A World Archaeological Congress is an odd thing. The sheer scale of the event is astounding. WAC 6 in Dublin (29 June – 4 July 2008) attracted something close to 2,000 participants from all over the world. The first time I went was in 2003 to Washington D.C. and that wasn’t much different in scale. Everything about a World Archaeological Congress appears impressive and much of it is. It’s great to meet other archaeologists from all over the world; people you would not meet under any other circumstances. I also like the idea of having a quite overtly political archaeology conference. Not to be forgotten is the WAC social calendar, always an impressively liquid jaunt through many of the host city’s most attractive and wine reception-friendly large and significant spaces, as well as its continuation in the cities’ less obviously significant, but definitely more binge-friendly corners. Still, a World Archaeological Congress is an odd thing. My experience of Dublin made it clear that perhaps the size of the conference, the root of all that is good about it, is also behind its failings.

Our current understanding of human migration derives from advances in four more or less integrated disciplines: archeology, physical anthropology, DNA analysis and linguistics. In recent years progress has slowed as researchers enroll familiar tools to validate or reject what have become more or less entrenched theories. For archaeologists, it almost goes without saying that advances in seemingly unrelated disciplines have great potential for breaking “logjams” and producing new ideas. Such was the case in 2003 when population based data in microbiology demonstrated that an ancient human pathogen, Helicobacter pylori, carried a key to the timing and pathway of early human migration out of Africa.

A landmark article in Science by Falush and associates (2003) reported on strain variation in Helicobacter pylori, a chronic gastric pathogen. Using known mutation frequency as a “biological clock” they were able to match known patterns of human migration with the molecular clock approach. Spread of this chronic human pathogen accompanied the migration of their human host and not surprisingly, the oldest strains with the most mutations were in Africa (Linz et al 2007). Prior to this validation by pathogen genetic analysis, the “out of Africa” theory rested primarily on conventional archeological and anthropological evidence.

The “Ah Ha!” moment of insight occurred when rapid advances in microbial genetic analysis were used to validate existing theories. Our microbial “hitchhikers” carry with them the secrets of their past and by inference our past. Such leaps forward in science often occur when the insights from apparently disparate disciplines merge and provide validation for or discredit earlier theories.

Another rapidly developing body of knowledge is challenging rather than validating the orthodox understandings of human migration. Human T cell Lymphotrophic Virus 1 (HTLV-1) has been part of the human condition for thousands of years and has an epidemiology and migration suggesting that the populating of the North and South American continents began long before the trans-Siberian migrations.

I was lucky enough to read this book for the first time sitting on the beach outside Rethymnon on Crete. At first, I felt as though I were cheating – “working” while enjoying myself at the seaside on a beautiful Greek summer day. On the contrary, only a few pages into the book, I realized that my venue – my workspace – could not have been more appropriate, given the proposed main argument of Duke’s recent book. This is “that public archaeology on Crete, manifested in sites and museums and the vast array of tourist information media, produces a virtually monolithic message about a particular past and thereby a particular present; namely, that social inequality is the essential metanarrative of the Minoan past and thus abets the legitimization and naturalization of this same social inequality as the primary organizational structure of the modern West” (14). Of course, reading that, it’s difficult to see how sitting on a beach relates to the primary organizational structure of the modern West, but Duke’s ambitious enterprise (especially for such a slim volume) is to explore the nexus of relations between the past, the present, tourism, class, and archaeology. All of these were embodied for me at the moment, myself a tourist at the beach in between visits to archaeological fieldwork projects.

The first half of the apt title of the book, explained in the Introduction, is drawn from the phrase of Nikos Kazantsakis “Cretan Glance”, which he used to describe “the Cretans’ ability to deal with the present and look to the future – to death even – with acceptance, fortitude, a near insouciance” (19). The second half is from the title of John Urry’s 1990 book Tourists Gaze, in which Urry explores the way in which tourists gaze – often open-mouthed – at the culture of the Other to which they are briefly exposed. “Gaze” in particular, a word that has had an important role in postmodern art history, feminism, social theory, and critical theory, implies the idea that there are asymmetric power (class?) relations between the gazer and the gazed-at subject. As such, the gazer is superior to the object of the gaze, thus tourists in Crete are superior to the pasts created by modern Cretans’ ancestors. This sets the stage for the discussion that follows.

