Liminal Praxis: Archaeological Illustration, Incorporation of Technology, and Archaeological Subjectivity

Lincoln Macy

December 2022

I. Getting Started: Introduction to Praxis and Theory

I turn the artifact over in my hands; it’s a small rattle, charmingly shaped like a pig, though the clay beads that once rested inside of its belly fell out long ago.

The museum staffer told me that it has been mishandled in the past, and the cracks—she gently traces the thin lines across the pig’s body— show how it had broken and been carefully reassembled. Through the cotton gloves, I can feel the texture of the clay, the slight bow and swell of the pig’s back, and small shifts in the form I can’t see with my eye. I find myself thinking of the person, or people (this might have been a gift), who made and used this rattle, thousands of years ago. I think about a million similar rattles and toys still used by children today. I smell something faint, earthen, and think of the ground the artifact rested in, the olive field in southern Italy that this pig called home for so long.

Taking the wooden ruler, I sigh, lamenting the lack of digital calipers, and begin to measure. I settle into a rhythm; measure the points on the artifact, and mark them on the paper with my pencil. Measure, mark, measure, mark. A constellation of points begins to emerge, outlining the main features of the artifact. I retrace the bows and dips of the pig’s back, the cracks, and the shifts in texture; but there is so much. The sheer enormity of the information the artifact provides is staggering, forcing me to scale back, be selective, and engage my sense of what is and is not important to render. I have already begun to undertake the actual work, the praxis, of archaeological illustration.

Archaeological illustration has maintained unique importance within the context of the extensive incorporation of digital, often automated, record-keeping technologies in a wide variety of disciplines, such as architecture (Fakhry, Kamel, and Abdelaal 2021) and the life sciences (Chabrier and Janke 2018). However, archaeological illustrators have too made use of emerging technologies and continue to negotiate its incorporation even as technology is sometimes situated in opposition to their work. Archaeological illustration, specifically artifact illustration, is not “fine art,” as Donna Walker stressed.1 These technical illustrations are meant to convey information and data, as well as make meaning of the objects and spaces they illustrate. It is one conservational and recording technique, in concert with many others, which archaeologists use to deepen their knowledge of sites, contexts, and the artifacts within them; these techniques not only record data but enable archaeologists to generate knowledge. The role of the archaeological illustrator is not to blindly copy or claim absolute objectivity; the praxis of such work is deliberate, selective examination of the details of artifacts and contribution to archaeological discourse surrounding said artifact (its context, similar or different items, and so on).

Praxis here is conceptualized as the process of forming knowledge through the work of archaeological illustration, especially its sensorial component, which is inextricably tied to the use of and engagement with technology. In my theoretical understanding, I draw from Paulo Freire, John Dewey, and broader Marxist pedagogy, which term “praxis as the unity of theory and practical activity” (Wainwright 2022).2 Freire, in particular, poses a definition that I find especially useful when conceptualizing archaeological praxis: “intentional, reflective, meaningful activity situated within dynamic historical and cultural contexts that shape and set limits on that activity” (Glass 2001).

This understanding of praxis became increasingly central, especially as I attempted to situate my research within an ongoing disciplinary dialectic between processual and post-processual archaeological theory; this dialogue itself is deeply connected to the liminal space of archaeology between historical conceptions of the nature of anthropology (and other social sciences) and so-called “hard” science, and their relationships to multitudinous conceptions of objectivity and subjectivity. These tensions repeatedly asserted themselves in the disciplinary aims, technology use (or lack thereof), and self-understandings archaeological illustrators, and others, held regarding their work. Archaeological illustrators find themselves mediators in this oppositional framework.

