Αντί προλόγου
Ο αρχαιολογικός χώρος της πλατείας Διοικητηρίου ήταν η αφορμή για να ξεκινήσει μια έρευνα. Μια μελέτη με αφετηρία το ερείπιο της πλατείας. Το ερείπιο στις τρεις του εκφάνσεις: σαν ένα τεμάχιο γης, ένα στατικό σώμα, ένα ενσταντανέ περίκλειστο. Διατυπώνοντας το διαφορετικά θα λέγαμε πως το ερείπιο εκτείνεται στον χώρο καταλαμβάνει όγκο και έχει μια εικόνα. Μας ενδιέφερε η εκτροπή από την καθεαυτή υλικότητα του τοπίου, κάτι που συμβαίνει άλλωστε αβίαστα στη θέα εκείνου που αποκαλείται εύρημα. Προσπαθούσαμε να κατανοήσουμε την αφηρημένη ένταση που έχει το παλιό. Η μετάβαση από τη γειτονιά στο εσωτερικό του αρχαιολογικού χώρου, δύο τόπων γειτονικών, έμοιαζε με μια ριζική αλλαγή συστήματος. Μέσω της μεταφοράς από το έξω στο μέσα και αντίστροφα έμοιαζε να αλλάζει ταυτόχρονα και η μονάδα μέτρησης του χρόνου. Στο ερείπιο ο χρόνος ήταν απλωμένος και επιβραδυνόμενος σε αντίθεση με τον ζωηρό περίγυρο. Για να μπορέσουμε να περιγράψουμε το ερείπιο, και να αναφερόμαστε σε αυτό με μια άνεση, σταφήκαμε ακόμη περισσότερο στο υλικό, την μάζα, τον όγκο και τη δομή του. Η εργασία μας είναι γεμάτη με υλικά πρωτογενή όπως ο πηλός, ο γύψος και το χαρτί. Αυτή η επιλογή έγινε σχεδόν ερρήμην μας. Δεν μπορούσαμε παρά να αντιδράσουμε στην τραχιά όψη της πέτρας με μακέτα. Η μακέτα στη συνέχεια καλουπώθηκε και άρχισε να επαναλαμβάνεται σε γύψινα αντίγραφα. Μια αναπαραγωγή της ανασκαφικής διαδικασίας συνέβει και στο εργαστήριο σε κλίμακα 1:100. Κάθε φορά που το καλούπι αποκολλιώταν από το θετικό αντίγραφο, τότε τα πιο ψηλά σημεία των τοίχων, τα μεμονωμένα κομμάτια και τα λεπτά σημεία έσπαγαν, ενώ χρειαζόταν η σχολαστική αποκατάστασή τους με κόλλα. Αυτό ήταν μια ακόμη επιβεβαίωση για το ότι η ανασκαφή, ακόμη και η ερασιτεχνική δική μας, αποτελεί μια βίαιη επέμβαση στο σώμα του ευρήματος. Όσο η διαδικασία με τον γύψο προχωρούσε από την κάλυψη στην αποκάλυψη και αντίστροφα, τόσο το σώμα του καλουπιού αλλοιώνονταν, τόσο πιο ευπαθές προέκυπτε το κάτω.
Παράλληλα με το χειρωνακτικό σκάλισμα στους 40 υπό σκιάν αρχίσαμε να σκεφτόμαστε και ό,τι εκείνο συνεπάγεται. Από τις επισκέψεις μας στον αρχαιολογικό χώρο βρισκόμασταν τώρα σε μια εστιασμένη επεξεργασία του πηλού και του γύψου. Και η αμεσότητα με το υλικό έγινε, όπως συνήθως συμβαίνει, η αφορμή για έναν στοχασμό. Πόσος κόπος χρειάζεται για να ξεκαλουπώσεις μερικές γεωμετρίες από το χώμα – ή από το latex. Οι ίδιες κινήσεις γίνονται ξανά και ξανά. Ο χώρος τελικά εμφανίζεται. Βρίσκεται λίγο πιο χαμηλά. Χρειάζεται τώρα ένα φίλτρο που θα μεταγλωττίζει αυτό που φάνηκε. Αν έπρεπε όμως να το ξανακρύψουμε; Αν χρειαζόταν να αποκαταστήσουμε αυτό που χάθηκε κατά την επέμβασή μας; Τί θα μπορούσε να βρίσκεται στη θέση του; _ Το παρόν τεύχος έχει σαν στόχο, μέσα από μια αρθρογραφική επιλογή και την διαδοχή επιλεγμένων εικόνων, να αποδόσει την εσκεμμένη αλλά και συνειρμική πορεία της διπλωματικής εργασίας από την πρώτη μας επαφή με το ερείπιο και την αρχαιολογία έως την παγίωση του όγκου που θα προστεθεί και θα μεσολαβεί ανάμεσα στον άνθρωπο και τον αρχαίο σκελετό. Οργανώνεται σε τρια μέρη. Το πρώτο μέρος αναφέρεται στην αρχαιολογική μέθοδο και την τεχνική της κατάχωσης (reburial), το δεύτερο μέρος αφορά στο λεξιλόγιο βασικών σχημάτων και γεωλογικών μορφών που εντοπίσαμε, καταγράψαμε και μέσα από τα οποία προσπαθήσαμε να αποσαφηνίσουμε τον χωμάτινο όγκο που θα προστίθονταν στη συνέχεια στην πλατεία Διοικητηρίου. Το τρίτο μέρος παραθέτει την πορεία του όγκου που προέκυψε μέσα από την μεταφορά του σε κάτοψη. Το έντυπο έρχεται να συνοψίσει και να συμπληρώσει της ιδέα της εργασίας μας, προθέτοντας στην παρουσίαση ένα μέσο που ξεφυλλίζεται.