1) I enjoyed both digging up and collecting bits and pieces of glass and metal on the family farm as a kid.
2) From age 10, when my mother purchased the subscription, I regularly read about archaeology in National Geographic (this routine was tempered by my love of fantasy world literatures).
3) Indiana Jones was one of my childhood heroes.

Now it should go without saying that none of these responses, when taken on their own, even comes near to accounting for why I was drawn down the long path (the length of which, of course, varies) to becoming an archaeologist. Far beyond what may have been my other, and diverse, childhood influences — films from Spartacus and Clash of the Titans to Excalibur and Conan, a passing obsession with Dungeons and Dragons, authors of fiction like J.R.R. Tolkien or C.S. Lewis (Michael Shanks once told me that almost half of the undergraduates at the University of Wales Lampeter were drawn to archaeology because of the allure of the fantastical realms created by Tolkien and Lewis), and, of course, the associated backyard battles with my brothers clad in armor fashioned from scraps of plywood, tin roofing and duck tape — one has to account for the wider web of other influences, no matter how standout or subtle, that impacted their formation along the circuitous course to an advanced academic degree in archaeology and beyond. The distance between now and then is tremendous. Still, childhood fascinations count for a great deal — the past was a place of wonderment and imagination.

In retrospect, and given my rural roots in the North American Southeast, the portrayal of the past (whether fact or fiction) and archaeology on television, in magazines and novels had a profound impact. And yet, surprisingly few have chosen to take these fields of cultural production seriously (Finn 2004; Holtorf 2004 and 2007; Lucas 2004; Pearson and Shanks 2001; Shanks 1992; also refer to Michael Shanks on the archaeological imagination).

In his latest book, Archaeology is a Brand!, Cornelius Holtorf asks his readers to hold the almost obligatory negative responses so often tempered with ridicule and scorn by academic archaeologists and to consider the topic of “archaeology in popular culture” with an ‘open mind’ (also see Holtorf 2008). In this, he is neither concerned with past-as-play videogames like Praetorians, the fascination with the fantasy worlds of Avalon and Middle Earth, movies such as Alexander (Cherry 2009(in press)), nor the jousting competition at King Richard’s 16th-century faire. Quite specifically, the book addresses the “meaning” of archaeology as generated in television, movies, literature (both fictional and nonfictional), newspapers, or even National Geographic; all mass media which Holtorf takes to be “popular culture” (though he prefers the term Alltagskultur or “everyday culture” as enrolled by German folklorists (2004, 7-12)). The argument, echoing the sentiments of Gavin Lucas, is that the major allure of archaeology lies more in popular culture than in “any noble vision of improving self –awareness through “historical perspectives”” (Holtorf 2004, 3 after Lucas 2004, 119). Moreover, this fascination, for Holtorf is “rooted in a few key stereotypes and clichés” (2004, 130): 1) the archaeologist as adventurer (also refer to Holtorf's recent Archaeolog entry: Hero! Real archaeology and ”Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull”); 2) the archaeologist as detective; 3) the archaeologist as infallible producer of “profound revelations;” and 4) the archaeologist as heritage steward.

In 1979, TAG was founded to explore interdisciplinary theoretical topics and its relevance to archaeological interpretations. Thirty years later, perhaps it is time to stop and critically evaluate where we are and where we want to go. Thus, to inaugurate a return to TAG’s roots, this plenary session provokes the big question: where are we taking theories about the relationships between people and things?

Archaeology has long developed a distinctive research tradition for understanding the complex relationships of people and things. Dedicated to the ‘study of old things’ by contemporary people, archaeology’s strength and singular contribution lie with developing insights into this fundamental relationship. Attending to the interactions and co-dependencies between people and things is a common enough denominator, as much as a source of division.

Archaeologists tackle this fundamental relationship between people and things from varying perspectives, tagging the components differently, whether as materiality or material culture, objects or things, dialectics or behavior, objectification or mixtures, textual sign or symbolic storage, phenotype or drift. Ultimately, we are all having a conversation about one topic: people and things. Indeed, theorizing, developing practices for recovering, and interpreting the relationship between people and things constitute one of our greatest contributions to other disciplines and one of our appeals to larger society. Drawing upon this long and distinctive research tradition which spans the discipline’s many theoretical camps, this session will assemble a team of scholars from both archaeology and cognate fields for a debate about the future of things.

