Review article
Contemporary art and
archaeology: reflections on a
relationship
Renfrew, Colin. Figuring it out: the parallel
visions of artists and archaeologists. 224 pp.,
plates, illus., bibliogr. London: Thames &
Hudson, 2003. £32.00 (cloth)
In the spring of , the British Museum held an
extra-ordinary and unusual exhibition: an installation
by the Benin-based artist Romuald Hazoumé,
mounted as part of the commemorations for the
th anniversary of the British Parliamentary Act for
the abolition of the transatlantic slave trade. The
work, ‘La Bouche du Roi’, which was produced by the
artist between and , takes as its starting-point
a woodcut prepared for the anti-slavery
campaigner Thomas Clarkson; the woodcut shows the
cross-section of a slave ship, filled with human bodies
arranged in rows, layer upon layer, and covering every
possible available space. As you enter room of the
rotunda building in the Great Court of the Museum,
you see this woodcut exhibited in the foyer, together
with a video showing the artist talking about this
work. But it is upon entering the main exhibition
room that a shocking experience awaits you. On the
floor, arranged much like human bodies, or rather
corpses, there are cut-out plastic petrol cans (the
artist’s favourite material), or ‘masks’, as the artist
prefers to see them: he retained the top part of the can
with its ‘mouth’ and its handle or ‘arm’, and he
arranged them in rows, following the plan of a slave
ship, much like the bodies in the eighteenth-century
woodcut. Some masks have around their arms
bracelets of beads, some little wooden statuettes, some
are painted, some carry feathers. Amongst the cans, in
the place where the masts of the ship would have
been, there are three assemblages of upstanding empty
green bottles of gin; there are two more rows of
bottles lying on their side, a gun, bowls of cowrie
shells and beads, spices, tobacco leaves, textiles,
mirrors. At the back end of the ‘ship’ there are two
elaborately decorated masks, one yellow and one
black, and a small scale in between them. From
underneath the layer of masks, as if it was coming
from the mouths of the cans, you hear voices, laments,
singing. On a previous exhibition of this work at a
Houston Museum, the visitor could have also sensed
the odour of spices and tobacco, but also of humans
packed forcefully like sardines: sweat, urine, and other
bodily odours. In front of the installation at the
British Museum a film by the artist is projected,
showing motorcyclists modifying, with the help of
fire, plastic petrol cans (to enlarge them and thus
increase their capacity) like the ones used by the artist;
these cans are then often used to transport oil illegally
between Nigeria and the Republic of Benin.
This is much more than an art installation; it is a
cenotaph or, better, a mass grave; it is a disturbing
encounter with history, with slavery and colonialism,
but also with neo-colonialism and human greed and
exploitation today. The artist wants to see plastic cans,
worked to their limit by the oil traffickers, as the slaves
of the past but also as the exploited and weak people
of the present day. His yellow and black masks stand
for specific historical personalities: the yellow for the
white ruler who was imposed on Benin by the French
in the s, and the black for the king of Benin. His
indictment is not only of the Western colonialists, but
also of the Africans who consented to and
collaborated in slavery. In a museum which has been
for far too long the embodiment of colonial desire, the
materialization of the grip that objects hold on people
(Gosden ), this subversive work makes a powerful
and evocative intervention. The objects in this case are
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740 Review article
not the high art collected by British and other Western
connoisseurs, but the humble discarded objects that
operate here not as metaphors of people, but as real
bodies, real people, with mouths and arms, with
voices, with bodily secretions. Discarded, modified,
and re-used plastic cans, alcohol, tobacco, spices, oil;
the whole history of colonialism, the contemporary
history of neo-colonialism, could be written as a
history of these objects and substances.
This installation can be seen as a framework
through which to reread and rethink the ideas
contained in Renfrew’s book. Those who follow
developments in contemporary archaeology will not
be surprised to see a book exploring such a theme;
other similar studies have appeared in the last few
years, and a number of field archaeological projects
have established collaborations with contemporary
artists, inviting them to comment, through their work,
on the process of excavation, or on the material
archaeological past (cf. the studies in Brodie & Hills
). Renfrew, however, must be credited for being at
the forefront of this trend, and one of the first to
point out the fruitfulness of such collaboration.