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archaelogy
Η φύση ... μέσα από τις εφορμήσεις της βλάστησης ξανακατακτά ότι έχτισε ο άνθρωπος.
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Heritage, Conservation, and Archaeology: An Introduction By Frank G. Matero
Heritage and conservation have become important themes in current discussions on place, cultural identity, and the preservation of the past. Archaeological sites have long been a part of heritage and its display, certainly before the use of the term “heritage” and the formal study of tourism. However, current concerns with their escalating destruction can be attributed to the perception among the public and professionals alike that archaeological sites, like the natural environment, represent finite nonrenewable resources deteriorating at an increasing rate. This deterioration is because of a wide array of causes, ranging from neglect and poor management to increased visitation and vandalism, from inappropriate past treatments to deferred maintenance (Figures 1 and 2). No doubt the recent pressures of economic benefits from tourist activities in conjunction with increasing communication and mobility have caused accelerated damage to many sites unprepared for development and visitation. To add to these problems, few archaeological projects have incorporated site conservation as a viable strategy in addressing these issues either before or during excavation (Figure 3). This has been in part because of archaeology’s neglect of the long history and tradition of conservation theory and
practice and the general misperception of conservation as an exclusively off-site, post excavation activity associated with technical issues and remedial solutions. On the other hand, specialists in conservation and heritage management have been largely absent in the recent and rapidly expanding discussions on the meaning, use, and ownership of heritage for political and economic purposes. Both professions have avoided a critical examination of their own historical and cultural narratives pertaining to the construction of sites through excavation, analysis, conservation, and display. The primary objective of conservation is to protect cultural heritage from loss and damage. Conservators accomplish this through both preventive and remedial types of intervention. In so doing, conservation embraces the technical means by which heritage may be studied, displayed, and made accessible to the public. In this way, the conservation of archaeological sites is like other heritage conservation. Implicit in conservation’s objectives is the basic requirement to remove or mitigate the causes of deterioration. For archaeological sites, this has
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a direct and immediate effect on visual legibility and indirectly conditions our perceptions and notions of authenticity. Among the repertoire of conservation techniques applied to archaeological sites are structural stabilization, reconstruction, reburial, protective shelters, and a myriad of fabric-based conservation methods. Each solution affects the way archaeological information is preserved
and how the site is experienced and understood, resulting in a push and pull of competing scientific, associative, and aesthetic values (Figures 4 and 5). The practices of archaeology and conservation appear by their very nature to be oppositional. Excavation, as one common method by which archaeologists study a site, is a subtractive process that is both destructive and irreversible. In the revealing of a site, structure, or object, excavation is not a benign reversal of site formational processes
but rather a traumatic invasion of a site’s physico-chemical equilibrium, resulting in the unavoidable deterioration of associated materials. Conservation, on the other hand, is predicated on the safeguarding of physical fabric from loss and depletion, based on the belief that material culture possesses important scientific and aesthetic information as well as the power to inspire memory and emotional responses. In the first case, the informational value embodied in the materiality of objects and sites has been expressed in conservation rhetoric through the concept of integrity. Integrity can manifest in many states as purity (i.e., free from corruption or adulteration) or completeness of form, composition, or context. It has come to be an expression of authenticity in that it conveys some truthfulness of the original in time and space, a quality constructed partly in response to the interventions perpetrated by us in our effort to preserve. Whereas archaeology decontextualizes the site by representing it ex situ, i.e., in site reports and museum exhibits, whereas historic preservation represents and interprets the site in situ.
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But archaeological sites are also places. If we are to identify and understand the nature and implications of certain physical relationships with locales established through past human thought and experience, we must do it through the study of place. Places are contexts for human. experience, constructed in movement, memory, encounter, and association. While the act of remembering is acutely human, the associations specific places have at any given time will change. In this last respect, conservation itself can become a way of reifying cultural identities and historical narratives over time through interpretation. In the end, all conservation is a critical act in that the decisions regarding what is conserved, and who and how it is presented, are a product of contemporary values and beliefs about the past’s relationship (and use) to the present. Nevertheless, technical intervention—that is, what is removed, what is added, what is modified—is the concrete expression of a critical judgment thus formed in the course of this process. What, then, does it mean to conserve and display an archaeological site, especially when what is seen was never meant to be displayed as such, or at least in the fragmented manner viewed?