Amongst others, speakers at the plenary session will include: Steve Shennan, Michael Schiffer, Webb Keane and Rosemary Joyce.

View of the Prambanan complex, October 2000

Websites do not last forever, they are as perishable as any other artefact. Our team discovered this when the website hosted by the National University of Singapore (NUS), set up in connection with the project Dance and the Temple: interpretation and construction of heritage through a virtual site (henceforth ‘Dance and the temple’), was taken down in early 2008 and was lost in cyberspace. We were somewhat shocked, as we had not so secretly been hoping that our website would last forever. However, soon after the initial dismay, the archaeologist in all of us team members kicked in and we decided to recreate the site. Create anew, not reconstruct. We knew it would have to be a different website – to begin with it would be based on wikis and it would be part of the Stanford Humanities Lab portfolio of projects, rather than following the earlier model.

But I am getting ahead of myself here. Let’s have some background. ‘Dance and the temple’ was a project funded by the Getty Research Program from 2000 to 2002, with a generous collaborative grant. Briefly, this was a collaboration between a group academics interested in Javanese art, archaeology, and dance, based at the National University of Singapore, the University of Oxford and the University of Indonesia, and a few other people involved in computer animation, working in London.

The project was, at the time, rather innovative: the idea was to explore the temple site of Prambanan, a 9th century CE complex near the city of Yogyakarta, in Central Java, from an archaeological, art historical, architectural and dance perspective and create a website which would allow a virtual exploration of the site from all these standpoints, simultaneously, relying on computer animation, QuickTime VR and all such new technologies – we are talking about eight to nine years ago, almost centuries in relation to the very fast pace at which technology develops!

The website was duly set up by CASA, NUS, with much fanfare, but then, you know how things go…The whole team disbanded in 2002, soon after the project was completed, no one was there to update the website and eventually NUS took the drastic decision, based on pragmatic considerations, to take it down – what was the point of having an out-of-date website, badly in need of looking after, something no one seemed to be in a position to do, as there were logistic problems?

Now that our project is enjoying a new lease of life on the Metamedia Lab server, some of us former team members have come together again intending to keep the new website going for as long as possible – the use of wikis makes it a much simpler process and it does not matter where all of us are physically located, which was the hurdle in connection with the NUS website.

Scene from Sendratari Ramayana, Prambanan, October 2000

It seems the lesson never sinks in, and many mistakes are doomed to be repeated. In the least, without recourse elsewhere, such concerns, even if they are delayed concerns, may be aired here.

A recent sound bite run by the Wall Street Journal (later picked up as a feature story by Yahoo News), entitled “Load up the Pantry” points out that buying in bulk and storing up food makes good financial sense. Given the current rise in food prices the short article suggests that maybe it is time for Americans to start stockpiling food goods. The reasoning goes as follows.

Foodstuffs, readers are reminded, are tied to a global market. If the price of rice inches up in Cairo, Bangkok or Manila, then it will follow suite in Chicago, Boston or Miami. Moreover, high rice prices will spill over into other goods. Cereal, milk, cheese, bananas, ground beef, chicken; the article emphasized how food inflation is higher than the returns on your money market fund. So, why not take this occasion of rising food prices to explore different investment opportunities? Why not indeed?

On the surface “load up the pantry” seems like a sensible recommendation. However, before everyone piles up their grocery carts, buys a new deep freeze for the pantry or crams rice into the hidden recesses of their closets, there is another side of the story which we must consider. As an archaeologist, I would like to share a scenario about the potential consequences of hoarding food during episodes of ‘scarcity.’

The lesson is one offered by archaeology, well to be more precise, garbology.
From 1973 to 2005 William Rathje ran the Garbage Project out of the University of Arizona where he was a Professor of archaeology. The Garbage Project took a very different approach to the study of consumption. Faithful to a maxim of our current era, ‘what we say we do rarely matches up to what we do,’ the project focused on discard patterns in garbage. You claim to drink only 4 beers a week? You laud your efforts at recycling? Well your trash says otherwise.