II. How and Where To Begin: Methods, Challenges, and Theory

In this research, I chose artifact illustration, one form of archaeological illustration, as the subject of my work; it is a relatively accessible disciplinary site where I can begin to map the ways archaeological illustrators engage in and navigate conceptions of praxis, such as it is. The number of artifact illustrators, personal access to artifacts compared to sites (and thus cartography and site planning, and my ability to perform self-tracking), and the liminality of artifact illustration as a process between subjective and objective, all served as compelling reasons for such specificity. Going forward, when I refer to archaeological illustrators, their process, and their experience, I am always doing so in the context of their artifact illustration work.

I took two central approaches to gathering information, supplemented by consulting previous research on the subject and various archaeological technique manuals.

The first, and primary method, was semi-structured interviews. I interviewed five illustrators from Canada, the U.S., Ireland, and the U.K. I was, and in some respects still am, concerned about the diversity of my research population, both in terms of socio-cultural influences on illustrative processes and the geographic extent of artifacts illustrated. The first is something that deserves more comprehensive research but was ultimately beyond the scope of this work. The latter was addressed as the archaeological illustrators I interviewed, both men and women, have and continue to work across the world, including North America, South America, Europe, and the Middle East. All interviews, bar one, were done through video, on zoom.3

I experienced initial challenges in getting access to archaeological illustrators; this is largely because of the nature of the disciplinary organization, or lack thereof.4 Archaeological illustrators work freelance and in graphics divisions within archaeology firms, though the latter are rare. To my knowledge, all the illustrators I interviewed worked freelance at the time of this research, though some had been in graphics departments previously. This lack of a disciplinary superstructure (and therefore a good degree of variability between work environments and associated pressures)5 also complicated my lines of inquiry; eventually, I decided on a semi-structured approach, where I tailored general questions to the experience of illustrators as they described it. However, making broad claims about the discipline is incongruous with the highly individualized nature of the work, such as it is; to compensate for this, I used the Aide Mémoire Project, which observed and interviewed a much higher volume of illustrators, as well as discussions in my interviews about previous work experience, in the disciplinary contextualization of my findings.

I modified my questions over time, especially after the first two interviews; I zeroed in on the importance of the sensory experience of the illustrator and combined that with questions about technology within their workflow. I had various illustrators walk me through their process, and comment on how and when they used technology at different stages. I also asked several questions about the field at large, to see if I could sus out some trends and changes in the field, as all but one of the people I interviewed had been in the discipline for nearly two decades. Finally, I asked the illustrators why it mattered and what they hoped to achieve in their work.

The second part of my research strategy was self-observation as I did archaeological illustration; however, due to catching COVID-19 and subsequent fatigue episodes, this process was delayed and then left partially incomplete, though this in itself provided significant insights into how technology’s affordances did and did not meet my aims and needs as an illustrator. I am currently unable to include the sketches and inks as per the initial request of the museum that they not be published, though this may be renegotiated in the future. In lieu of the illustrations, I have added images of the artifacts in question: an oil lamp, with an illustration of a dog, as well as a pig-shaped rattle.6 In any future studies, I would like to choose artifacts of variable materials and sizes so I might better compare and contrast how the minutiae of sensory experience and archaeological illustration relate to the size and material of artifacts. As it stands, these two artifacts, and their variable complexity in detail, served as a good entry into the praxis of archaeological illustration.

Throughout my analysis of digital and traditional techniques, the ways they were used by illustrators, and of both within archaeological epistemological frameworks, the intersection of William Caraher’s “slow archaeology” (William Caraher 2016) and James Gibson’s concept of affordances (James J. Gibson 1986), such as it has been applied to digital mediums, formed a theoretical matrix in which I could situate my results. Caraher’s “slow archaeology” asks us not only how we want to do archaeology, but why we do archaeology, and what role “efficiency” and increasing acceleration of archaeological work play. He rejects the increasing push towards optimization and acceleration of archaeology, facilitated through wanton use of technology, and the aim of “objectivity” often invoked as justification for these processes. On this last point, Caraher also situates his disciplinary and praxis-centered theories, as I link my research, to the larger dialogue between processual and post-processual archaeologists. This dialogue explicitly engages multitudinous conceptions of objectivity and subjectivity in archaeological praxis and subsequent disciplinary goals.7