Making Sites Archaeological sites are made, not found. They are constructed through time. Display as intervention is an interface that mediates and therefore transforms what is shown into heritage, and conservation’s approaches and techniques have always been a part of that process. Beginning with the Sixth International Congress of Architects in Madrid in 1904 and later with the creation of the Charter of Athens following the International Congress of Restoration of Monuments (1931), numerous attempts have been made to identify and codify a set of universal principles to guide the conservation and interpretation of structures and sites of historic and cultural significance. Despite their various emphases and differences, all these documents identify the conservation process as one governed by absolute respect for the aesthetic, historic, and physical integrity of the structure or place and requiring a high sense of moral responsibility. Implicit in these principles is the notion of cultural heritage as a physical resource that is at once valuable and irreplaceable and an inheritance that promotes cultural continuity in a dynamic way. Out of this dilemma, our current definition of conservation has emerged as a field of specialization concerned
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Past Efforts
primarily with the material well-being of cultural property and the conditions of aging and survival, focusing on the qualitative and quantitative processes of change and deterioration. Conservation advocates minimal but opportune interventions conducted with traditional skills as well as experimentally advanced techniques. In current practice, it has tended to avoid the renewal of form and materials; however, the level of physical intervention possible can vary considerably even under the current doctrinal guidelines. This includes even the most invasive methods such as reconstruction and the installation or replication of missing or damaged components. Such interventions, common on archaeological sites, are often based on the desire or need for greater visual legibility and structural reintegration (Figure 6). These interventions become even more critical if they sustain or improve the future performance or life of the site or structure in its environment.
One of the first coordinated attempts to codify international principles and procedures of archaeological site conservation was formulated in the Athens Charter of 1931 where measures such as accurate documentation, protective backfilling, and international interdisciplinary collaboration were clearly articulated. In 1956 further advances were made at the General Conference on International Principles Applicable to Archaeological Excavations adopted by the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) in New Delhi where the role of a centralized state administration in administering, coordinating, and protecting excavated and unexcavated archaeological sites was advocated. Other charters such as the ICOMOS (Venice) Charter of 1964 extended these earlier recommendations through explicit recommendations that included the avoidance of reconstructions of archaeological features except in cases in which the original components were available but dismembered and the use of distinguishable modern techniques for the conservation of historic monuments. The Australia ICOMOS (Burra) Charter of 1979 expanded the definition of “archaeological site� to include the notion of place, challenging Eurocentric definitions of value, significance, authenticity, and integrity to include context and traditional use, an idea important for culturally affiliated indigenous groups. Finally, in 1990, the ICOMOS (ICAHM) Charter for the Protection and Management of the
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Archaeological Heritage was adopted in Lausanne, Switzerland, formalizing the international recognition of many archaeological sites as living cultural landscapes and the responsibility of the archaeologist in the conservation process. In addition to these various international attempts to address the issues of archaeological site conservation through the creation of charters and other doctrinal guidelines, a conference to discuss the realities of such standards was held in Cyprus in 1983 under the auspices of ICCROM and UNESCO. In the context of the conference subject, that is, archaeological sites and finds, conservation was defined as traditionally concerned with the preservation of the physical fabric in a way that allows maximum information to be retrieved by further study and analysis, whereas restoration involves the representation of objects, structures, or sites so that they can be more visually “accessible” and therefore readily understood by both scholars and the public. From the scholar’s position, the maximum scientific and historical information will be obtained through recording, sampling, and analysis immediately on exposure or excavation. With each passing year, except under unique circumstances, sensitive physical information will be lost over time . It is true that when archaeologists return to existing previously excavated sites, they may collect new information not previously identified, but this is often the result of new research inquiries on existing finds and archived field notes. Exposed sites, depending on the nature of the materials, the environment, and the state of closure
of the site, will yield limited, certainly diminished archaeometric information, especially for fragile materials or features such as macro- and microstratigraphy, surface finishes, impressions, and residue analysis. Comprehensive sampling programs, instrumental recording, and reburial maximize the preservation of the physical record both indirectly and directly. Sites with architectural remains and landscape features deemed important to present for public viewing require quite different strategies for conservation and display. Here the record of approaches is far older and more varied, both in method and in result (e.g., Arch of Titus [Figure 7]), Palace of Knossos, Casa Grande (Arizona), Pompeii, and the Stoa of Attalo Not to distinguish between the specificity of what is to be conserved on site, or retrieved for that matter, given the impossibility of doing so, makes for a confused and often compromised archaeological program and interpreted site. Too often conservation is asked to address the dual requirements of an archaeological site as document and place without explicit definition and identification of what is actually to be preserved. The results have often been compromised physical evidence through natural deterioration—or worse, through failed treatments meant to do the impossible. On the other end, the need to display has sometimes resulted in confused and discordant landscapes that deny the entire story of the site and the natural and sublime state of fragmentation all ruin sites possess. This last point is especially important on the subject of interpretation and display.
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In an effort to address the economic benefits from tourist development, many archaeological sites have been directly and heavily manipulated to respond to didactic and recreational programs deemed necessary for visual understanding by the public. In many cases this has resulted in a loss of place, accompanied sometimes by accelerated damage to those sites unprepared for development and visitation. To balance this growing trend of seeing archaeological sites as predominantly outdoor museums, shaped by current museological attitudes and methods of display, it would be useful to approach such sites instead as cultural landscapes with ecological concerns. A more balanced combination of approaches could also mediate the often difficult but powerful overlay of subsequent histories visible on archaeological sites, including destruction, reuse, abandonment, rediscovery, and even past interpretations.