Through his initiatives as Master of Jesus College
Cambridge, and later as director of the MacDonald
Institute of Archaeological Research, through his
association with a number of contemporary
conceptual artists, and through his writings, he has
encouraged other archaeologists to explore this link.
This book, which is a semi-popular and
semi-academic account, started its life as the
Rhind Lectures, delivered to the Society of Antiquaries
of Scotland, in Edinburgh. In it, Renfrew claims that
the archaeologist, much like a visitor at a gallery of
contemporary art, attempts to make sense of and to
figure out the material world in front of them, be it an
art installation, or the objects, the artefacts and
buildings unearthed from an archaeological
excavation. But he also alludes to another kind of
relationship: the archaeological process, according to
the author, can be seen as art production, through the
features created on the ground by expositing old
structures and creating news ones, but also through
material practices, such as photographing
archaeological features, objects, and landscapes and
producing texts about them. In that sense, Renfrew
comes close to discussions which see archaeology
more like a craft, and more broadly as cultural
production in the present (cf. Hamilakis ;
Shanks & MacGuire ).
Armed with this conviction, Renfrew embarks
on a journey to convince both archaeologists and
contemporary artists that they stand to gain a lot from
a close collaboration and interaction. He, for example,
asks archaeologists to be ‘open to the full range of the
sensory experiences that occur during the excavation
process’ (p. ), a call that an increasing number of
archaeologists as well as artists would endorse. But
this book can also be read as the journal and
testament of the author’s personal journey: from a key
advocate of the functionalist and positivist ‘New
Archaeology’ in the s to a crusader for the
self-styled and little imitated ‘cognitive processual
archaeology’ in the s and s, to the present, as
yet unclassified approach. Renfrew prefers to use the
concept of ‘material engagement’ for this recent
departure, a concept which he has elaborated in other
recent writings (e.g. Renfrew ). Renfrew’s
encounter with contemporary artists has led him to
endorse concepts such as materiality, embodiment,
memory, and sensory archaeology, ideas that several
other anthropological archaeologists have been
fruitfully exploring for at least the last decade. While
these archaeologists came across these concepts in
their encounters with material culture studies and
with phenomenology, Renfrew became convinced of
their usefulness indirectly, through his conversations
with contemporary conceptual artists and their
explorations of the sensuous human body. It therefore
appears that this book represents a rapprochement of
previously mutually exclusive and contrasting
archaeological views: a cognitivist neo-evolutionist
and largely positivist worldview, and a materialist and
phenomenological one.
But appearances can be deceptive. Renfrew has
many and interesting things to say in this book on the
Western canon of high art and its tyranny, on the
process of display, on social memory, on the aesthetics
and the attraction of the object. He explores these
topics using a relatively small group of primarily
Western artists, with Mark Dion, Antony Gormley,
Richard Long, Andy Goldsworthy, David Mach, and
Eduardo Paolozzi being the most prominent. Yet he
still feels obliged to place his narrative within an
overarching, universalist, neo-evolutionist scheme. In
that, he follows the psychologist Merlin Donald ()
and his scheme of cognitive phases which he sees as
corresponding to different ‘stages’ of human and
cultural evolution: episodic culture (Australopithecus),
mimetic culture (Homo erectus), linguistic or mythic
culture (Homo sapiens), theoretic culture (a stage
corresponding to the development of writing, seen as
an ‘external symbolic storage’). This evolutionist
sequence is also more or less followed in the book,
with the first chapter starting with human evolution,
and the last addressing writing, as well as other
expressions of the ‘theoretic’ culture such as money.
It is this desire on the part of the author to fall
back on this neo-evolutionist framework (see,
e.g., Gamble , for a critique) and his reliance
on psychological ideas that make this overarching
narrative problematic. Despite the author’s overtures
towards the archaeology of embodiment and of the
bodily senses, there is little exploration of the
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Review article 741
embodied and multi-sensory and sensuous nature of
materiality here, nor does he engage with the
discussion on the agency of objects and the recent
anthropological critique of aesthetics, despite his brief
reference to Alfred Gell (; cf. Pinney & Thomas
). Nearly all the works discussed are appreciated
exclusively or primarily through vision. The work of
Bruce Nauman, an artist who would have given the
author a great opportunity to explore aurality and
kinaesthesia (cf. his Raw materials – Bauman ), is
discussed here primarily with reference to the ‘power
of the written word’ (p. ). Renfrew rightly attacks
the Western canon of art and its ocularcentrism, but
the examples he presents do not diverge radically from
that canon; they do not challenge the dominant
Western production of the human body and its
sensory existence, a production that was based on a
middle-class, sensory hierarchy and on notions of
bodily respectability. Consider the artist Sissel Tolaas,
for example, who works primarily with smell (e.g.