The affordances of technology and its effects on archaeological praxis (and its state as an inherently subjective discursive exercise) are often overlooked; as one illustrator remarked, often technology was and is used simply because it is available, and not because it provided something unique and new to the archaeological process. They described the introduction of GIS mapping systems in graduate school: “I think technology is… it shouldn’t be the end product of our research. Even when I was studying […] when GIS system became popular, everyone was using GIS for their site, even when there was no need to do it […] because it was cool,” not because it facilitated more depth of knowledge when “doing your job, which is to interpret your site.” Moreover, the effects of technology’s affordances of archaeological praxis are minimized due to the perception of technology as an epistemologically neutral tool, rather than something which epitomizes the priorities of its engineers and users, as it constructs specific modes of knowledge.8

In conjunction with the above frameworks, The Aide Mémoire project, which is a several-year-long comprehensive study of the experiences of archaeological illustrators specifically in regard to their use of technology, as well as the affordances of archaeological illustration as a discipline, asks adjacent questions to this research, and informed my interpretation of interviews and my own experience; it found that “Drawing, as shown by this research, is central to archaeological knowledge construction” (Morgan et al. 2021, 14.) The Aide Mémoire project, along with concerns of digital data longevity connected to the central preservative and archival aspects of archaeology, challenges conceptions of the discipline as one which aims for “truth”, and instead proposes archaeology as a discipline that ought to engage in critical thinking, complicate historical narratives, and embrace critical subjectivity. This has been echoed in other scholarship on the subject, including Caraher’s (Gardner 2017; Caraher 2016, 432; Perry 2014). This and adjacent work informed much of my understanding of archaeological illustration’s delicate mediation between subjectivity and objectivity, which many illustrators spoke about at length, and its implications in a disciplinary and global context.

III. What Does It All Mean: Results and Discussion

Many archaeological illustrators had selectively incorporated digital illustration technology into their workflow, as well as other forms of technology such as photography, photogrammetry (in the case of site planning), and 3D scanning. Additionally, Ms. Walker, Ms. Ross, and other illustrators mentioned that portable technologies such as iPads and other tablets allowed digital illustration and more extensive finds photography to become possible on-site. The affordances of digital technology, as used by archaeological illustrators, were not static, and the evolution of their affordances to better suit the aims of illustrators correlated with their incorporation into the field. This challenges broader narratives that technology is “taking over” illustrative fields; instead, technology is being selectively incorporated by illustrators into the field. The dynamics of power between creative specialists and accelerating technology are mediated through the negotiation of needs and affordances, respectively; technology provides new means for archaeological illustrators, but it also demands “a whole other set of skills” and self-criticality on the part of the illustrator.

One component of this selective incorporation was the sensory experience of using digital mediums. Many illustrators spoke of this unprompted; Ms. Ross, who did her sketches traditionally but had transitioned to digital inking, mentioned that what initially provoked her to switch to digital inking was the development of drawing tablets and software which allowed it to emulate the sense-experience of traditional illustration. Many, though not all, of the illustrators I interviewed echoed this sentiment when discussing the sketching (traditional) and inking (digital) phases of their work. I also experienced this when exploring digital inking, after completing a traditional sketch; I worked with two drawing tablets: a Wacom Intuos, a simple drawing tablet, and an XP-Pen Artist 12, which had a screen that allowed me to draw directly onto the surface. While the former was more portable, the latter felt far more intuitive and allowed me to continue my illustrative process more or less seamlessly. The affordances of traditional and digital technologies and methods, in this case, aligned more closely, facilitating their synchronous use. Digital illustration software also affords the ability to make major and minute changes to lines, in thickness and placement; this, and other functions of digital illustration software and hardware, facilitate archaeological illustrators to enhance their insights and knowledge-making processes. Unlike during the sketching phase--where reflection, critical examination of the artifact, and selectivity of detail are critical in forming the artifact illustration and enhanced by the slowing affordances of traditional mediums-- for many illustrators, the inking phase’s aims are better afforded by the acceleration digital mediums provide.9