Conclusions Like all disciplines and fields, archaeological conservation has been shaped by its historical habit and by contemporary concerns. Important in its development has been the shifting, even expanding notion of site conservation to include the stabilization and protection of the whole site rather than simply in situ artifact conservation or the removal of site (architectural) features. The public interpretation of archaeological sites has long been associated with the stabilization and display of ruins. Implicit in site stabilization and display is the aesthetic value many ruin sites possess based on a long-lived European tradition of cultivating a taste for the picturesque. With the scientific investigation and study of many archaeological sites beginning in the late nineteenth century, both the aesthetic and the informational value of these sites was promoted during excavation-stabilization. In contemporary practice, options for archaeological site conservation have included reconstruction, reassembly (anastylosis), in situ preservation and protection including shelters and/or fabric consolidation, ex situ preservation through removal, and excavation or reburial with or without site interpretation. Despite the level of intervention, that is, whether interpretation as a ruin is achieved through anastylosis or reconstruction, specific sites, namely, those possessing monumental masonry remains, have tended to establish an idealized approach for the interpretation of archaeological sites in general. However, many sites such as earthen tells, at once
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challenge these ingrained notions of ordered chaos and arranged masonry by virtue of their fragile materials, temporal and spatial disposition, and sometimes conflicting relationships among foreign and local professionals and traditional communities. Moreover, changing notions of “site� have expanded the realm of what is to be interpreted and preserved, resulting in both archaeological inquiry and legal protection at the regional level. These aspects of site conservation and interpretation become all the more difficult when considered in conjunction with the demands of tourism and site and regional development for the larger physical and political contexts. Archaeological sites, like all places of human activity, are constructed. Despite their fragmentation, they are complex creations that depend on the legibility and authenticity of their components for public meaning and appreciation. How legibility and authenticity of such structures and places are realized and ensured must be carefully considered and understood for effective conservation. Certainly conservators, archaeologists, and cultural resource managers need to know well the theoretical concepts and the history of those concepts pertaining to conservation; they need to know something of the historical and cultural context of structures and sites, archaic or past building technologies, and current technical solutions. They need to familiarize themselves with the political, economic, and cultural issues of resource management and the implications of their work for local communities, including issues of appropriate technology, tradition, and sustainability.
The basic tenets of conservation are not the sole responsibility of any one professional group. They apply instead to all those involved in the conservation of cultural property and represent general standards of approach and methodology. From the broadest perspective, archaeology and conservation should be seen as a conjoined enterprise. For both, physical evidence has to be studied and interpreted. Such interpretations are founded on a profound and exact knowledge of the various histories of the thing or place and its context, on the materiality of its physical fabric, on its cultural meanings and values over time, and its role and effect on current affiliates and the public in general. This implies the application of a variety of specialized technical knowledge, but ideally the process must be brought back into a cultural context so that the archaeology and conservation project become synonymous.
archaelogy
Το ενδιαφέρον των αρχαιολογικών λειψάνων και η απόλαυση των αρχιτεκτονικών θραυσμάτων ξεπερνούν την ιστορική και καλλιτεχνική τους σημασία – όντας το εφήμερο ίχνος μιας ανθρώπινης δράστηριότητας στη Γη, το ερείπιο είναι ένα από τα πιο υποβλητικά είδωλλα του παρελθόντος. Στο στάδιο της παγίωσης και της έκθεσης ενός site υπάρχει ως υπαινιγμός μια αντίληψη περί αισθητικής αξίας του ερειπίου που βασίζεται στην μακρόχρονη ευρωπαϊκή παράδοση που καλλιεργούσε μια τάση προς το γραφικό. Με την επιστημονική έρευνα και μελέτη πολλών αρχαιολογικών χώρων που ξεκίνησε τα τέλη του 19ου αιώνα, άρχισαν να προωθούνται ταυτόχρονα η αισθητική αλλά και διδακτική αξία τους αξία.