Arning ). In her work FEAR of smell – the smell of
FEAR she sampled the bodily odour of fifteen men of
various backgrounds who were all at an emotional
state of fear. She then reproduced these odours using
gas chromatography (a technique now used in
archaeology to detect organic residues), mixed them
with white paint, and painted with it a white gallery
room. During the exhibition, the visitors were
entering an apparently empty room but they soon
realized that they were in a room filled with diverse
human presences. They were then encouraged to
scratch the walls and experience the various odours,
leaving at the same time their own odours in the
room. If the dominant Western modernist tradition
had declared a war on smells (cf. Urry : , citing
Bauman), if smell is still seen as a ‘lower’ sense, and if
racial and ethnic stereotypes and insults often take
olfactory overtones – think of the ‘smelly’ immigrants
who sometime offend the sensitive noses of some
Europeans (cf. Classen, Howes & Synnott ; Jütte
) – works such as this challenge not only the
artistic canon but also the race and class foundations
of Western modernity and its sensory hierarchies.
They are also about otherness, a concern that is
fundamental to archaeology, which engages with other
places and other times, being, however, firmly
embedded in the contemporary social and political
milieu. In sum, this important book can serve as a
springboard from which to discuss a potentially
extremely fruitful link, and, as such, it deserves to be
read widely and discussed; yet, as Rancière has
recently reminded us (), art is inherently political,
since both aesthetics and politics are about what he
calls ‘the distribution of the sensible’, what is seen and
heard and what not, and who has the ability to
determine the visible and the invisible, the audible and
the inaudible, the tangible and the intangible. This
book fails to see and to address this link: in other
words, it falls short of delivering a fundamental and
radical critique of the Western conceptions of art, of
addressing otherness, and of challenging the
sensory–biopolitical basis of the dominant Western
modernity, all prerequisites for an engagement with
contemporary archaeologies of the body and of
materiality.
In finishing, it is to the work of Romuald
Hazoumé that I want to return, for it brings together
and embodies all the points that I have been making
in this piece. His work is archaeological in more senses
than one: he finds, collects, and reworks abandoned
and discarded objects and artefacts, objects that
embody histories, times, and relationships, desire,
power, and exploitation. He recognizes the evocative
and symbolic power and agency that these objects and
substances hold, their ability to embody and act like
humans. He then places them into new contexts and
draws new associations and links amongst them, much
like an archaeologist who retrieves objects and
produces and reconstitutes them as ‘archaeological
record’, as museum pieces, as scientific material. But
unlike much of contemporary archaeology, Hazoumé
refuses to follow a linear temporality, a sharp
separation between past and present and an artistic
(or archaeological, for that matter) practice that treats
history as simply commemoration, aesthetic value, or
reservoir of didactic statements and empty moral
clichés. To these common artistic and archaeological
practices, he juxtaposes a material past that is still
present, a subversive gesture that demands from the
visitor to experience history and otherness in its fully
embodied and multi-sensory form (recall the bodily
odours that emanated from the Houston version of
this installation). In other words, he says to both
contemporary archaeologists and contemporary artists
that their dialogue and potential collaboration will be
vacuous and ineffectual if they do not dare to
confront and subvert dominant aesthetic, bodily, and
sensory conventions, race and class hierarchies,
respectability, and political order.
Yannis Hamilakis University of Southampton
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Yannis Hamilakis is Senior Lecturer in Archaeology at the
University of Southampton. His most recent book is The
nation and its ruins: antiquity, archaeology and national
imagination in Greece (Oxford University Press, ).
Archaeology, University of Southampton, Avenue Campus,
Highfield, Southampton SO BF, UK. Y.Hamilakis@
soton.ac.uk
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