However, as digital software and hardware became more ubiquitous, it had two effects on the discipline from the illustrators’ perspectives. It made archaeology more accessible, but it also forced the definitions and expectations of archaeological illustration to expand. Archaeological illustrators are now expected to be able to handle IT work, such as report design, media posts, and so on, as well as technical illustration and graphic work. Elizabeth Gardner expressed her frustration: “It’s also that element of ‘Oh the graphics, they use computers all the time, they know what they’re doing, they can do it.’ And it’s ‘I don’t want to know about it.’” This can make illustrators feel alienated from the other aspects of the archaeological process, and team, which can compromise archaeological findings, as multiple illustrators mentioned that working closely with finds specialists increased mutual understanding of the artifacts, the site, and their position in larger bodies of research (Morgan et al. 2021; Elizabeth Gardner 2017). Additionally, the technology carries an expectation of acceleration that borders on automatization on the part of commissioners; Ms. Ross noticed that, as she transitioned to digital inking, the demands of those she drew for became more onerous and extensive. “I think people think about it [pause] less seriously. They think everything should just be magic and fast.” “This technological side of things almost makes people—whereas I think before they would get a pencil drawing, and they’d be like [gestures holding a paper delicately, reverently] ‘oh my goodness, yes,’ and put it in a locked cabinet. […] I feel like people don’t take it as seriously.”

Illustrators are giving artifacts a “second life.” Archaeological illustrators subjectively generate understandings of ephemeral artifacts, artifacts that cannot be transported, scanned, or otherwise shared due to their fragility and age. In doing so, the archaeological illustrators alter this fundamental ephemeral character of the artifacts, and engage in work that is not only creative but transformative. Considering Gibson’s concept of affordances, different illustrative mediums, both digital and traditional, afford different but not incongruent generative processes. In this way, archaeological illustrators enhance the diversity of archaeological knowledge. However, the perspective on technological use sometimes conflicts with the increasingly accelerated pace and processual demands for “objectivity” within the field, especially in the context of commercial archaeology, which has always had to contend with limited time at every step in the process and is more keenly affected by capitalist ontologies concerning (over)work, optimization, and reduction of variability.

As such, archaeology occupies a kind of disciplinary liminality. Premised on a distinctly western conception of science and technology as objective, archaeology, as a discipline that is both social and scientific, is a site of tension between objectivity and subjectivity, such as they exist within the processual-post processual dialectic. Critics of archaeological illustration (Gilboa et al. 2013) offer algorithmic 3D-rendering, among other technological systems, as ways to speed up and replace what they perceive as outdated, “unscientific” modes of recording, premised, once again, on technology as neutral and conflate technological representations with notions of penultimate “accuracy.” Archaeological illustrators are the dramatis-personae who wade through these narrative and ontological discourses; they are interlocutors of disciplinary expectations. One of the interviewees encapsulated this balance: “As an archaeological illustrator I strive to produce accurate and objective drawings, but more than this, to think critically about what I am being asked to draw, and […] question any assumptions that might be being made by those that are commissioning the drawings.”

The increasing incorporation of digital technologies into archaeological illustration, therefore, is two-fold; it is both from inertial forces from largely commercial archaeology at large, which pushes speed, “objectivity,” and increasingly broad skill sets, as well as internal desires among archaeological illustrators to develop their illustrative process and experiment with the unique experiences digital illustration affords, creating polyvocal, self-critical subjectivities.