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The archaeologist’s challenge or despair: reburial at Merv, Turkmenistan Louise Cooke
Το Αρχαίο Merv αρχαιολογικό πάρκο στο Τουρκμενιστάν είναι ένα παράδειγμα όπου τα ευρήματα έχουν τεθεί σε κίνδυνο λόγω της έλλειψης συντήρησης κατά τη διάρκεια προηγούμενων αρχαιολογικών έργων. Προβλήματα προέκυψαν τόσο γιατί τα χαρακώματα έμειναν ανοικτά και εγκαταλείφθηκαν, όσο και της συσσώρευσης των σωρών από χαλάσματα. Η προτεινόμενη λύση ήταν η επαναταφή των τάφρων χρησιμοποιώντας τα υλικά από την ανασκαφή και ένα γεωύφασμα που θα λειτουργούσε ως διαχωριστικό. Αφήνοντας ανοικτά τα χαρακώματα και συντηρώντας τα ερείπια, μπορεί να οδηγήσει σε βλάβη του υλικού της γης εξαιτίας των καιρικών συνθηκών, της ανθρώπινης δραστηριότητας, της βλάστησης και των ζώων. Επιπλέον, οι συγκεντρωμένοι σωροί χαλασμάτων από την ανασκαφή, δημιουργούν ένα οπτικό πρόβλημα στο τοπίο. Το Merv είναι μια ακολουθία από περιτοιχισμένες πόλεις, και η ανασκαφή έχει τοποθετήσει αυτόν τον χώρο σε κίνδυνο. Ωστόσο, οι αρχαιολόγοι υποστηρίζουν τη σπουδαιότητα της συντήρησης όσον αφορά στις πληροφορίες που προκύπτουν, οπότε επιλέγουν την μακροπρόθεσμη διατήρηση στο όνομα της έρευνας. Πριν από τη λήψη απόφασης για την
πολιτική επαναταφής, παράγοντες που πρέπει να ληφθούν υπόψη είναι η παροχή αποχέτευσης, η επίδραση που μπορεί να έχει η δημιουργία καταφυγίου στην αντίληψη του κοινού όπως και το κόστος. Έτσι, η κατάχωση των τάφρων είχε θεωρηθεί ως ο καταλληλότερος τρόπος για τη διατήρηση υπόγειων ευρημάτων, καθώς έδινε και τη δυνατότητα αναστρεψιμότητας για τους σκοπούς της επανεξέτασης. Η πιο σημαντική πτυχή της κατάχωσης είναι η συμβατότητα του υλικού που χρησιμοποιείται. Στο Merv, τούβλα από λάσπη και χώμα χρησιμοποιήθηκαν για την κατασκευή. Η γη αποτελείται από πηλό, αλάτι, άμμο και νερό. Ο πηλός ενεργεί ως συνδετικό υλικό, αλλά είναι ευαίσθητο στην απορρόφηση του νερού και στην θερμική διαστολή, οπότε μπορεί να πρηστεί, να συρρικνωθεί ή να σπάσει. Το υλικό που θα χρησιμοποιηθεί
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για τις εργασίες κατάχωσης πρέπει ως εκ τούτου να έχει αυτά τα χαρακτηριστικά. Το υλικό που ανασκάφηκε αρχικά είναι το καταλληλότερο, αφού έχει φιλτραριστεί. Το 2000, όταν η αρχαιολογική έρευνα είχε ολοκληρωθεί, η τάφρος είχε καταχωθεί εν μέρει με αφιλτράριστο υλικό, χρησιμοποιώντας μια μηχανή. Η αρχαιολογία που είχε επιζήσει υπέστη μεγάλες ζημιές, λόγω της κίνησης της γης, της συμπίεσης των θαμμένων ερειπίων και της διατάραξης της αποχέτευσης. Το 2002, ξεκίνησε η ορθή διαδικασία επαναταφής, η οποία έγινε σε αρμονία με το γύρω περιβάλλον και τους παράγοντες που προαναφέρθηκαν, που θα μπορούσαν να θέσουν σε κίνδυνο τα ερείπια. • Υπήρχε αναλυτική τεκμηρίωση της κατάστασης της τάφρου πριν την επαναταφή, και η καταγραφή συνεχίστηκε καθ ‘όλη την πρόοδο του έργου.
• Η τάφρος είχε καθαριστεί και προετοιμαστεί κατάλληλα και η βλάστηση αφαιρέθηκε μαζί με υλικά από την κατάρρευση τοίχων. Αυτά χρησιμοποιήθηκαν σε συνδυασμό με τα υλικά από την ανασκαφή, για την κατάχωση. Υπήρχε επίσης μια παχιά επιφάνεια στο κάτω μέρος της τάφρου η δημιουργία της οποίας προέκυψε από την προηγούμενη κατάχωση, και η οποία αντί να αφαιρεθεί, καθαρίστηκε. • Ένα στρώμα Terram 500, ένα θερμικά συνδεδεμένο γεωύφασμα, εισήχθη μεταξύ του υλικού κατάχωσης και των ορίων της ανασκαφής. Τοποθετήθηκε κατά μήκος των κάθετων ορίων της ανασκαφής και καρφώθηκε στις πλευρές και το πάνω μέρος της τάφρου, και καθώς το υλικό κατάχωσης εισερχόταν, τα καρφιά αφαιρούνταν. • Το υλικό από την ανασκαφή χρησιμοποιήθηκε κυρίως λόγω της συμβατότητάς του, και φιλτραριζόταν
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πριν χρησιμοποιηθεί. Μια μικρή ποσότητα νερού προστέθηκε για να υγράνει το υλικό και να το κάνει πιο συμπαγές. • Το τελικό μείγμα των υλικών τοποθετήθηκε στη συνέχεια με το χέρι, αποφεύγοντας τη δημιουργία κενών μεταξύ υλικού, γεωυφάσματος και θαμμένων ευρημάτων. Συμπυκνώθηκε χρησιμοποιώντας εργαλεία σχεδιασμένα ειδικά για αυτό το έργο, και αυτό επέτρεψε τον μεγαλύτερο έλεγχο επί της διαδικασίας, που σημειώθηκε επί σειρά ημερών για να στεγνώσει το πήλινο συστατικό του χώματος. •Η κατάχωση μέχρι το επίπεδο που ήταν το έδαφος πριν την ανασκαφή δεν ήταν δυνατή, οπότε έγινε μέχρι ένα σημείο στο οποίο υπήρχε μια αρκετά σταθερή κλίση για την αποστράγγιση των υδάτων από τη νότια πλευρά. • Ένας σοβάς που αποτελούταν από λάσπη και άχυρο, εφαρμόστηκε ανάμεσα στο γεωύφασμα και το χείλος στο πάνω μέρος της τάφρου. Αυτό έγινε για να ελαχιστοποιηθούν τα προβλήματα από την υγρασία πίσω από το γεωυφάσμα. Στη συνέχεια ένα λεπτό στρώμα συμπιεσμένης γης, τοποθετήθηκε στην κορυφή αυτού, του οποίου ο ρόλος θα ήταν να διαβρωθεί απ’τα να νερά της βροχής. • Μετά την ολοκλήρωση του έργου, συχνή παρακολούθηση θα πραγματοποιηθεί, προκειμένου να κατανοήσουν τις μακροπρόθεσμες επιπτώσεις και να προσαρμοστεί η μεθοδολογία και οι τεχνικές για μελλοντική χρήση.
