking in blueprint form in my mind.  I conceptualized a building made up of many rooms that acted as workshops.  In one, the on-line art exhibit, in another, scanning, cataloging and archiving slides that show the degradation of ruins over time, and so on.  I move from room to room depending on things like deadlines or availability of materials.  The more that I have worked on the on-line art exhibit, however, the more that concept has morphed from a blueprint into something else.  That’s where the history of flight comes in.

Many an educational soundtrack has begun with a statement something like,  “Since the dawn of time, humans have watched the birds of the air and dreamed of taking flight.”  Fulfilling this dream has taken a great deal of time and been accompanied by a multitude of errors, beginning with the mythical Icarus and Daedalus.  In an attempt to escape the island of Crete upon which they were imprisoned, Daedalus crafted wings from feathers and wax for himself and his son.  Inspired by the thrill of their cunning escape, and despite his father’s warnings, Icarus flew closer and closer to the sun.  The wax melted, and he plummeted to his death in the deep ocean below.

Leonardo did not rely on myths to create his flying machines.  Though only experimental, he explored many different means by which humans could take flight.  His designs reflect the earliest attempts at hot air balloons, helicipoters, human wings, and even aeroplanes of sorts.  His was certainly a more profound understanding of the realities of flight than the Greek tale offered.

Shortly thereafter, the Montgolfier family created the first hot air balloon.  Though it took people into the air, it could not soar like a bird, so the dream was only partially realized.  Finally, after much trial and error, the Wright brothers were able to lay claim to the most bird-like, working craft.

Creating an on-line exhibit follows in similar progression.  I can see the end product, can even see the steps that will help me and/or our group to achieve that end.  Because of this, I am usually able to move rather swiftly from design (Leonardo), to progressive step (Montgolfier), to prototype (Wright).  Rarely do I have to visit the earliest Greek stage which, more than anything else, is a reflection of their hopes and fears.

Daedalus feared for his impetuous son.  Often early attempts at anything are fraught with fear.  I have had them when it comes to dealing with computers.  There’s been no dearth in the number of people that have told me I cannot break the computer.  I believe them.  But I can lose data, thereby creating chaos out of order.  I have no desire to do that with my own information, let alone someone else’s.  Today I had to face that fear.

There are a series of essays on this fledgling on-line exhibit that needed an introduction.  I was tasked to write a draft and submit it to my peers for input.  In preparation, I visited the actual physical exhibit, revisited the artwork on the on-line site, and reread all the essays.  Like the author J. K. Rowling, I often write long hand using pen and paper.  It is cathartic, and I enjoy the process.  Sometimes I open up a simple computer program, write, and save.  Not this time.  I felt it was time to take flight.  I boldly entered our website and began to put thoughts to cyberpaper.  I was happy with the outcome.  The words conveyed the very thoughts and feelings I wanted them to.  Pleased to have been savvy enough to figure out how to traverse the sticky “web” and accomplish this task, I placed my cursor on the “Save and Return” button and watched every word immediately disappear into the irretrievable mists of cyber-ether.

Gone.

Like Icarus, my waxed wings melted and I plummeted into the sea.

My advisor was, as usual, most patient and helpful.  Despite his busy schedule, he, like I, excavated the website for my lost ruins, to no avail.

Enough time had passed that I could not remember the exact words that had flowed only a while before.  I attempted to reconstruct my thoughts, but they did not rival the beauty of that first set of wings.

Like D’ Vinci, though, I have learned from the trial of that experiment.  My ignominious defeat has served to help me progress, to better design, to come up with differing sets of ideas that will lead me to actually fly in the future.  At the end of this internship, I suspect I will have been able to present you with a prototype, no matter how crude.  I stated in my first blog that we would begin, and so we have.

Thanks to my patient peers, the “launch” of this on-line exhibit will look a great deal more like that windy day at Kittyhawk and much less like those wonderful old films of airplanes falling off of cliffs.  Make no mistake.  I will soar with the best of them.  Today just wasn’t that day.