IV. The End, But Not Really: Conclusions

Digital technologies hold unique affordances in reference to archaeological illustration’s praxis, and these affordances are neither total nor negligent. They allow for new insights into the archaeological recording process, have made the discipline at large more accessible, and allow for these more diverse forms of archaeological information to be more easily shared amongst and beyond archaeologists in unique and innovative ways.10 Additionally, by employing both digital and traditional techniques, archaeological illustrators are able to enhance the plurality of the archaeological archive, which in more recent history has been a way to trace subaltern histories and diversify scholarship and broad understandings of both the past and present. At the same time, archaeological illustrators must contend with the larger disciplinary expectations in which they work, especially those of commercial archaeology, which, in keeping with modern capitalist frameworks, prioritize optimizing time, money, and procedures, often at the cost of informational plurality and the integrity of archaeological praxis.11

1 You can find Ms. Walker’s work, both as an archaeological illustrator and educator, at her website: www.walkerillustrations.blog.

2 For a more complex examination of Marxist praxis as it pertains to archaeology, refer to “Probing Praxis in Archaeology: The Last Eighty Years” by Randall H. McGuire, Maria O’Donovan, and LouAnn Wurst. Additionally, Dewey and Freire’s conceptions of praxis are respectively progressive and revolutionary, and so differ in certain respects; however, both hold fundamentally similar conceptions of praxis as a conscious, engaged practice that is in constant reflexive engagement with the historical, political, and cultural world(s) around it.

3 The one illustrator whom I did not interview through zoom responded to the questions in a word document.

4 A digression: in the U.K., the Chartered Institute for Archaeologists has a special interest group for archaeological illustrators and a list of its many members. Through this, I found three of the five interviewees. However, this organization is unique and is an exception that proves the proverbial rule.

5 This does not mean there are no disciplinary conventions or guidelines on archaeological illustration procedurally; there are standard conventions (ex., upper-right light source, specific modes of rendering dependent on the artifact material, and so on). These disciplinary standards made a comparison between, and aggregation of, interview material from several illustrators possible.

6 For images of the “Lamp with Dog”: Unknown (Roman) and Roman; Carthaginian, Lamp with Dog, n.d., terracotta, 10 cm long; 2.5 cm high, n.d., Museum of Classical Antiquities, University of Ottawa, https://biblio.uottawa.ca/omeka1/museumclassicalantiquities/items/show/357.

7 For a breakdown of the processual-post processual dialectic, as well as other aspects of Archaeological theory, refer to “Global Archaeological Theory: Contextual Voices and Contemporary Thoughts” by Pedro Paulo Funari, Andrés Zarankin, and Emily Stovel.

8 Colin Koopman’s theoretical framework of fastening technology (and its dual tethering and accelerating qualities) may prove a helpful framework to understand this phenomenon, should it be examined in a more comprehensive study on how technology has and is changing the knowledge(s) that modern archaeological scholarship is producing. In addition to humans being tethered by technology, the increasingly expansive use of technology by humans tethers sites, artifacts, and historical genealogies, pulling from Foucault’s conception of the term. Koopman’s insights into popular understandings of informational technologies as static is also of note, especially as archaeological illustrators challenge these conceptions through their selective usage of such technology precisely because of its changing affordances and soft/hardware infrastructure.

9 Another significant aspect of this was how extensive handling of artifacts on the part of illustrators also contributed to knowledge-making in archaeology, and how overuse of 3D rendering and other automative technology would compromise this. I have chosen to cut this analysis in part because this was the Aide Mémoire Project’s primary analysis and was thoroughly outlined along multiple axes in that work. “Mobile Computing in Archaeology: Exploring and Interpreting Current Practices” by Jody Michael Gordon, Erin Walcek Averett, and Derek B. Counts is another great work on the subject in archaeology more broadly.

10 One such example is 3D printing of artifact scans; both the University of Ottawa Museum of Classical Antiquities and Elizabeth Gardner have been involved in such approaches, which allow for easier replication of artifacts that more people can handle.

11 In further scholarship, I hope to explore broader disciplinary archaeological praxis and how it is negotiated both within the discipline and in broader capitalist society.