Αυτό το πειραματικό έργο έχει επισημάνει την ανάγκη να εξεταζονται πολλοί παράγοντες, όταν πρόκειται για την συντήρηση αρχαιολογικών χώρων. Οι πιο σημαντικοί είναι: τα συστήματα αποχετεύσεις πρέπει να διαταράσσονται όσο λιγότερο γίνεται, να αποφεύγεται η δημιουργία κενών κατά τη διάρκεια κατάχωσης και γενικότερα η διαδικασία να ξεκινάει όσο πιο γρήγορα γίνεται μετά την ανασκαφή έτσι ώστε να μην υπάρξει διάβρωση. Οι ειδικοί στην αρχαιολογία, τη διατήρηση και την τεχνολογία των υλικών πρέπει να συνεργάζονται στενά. Η παρακολούθηση των εργασιών στο Merv έδειξε ότι η επαναταφή ήταν επιτυχής όσον αφορά στην πρόληψη της φθοράς των ερειπίων, και παρόλο που το έργο ήταν χρονοβόρο και απαιτήθηκε σκληρή εργασία, τα υλικά που χρησιμοποιήθηκαν είχαν χαμηλό κόστος και ήταν τα καταλληλότερα για να διατηρηθεί το φυσικό περιβάλλον του site.
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Reburying History Backfilling at Aztec Ruins National Monument and the Power of Consultation Μια περίληψη του άρθρου της Theresa F. Nichols
Τα ερείπια των Αζντέκων-ένα Εθνικό Μνημείο (Aztec Ruins National Monument) είναι ένας κεντρικός αρχαιολογικός χώρος που βρίσκεται στο βοριοδυτικό τμήμα του Νέου Μεξικού. Προσελκύει χιλιάδες επισκέπτες κάθε χρόνο και είναι υπό την διέυθυνση της Εθνικής Υπηρεσίας Πάρκων και των Ινδιάνικων Φυλών. Στις αρχές της δεκαετίας του ’20 ένα πολυεπίπεδο κτίριο εννιακοσίων χρόνων, το οποίο περιείχε 450 δωμάτια, ήρθε στο φως μέσω της ανασκαφής. Πολλά από τα δωμάτια ήταν παραγεμισμένα με χαλάσματα και σκόνη, που τα πλαισίωναν, και τα οποία είχαν συσσωρευτεί με τον χρόνο προστατεύοντας την υπόλοιπη κατασκευή από την φθορά και τις καιρικές συνθήκες. Όμως, όταν όλα αυτά απομακρύνθηκαν, η πέτρινη κατασκευή έμεινε απότομα εκτεθειμένη στα διάφορα καιρικά φαινόμενα, όπως ο παγετώς και η βαρύτητα, γεγονός που επιτάχυνε τη φθορά και οδήγησε σε επισκευές οι οποίες με τη σειρά τους προκάλεσαν παραπάνω φθορές. Η απόφαση που πάρθηκε την δεκαετία του ’90 ήταν πως τα δωμάτια έπρεπε να καταχωθούν ώστε να διατηρηθεί η αρχιτεκτονική, αλλοιώνοντας αναπόφευκτα την εμφάνιση του τόπου και την πρόσβαση στα δωμάτια. Ωστόσο, αυτός ο χειρισμός απασχόλησε πολύ τις φυλές που πίστευαν πως οι πρόγονοί τους, όντας θαμμενοι εκεί, κατοικούσαν ακόμη στον τόπο. Υπήρχε επίσης μια γενική επιθυμία από μέρους των φυλών πως το πάρκο θα έπρεπε να επιτρέψει στο κτίριο να συνεχίσει τον κύκλο της φθοράς του επιστρέφοντας τελικά πίσω στο χώμα. Αυτό προέρχεται από την αντίληψη πως όλα τα πράγματα έχουν έναν κύκλο ζωής- εκείνα αναδύονται από και καταλήγουν στην Γη. Ωστόσο, οι φυλές συμφώνησαν με το σχέδιο της κατάχωσης, από την στιγμή που ήταν πιο κοντά στις πολιτιστικές τους πεποιθήσεις, σε αντίθεση με την συνεχή επισκευή και διατήρηση του site. Κατά τη διάρκεια της ανασκαφής του κτιρίου, τα δωμάτια πλημμύρισαν με νερό που έπρεπε να αποστραγγιστεί πριν την κατάχωση. Οι δύο επιλογές ήταν είτε να τοποθετηθεί ένα αποχετευτικό σύστημα που θα διέτρεχε υπόγεια το συγκρότημα και θα περνούσε κάτω από τα θεμέλια των τοίχων, είτε να δημιουργηθούν τρύπες στους τοίχους έτσι ώστε να περνούν οι σωλήνες.Αυτό συνεπάγονταν πως, από τη μια, πιθανά σημεία ταφής και διάφορα ευρήματα που παρέμεναν ακόμη θαμμένα θα διαταράσσονταν και, από την άλλη, πως η τοιχοποιία θα καταστρέφονταν σε μερικά σημεία. Οι φυλές ψήφισαν την δεύτερη λύση, θέλοντας να αποφύγουν κάθε ενόχληση του κάτω. Η διαδικασία και το αποτέλεσμα του έργου έδειξε πως δεν πρόκειται απλώς για μια νομική διεκπεραίωση το θέμα της συνεργασίας των δύο πλευρών. Ακόμη και αν η διαδικασία ενδέχεται να παραταθεί λόγω παρεξηγήσεων και διαφωνιών, ο αμοιβαίος σεβασμός είναι απαραίτητος για την καλύτερη διαχείριση των αρχαίων και πολιτισμικών ευρημάτων.
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τα αρχαιολογικά sites έχουν φτιαχτεί, δεν βρέθηκαν. Έχουν κατασκευαστεί στο χρόνο. Η έκθεση σαν επέμβαση είναι η επιφάνεια που μεσολαβεί και συνεπώς μεταμορφώνει αυτό που προβάλλεται σε κληρονομιά, και οι προσεγγίσεις και τεχνικές της συντήρησης ήταν πάντοτε μέρος αυτής της διαδικασίας.