As non-destructive geophysical methods become an increasingly popular tool for archaeological investigations for reasons of economy and site preservation, educational programs struggle to incorporate these methods into the standard archaeological curriculum. A large part of this struggle stems from the fact that geophysics is an entirely separate discipline that, like most professions, requires years of training and experience to master. What then should the typical archeologist (who cannot necessarily devote years of additional specialized study) know about geophysics? In the interest of addressing this question, the Brown University Environmental Geophysics Group in cooperation with the Artemis A.W. and Martha Sharpe Joukowsky Institute for Archaeology and the Ancient World, also at Brown, has been working for the past two years to incorporate near surface geophysics into the archaeological curriculum at the university. The developing pedagogical model presented here as a result of this cooperative effort, focuses not on turning budding archaeologists into budding geophysicists, but on training future archaeologist to collaborate more effectively with geophysicists, paving the way for better interdisciplinary research and cultural resource planning. This collaborative teaching effort began with undergraduate students, but is now filtering into the graduate program through a newly developed workshop series.

Image source: The Archaeology of College Hill

The joint endeavor began in 2006, when Professor Susan Alcock, Director of the Joukowsky Institute, invited geophysicists from Brown's Department of Geological Sciences to conduct a non-invasive survey for an undergraduate archaeological field methods course. Dr. Robert Jacob and I conducted the survey early in the fall semester of 2006-07, using two-loop electromagnetic induction and ground penetrating radar methods. We later returned to the field site to conduct a demonstration for the students. Finally, we produced a report that was incorporated into the general site report compiled by the students and course instructors. While we enjoyed the collaboration, and the students seemed interested in our activities, we questioned how much the students actually took away from this type of interaction. Our research group decided that if invited back the following year, an effort would be made to engage students more fully in the process geophysical site assessment.

Philosophers of Technology are not a well established bunch. While they form even less of a ‘tradition’ of study in Europe, they do take their earliest progenitor to be the Continental thinker Martin Heidegger (Achterhuis 2001; Ihde 1983, 2005). It seems strange that thinking carefully about what stake technologies have in society should not have found earlier impetus. After all, tool-making has up until recently been synonymous with being human (classic summary in Mumford 1967). And as early as Plato, technological devices figured prominently in lessons on the ‘good life’, involving the role of techne (esp. in the Republic VII). The major reason appears to be that philosophy, no less than science, has on the whole been swept up with the instrumentalist rendering of technology; as the application side of scientific R and D (Scharff and Dusek 2003:3-6). The predominance of an analytic tradition in the UK and North America meant that technology fell through the cracks between epistemology and ethics, between how knowledge is obtained and how it should be used. Even the Continental tradition remained cast in Comte’s persuasive model of technology as applied science; though many had turned sour on Comte’s optimistic technoutopianism (Comte 1988).

This is why, in his characteristic irreverence, Heidegger bypasses well worn metaphysical trails and goes straight for the essence of technology (Harman 2007). (Well, ‘straight’ is definitely a matter of opinion given Heidegger’s abstruse writing.) He prompted us with the question of what is it to be in the midst of all of our technological doings (Heidegger 1977). Similar to Marx putting technology at center stage, yet developing neither a strong technological determinism nor a societal determination of technology, Heidegger’s character of technology is ambivalent. There is a mix of optimism and pessimism. There is the contrast between craftwork and modern, technologically assisted labour. In this romantic view, ‘traditional’ crafts gather together humans and nonhumans into meaningful activities. Borgman (1984:196) aptly terms these ‘events’ of craftwork focal things. Heidegger’s early discussion in Being and Time doesn’t, however, give us much to extrapolate from to our own modern, technologically immersed environments; who even has a jug laying about? When he expands his consideration of technological things in his later, famous essay, he does provide more contemporary examples of how modern technology turns everything to stone, so to speak (1977). Technology serves a cultural way of being that wills humans and things to be ‘standing reserves’, or causes, for manipulable ends (Feenberg 1999:183-4). This is technology as enframing, and contrary to craftwork this type of being with technology closes-down our insight into, or awareness of, the world around us. We will degenerate through this relation with technology into narcissistic controllers, hung up on the power of our subjectivity. I think there are interesting implications in Heidegger’s pessimistic depiction of technology which could usefully be expanded to the reign of ‘social' constructivism in the academy (Webmoor and Witmore 2008), as well as to pressing environmental and economic problems (these latter courses have, in fact, been suggestively pursued by ‘Deep Ecologists’ and ‘Buddhist Economists’; Naess 1973, Schumacher 1989).