ένα κτίριο που έχει χάσει τις φυσικές του άμυνες, όπως την στέγη ή τα παράθυρα του, άοπλο αντιμετωπίζει τις φθορές των ατμοσφαιρικών συνθηκών και συνεπώς είναι πιο τρωτό στα καταστροφικά αποτελέσματα του χρόνου- ένα κτίριο που έχει σταματήσει να εκπληρώνει την λειτουργία του, να παρέχει καταφύγιο στην ανθρώπινη δραστηριότητα και το οποίο, κατά μια έννοια, έχει σχεδόν εξαφανιστεί- εδώ, ανάμεσα στην αρχιτεκτονική και την φύση, σε ένα no man’s land, βρίσκεται το ερείπιο.
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The Way of the Shovel: On the Archeological Imaginary in Art He who seeks to approach his own buried past must conduct himself like a man digging. Walter Benjamin
[Preliminary admonition: there is no disgrace in seeking to define either the essence or the attributes of art. For...] ...art is, or at least can be, many things at many different points in time and space. Throughout its history—which is either long or short, depending on the definition agreed upon—it has assumed many different roles and been called upon to defend an equal number of different causes. Or, alternately—and this has turned out to be a much more appealing and rewarding tactic for most of the past century—it has been called upon to attack, question, and criticize any number of states of affairs. In the messianic sense of a “calling” or κλησις—a call to either change or preserve, for those are the only real options open to the messianic—we might locate both the roots of art’s historical contribution to the hallowed tradition of critique and the practice of critical thought, as well as its share in the business of shaping the future—preferably (and presumably) a different future from the one that we knowingly envision from the vantage point of “today.” In the present moment, however, it appears that a number of artists seek to define art first and foremost in the thickness of its relationship to history. More and more frequently, art finds itself looking back, both at its own past (a very popular approach right now, as well as big business), and at “the” past in general. A steadily growing number of contemporary art practices engage not only in storytelling, but more specifically in history-telling. The retrospective, historiographic mode—a methodological complex that includes the historical account, the archive, the document, the act of excavating and unearthing, the memorial, the art of reconstruction and reenactment, the testimony—has become both the mandate (“content”) and the tone (“form”) favored by a growing number of artists (as well as critics and curators) of varying ages and backgrounds.2 They either make artworks that want to remember, or at least to turn back the tide of forgetfulness, or they make art about remembering and forgetting: we can call this the “meta-historical mode,” an important aspect of much artwork that assumes a curatorial character. With the quasi-romantic idea of history’s presumed remoteness (or its darkness) invariably quite crucial to the investigative undertaking at hand, these artists delve into archives and historical collections of all stripes (this is where the magical formula of “artistic research” makes its appearance) and plunge into the abysmal darkness of history’s most remote corners. They
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reenact—yet another mode of historicizing and storytelling much favored by artists growing up in a culture of accelerated oblivion—reconstruct, and recover. Happy to honor their calling, these artists seek out the facts and fictions of the past that have mostly been glossed over in the more official channels of historiography, such as the “History Channel” itself.3 They invariably side with both the downtrodden and the forgotten, reveal traces long feared gone, revive technologies long thought (or actually rendered) obsolete, bring the unjustly killed back to (some form of ) life, and generally seek to restore justice to anyone or anything that has fallen prey to the blinding forward march of History with a capital, monolithic “H”—that most evil of variations on the Hegelian master narrative.