I want to keep with thinking about technology, though, in view of our own dealings with new technology, and, specifically, the emergent role of new media for archaeologists. In fact, in view of what’s before your ‘window’ right now. Archaeolog has reached the milestone post of 100 contributions. This seems to be a most opportune time to reflect a bit on what sort of technology archaeolog is as a form of e-publication. Like Heidegger’s successors in the Philosophy of Technology, emergent digital media in archaeology is a relatively new phenomenon; its practitioners and ideas concerning its roles unconsolidated. It is an exciting time. Yet it is important to anticipate where mediǟrchaeology will go. We certainly have valuable signposts from both Heideggerian and reflexive archaeologists to encourage trailblazing these questions. So, do the mantras of ‘user generated’ and ‘user customization’ associated with new media really limn the narcissistic degeneration and auto-absorption that Heidegger pessimistically ascribed to modern technologies? Does it enframe in ‘Microsoft windows’ our relations with each other?; will we be left with virtual ‘de-worlds’? Or should we look to Heidegger’s later thought (1966) where he suggests that through a passive revolution we can attain a more positive, ‘free relation’ to technology? A relationship of distance which “will become wonderfully simple and relaxed” (1966:54). Later work in the Philosophy of Technology, especially that focused upon computing and internet technologies (Dreyfus 1979, 1999; Heim 1997; McCluhan 1966), seems to have incorporated Heidegger’s mixed message and oriented for a destination off-the-map combining ancient skepticism, Enlightenment optimism, and Romantic uneasiness (Mitcham 1990:32-33). E-publication in archaeology, and blogging more generally, has received just such a sort of mixed assessments.

Digital technologies are changing the nature of scholarship. Far from an exception, archaeology too is changing. It may be that archaeology is traditionally thought of as a 'down and dirty' profession, done 'out there' in the field, the popular/public image of an archaeologist-at-work - we even like this conception of the 'rude scholar', equally at home before a bookshelf or a mountain. At the same time it is a discipline with a particular history of technophilia. For a set of closely related reasons (epistemological and ontological), it is especially beholden to technological desires. Why? By some accounts bridging the gap of 'record' to generalization, technology, specifically the tried-and-true instruments of technoscience, were to assure the objectivity of 'second order observations'. The complex - 'polysemous' and rich - quality of archaeological materials could be transformed through instruments' reproducible procedures into 'data'. They were neutral devices. We can count with/on them. Most often this technology visualizes the results of such algorithmic alchemy.

Indeed, archaeology has also been one of the leading fields in conveying the 'stuff' of the archaeological site and landscape in visual form. More than most disciplines, archaeologists have been at the forefront of developing and strategically deploying and thinking about visual media. For the discipline, visual media serve as 'stand-fors' the vestiges of the past. From GIS maps and query databases to stratigraphic profiles and artifact sketches to obsidian hydration composition graphs to photogrammetry, site and feature photographs and theodolite maps, little of archaeology can be conveyed or argued without visual media. This is particularly so with a discipline that records as it irrevocably transforms through archaeological excavation and survey. Often all that remains at hand are our visual media. These become the guarantors of what was once 'out there'; the anchors to what we say. Unfortunately, archaeologists too often restrict their usage and familiarization with visualization to GIS or 3-D 'fly-throughs'.

This legacy, perhaps more prominent in North America and the U.K., brings us to the current 'new' technologies of digital media. Some Archaeology and Media type readers are becoming available to archaeologists. Most of these books on media tend to have anachronistic arguments. Perhaps for reasons of 'viability' in the publishing world, or because of the still strong influence in Britain and the States of viewing media not in its technical capacities but as a powerful mechanism of the culture industry's status quo. Asked about media and quite a few colleagues would talk about popular reception in mainstream media, the role of television and radio(?!). Some are still stubbornly instrumentalist, especially in their view of GIS, AutoCAD and VR applications.

This is not (yet) a media manifesto for the discipline.
We do believe that the digital turn in both society and the discipline holds promises for increased public interest and engagement. Not simply through the limited (old Web 1.0) idea of internet 'access', but through the emergent Web >2.0 platform enabled actions of: user-generated content, mixing, mashups, database proliferation, etc. Yet it also may threaten the 'boundaries' of the discipline through the dispersion of archaeological information across vast networks not beholden to peer-review or other established measures of quality and accuracy.

More conference proceedings - particularly at WACs and TAGs and CHATs - cull papers on new media and other internet based technologies. There is the estimate that a new blog is born every 1/2 second on the internet; a good number (see Witmore's March 1, 2006 entry) dedicated to archaeology. No project has yet been entirely devoted to the issue of the increasing ubiquity and convergence of digital media in society and its demonstrable impact upon archaeology. So in the setting of an on-line journal dedicated to archaeology, it seems an appropriate time to look at some of these new media in detail - with the features and interactivity that only a blog such as Archaeolog can provide. So in this initial installment, we are going to hold a discussion about SecondLife.

Interest and use of this on-line gaming-cum-social-network phenomenon in archaeology is emerging. Some of this interest has been shared already on Archaeolog (see Tringham's November 19, 2007 entry). Metamedia and Stanford Humanities Lab also collaborated early on with new media artist Lynn Hershmann to explore how to animate archives - link. Not just a game for an isolated group of bug-eyed, monitor masochistic techies, SecondLife brings up many salient issues for archaeology: what is the nature of representation; what is accuracy versus imaginative dissonance; how do we get people to commit to visualized information; is the partially immersive the way forward for World Wide Web 3.0; how do we engage differently with digital heritage; what is remixing and co-creation of the past? To illumine many of these concerns for the future of the past, we sat down with Torin Golding, the avatar of the creator and manager of one of the earliest and largest archaeological sites in SecondLife (SL). In the first part of this discussion we will simply highlight some of the parameters for understanding the buzz around SL; present some demographics and other facts. To really get the detail, an ethnography of digital culture would be requisite (for a partial account see Coming of Age in Second Life: An Anthropologist Explores the Virtually Human by T. Boellstorf). For now we will give SL in broad-strokes and hope that most users of Archaeolog are somewhat familiar with the avatar world. For those unfamiliar or who have just wandered aimlessly a bit, Torin Golding's experience of getting started will provide a field guide of sorts. The next part (1.2) of the discussion will get at the practicalities of running an archaeological island in SL, as well as frame the pressing issues relating to the digital futures of the past.

YouTube of ROMA

A growing number of recent studies seek new ways to engage with landscapes (see references). The Carrlands Project (www.carrlands.org.uk) fits aptly into this category as it explores the complexity of the Carrs in southeastern England through the combination of music, dialogue, and composed sound recordings. The format of this presentation is a website that hosts a series of 12 recordings divided among three specific portions of the Carrlands: Snitterby Carrs, Hibaldstow Carrs and Horkstow Carrs. Each recording is approximately 15 minutes long, treating the ‘historical,’ ‘cultural’ and ‘physical’ variations that make up this diverse region. The creators (Mike P. Pearson, John Hardy and Hugh Fowler) encourage users either to bring the recordings with them to the Carrs to enhance the interactivity of their engagement, or to listen to the audio clips at a distance, embracing the message of complexity inherent within them. This reviewer listened from his office in Providence, Rhode Island. I paid particular attention to the dominant themes that arise out of the scripted narrations and musical compositions that accompany the journey through the flat, marshy, industrial and agricultural terrain.

An ancient architectural fragment from the Erechtheion on the Acropolis with an 1805 inscription in Ottoman Arabic (Photo by Fotis Ifantidis; cf. Paton 1927: 7-72; Hamilakis 2007: 98-99).

During the course of a series of studies on the social and political lives of ruins in Greece (cf. Hamilakis 2007), I was, inevitably, often drawn on the most iconic specimen of Greek national imagination, the Athenian Acropolis. I thus soon became aware of two facts: the first is that most tourist guides and official presentations to the site still present to the nearly 2 million visitors per year a sanitized image, a partial, monumentalized façade of only one aspect of the rich social biography of the monument: a version of its classic life, broadly defined. The site was important before classical times, and it continued to be important subsequently, up to the present. Yet, very little of that richness reaches the visitors. Moreover, the site continues to be projected exclusively as a sight, a staged authenticity that is offered to the visitors for almost exclusively visual consumption and admiration. I have elsewhere explored this phenomenon by pointing to this ocularcentric monumentalisation as the outcome of the combined efforts of the photographic and the archaeological (Hamilakis 2001, 2008).

In summer of 2006 I left my job working for Brown University's Haffenreffer Museum of Anthropology to participate in a project in Iraq investigating mass graves for the Iraqi High Tribunal. My primary duty was analyzing "cultural objects" found in the graves of genocide victims. These objects included ballistic evidence, personal effects, and clothing. Clothing offered a particularly interesting window into the lives of the victims, revealing ethnic identity, gender, manner of death and more. Collectively and individually, clothing made a compelling line of evidence for telling the story of crimes against humanity.

Bogolan (mud cloth): This bogolanfini wrapper, formerly on display at a Haffenreffer Museum textiles exhibit, was produced in Mali by Kouraba Diarra and Field Collected by Claire Grace. Photo Courtesy of the Haffenreffer Museum of Anthropology, Brown University.

Bogolan

I never had much interest in textiles as a category of material culture. Despite this, I found myself learning quite a bit about them. I had enrolled in a graduate seminar on museum studies during my senior year at Brown University. The course focused on developing an exhibit to be displayed in a new satellite gallery of Brown's anthropology museum. Much to my dismay, the course instructors had already decided that the exhibit would focus primarily on textiles. I wanted to gain some museum experience, so decided to continue with the course despite of my lack of interest in textiles. Ultimately, my contribution to the exhibit focused on pre-Columbian textiles from Peru and Bolivia. I considered myself to be more of an archaeologist than an ethnographer, so working with ancient textiles held more interest for me than working with some of the contemporary pieces in the museum’s collection. This was my way around the textile dilemma. After all, my curatorial contribution to the exhibit was archaeological: no touchy-feely interpretations of contemporary clothing here. I worked hard on my contribution to the exhibit, then washed my hands of the whole business of textiles, vowing never to turn back.

The Oxford English Dictionary (2008) defines time as a "space" or "extent of existence" and "the interval between two successive events or acts." Timelines exemplify this definition. Entrenched methods of representing time's passage, they assign social meaning as "history." When we come across one in a book, exhibit, or presentation, we comprehend its string of dated moments and selective illustrations. Timelines are interdisciplinary and ubiquitous. Their superficial simplicity makes them a popular method of mediating engagement with the past and distilling complex processes for public consumption. Even when authorship is unclear, authority is implicit and strong. Imagining the between spaces, the elided events and edited convolutions, takes some effort. Or an intervention.

A timeline of city history is part of the décor of my home subway station, Davis Square on the Red Line in Somerville, Massachusetts. The station was completed in 1984, and most of its interior dates from that time. Structural elements are raw concrete, sheet aluminum, and dark purple-brown brick. The public art program at the station is conspicuously disjointed. Drawings by elementary school children have been transformed into ceramic wall tiles. Casabianca by Elizabeth Bishop is carved discreetly into the bricks of the platform floor. A collection of giant geometric shapes, splashed in now-murky primary colors, stretches above the inbound platform. The collage may or may not spell out "Davis."

The Internet must be seen as a social phenomenon and its spatial properties should be critically interrogated... Our cultural archaeological production is today implicated in the discourses and contestations of identity, social roles and representations, in new ways, through new media and within new spatial configurations. If archaeologists are to play an active role in the process, and thereby come closer to disciplinary maturity, then we have to understand these processes and their position in the new cyber-order.
(Hamilakis, 2000: 257)

Since 2003 a team composed of a variety of professionals connected with the Landscape Archaeology Laboratory of the Padre Sarmiento Institute for Galician Studies (CSIC-Xuga) in Santiago de Compostela (Galicia, Spain) have been working on the archaeological site of Castros de Neixón - two hillforts located in a small peninsula in one of the Galician rias. In step with this project, an international work camp for young people aged 18 to 30 has been set up. The project has several broad aims: the recovery of the cultural heritage of this area; the design of and display of cultural materials in the Archaeology Center of Barbanza (open to the public since 2002); the promotion of the archaeological area of Neixón as a tourist attraction, and the communication of the scientific knowledge produced by our research to both local communities and society at large.

The project's logo ("Neixón" in Galician is pronounced like "nation" in English)

Scientific interdisciplinarity, work by volunteers in the international work camp, and local involvement constitute the three main pillars of the Arqueoneixón project (Ayán et al. 2007). These mainstays provide the basis for a scientific project that, despite having been designed in an academic context, seeks to permeate the social, economic, cultural and symbolic fabrics of the archaeological area of Neixón.