Jeff Wall, Fieldwork. Excavation of the floor of a dwelling in the former Sto:lo nation village, Greenwood Island, Hope, B.C., August, 2003, Anthony Graesch, Dept. of Anthropology, University of California at Los Angeles, working with Riley Lewis of the Sto:lo band, 2003. Transparency in lightbox, 219.5 x 283.5 cm. Collection of the artist. Courtesy Marian Goodman Gallery, New York.
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The reasons for this oftentimes melancholy (and potentially reactionary) retreat into the retrospective mode of historiography are manifold, and are of course closely related to the current crisis of history both as an intellectual discipline and as an academic field of enquiry. After all, art’s obsession with the past, however recently lived, effectively closes it off from other, possibly more pressing obligations, namely that of imagining the future, of imagining the world otherwise (“differently”). Our culture’s quasi-pathological systemic infatuation with both the New and the Now (“youth”) has effectively made forgetting and forgetfulness into one of the central features of our contemporary condition, and the teaching of history in schools around the globalized world has suffered accordingly. [This diagnosis of a “crisis of history” may strike the informed reader as unnecessarily alarmist and overblown: indeed, even the most cursory glance at the groaning bookshelves in the “History” section of one’s local culture mall—or its counterpart on Amazon.com—seems to suggest the opposite to be true. True, there is plenty of historiography out there, but it is of a very problematic, myopic kind that seems to add to the cultural pathology of forgetting rather than fight against it. It is a type of writing that prefers to hone in on objects (the smaller, the more mundane, and the less significant, the better) rather than people, the grand societal structures that harness them, or the events that befall them and/or help bring those structures into being. Virtually every little “thing” has become the subject of its own (strictly “cultural”) history of late, from the pencil to the zipper, the cod, the porcelain toilet bowl, the stiletto, the potato, or the bowler hat. It does not require too great an imaginative effort to discern the miserable political implications of this obsession with detail, novelty, and the quaint exoticism of the everyday (best summed up by the dubious dictum “small is beautiful”). Indeed, it seems sufficiently clear that the relative success story of this myopic micro-historiography, with its programmatic suspicion of all forms of grand historicization, is related both to today’s general state of post-ideological fatigue as well as to the political evacuation (or de-politicization) of academia, of which the “crisis of history” is precisely such an alarming, potent symptom.]
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Roy Arden, Versace, 2006. Archival pigment print, 25 x 21 inches.
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In this sense, art has doubtlessly come to the rescue, if not of history itself, then surely of its telling: it is there to “remember” when all else urges us to “forget” and simply look forward—primarily to new products and consumerist fantasies—or, worse still, inward. Indeed, this new mode of discursive art production boasts an imposing critical pedigree, a long history of resistance and refusal: the eminent hallmarks, as we know, of true vanguardism. One geopolitical region whose recent (and rewardingly traumatic) history has become especially prominent with art’s turn towards history-telling and historicizing (its turn away from both the present and the future), is post-communist Central and Eastern Europe—the preferred archeological digging site (if only metaphorically) of many well-read artists whose work has come of age in the broader context of the globalized art market of the last decade and a half. Ironically enough, the region’s triumph was wholly determined by the demise of the system of state socialism that so many of us now seek to memorialize. [It is perhaps unnecessary to add here that the majority of these amateur archeologists hail from the “West,” where there may still exist certain pockets of nostalgia for the ideological clarity, among other things, of the Cold War era, when Central and Eastern Europe could be imagined as something radically “different,” belonging to “another” political world entirely—hence also its quasi-inexhaustible appeal to critical art: art that is committed to “making a difference.” Obviously, a similar type of nostalgia is also felt by a younger generation of artists from the former Eastern Bloc—but differently so, and the generational shift is of crucial importance here.4] In their cultivation of the retrospective and/or historiographic mode, many contemporary art practices inevitably also seek to secure the blessing (in disguise) of History proper: in an art world that seems wholly dominated by the inflationary valuations of the market and its corollary, the fashion industry (“here today, gone tomorrow,” or, “that’s so 2008”), time, literally rendered as the subject of the art in question, easily proves to be a much more trustworthy arbiter of quality than mere taste or success. Hence the pervasive interest of so many younger artists and curators in the very notion of anachronism or obsolescence and related “technologies of time”: think of Super 8 mm and 16 mm film, think of the Kodak slide carousel, think of antiquated, museum-of-natural-history-style vitrines meant to convey a sense of the naturalization of history, or of time proper. Perhaps many artists use these tried-and-tested methods of history as a science, or as a mere material force (the archival mode ranks foremost among these methods), in hopes that some of its aristocratic sheen will rub off on their own products or projects, or otherwise inscribe them and their work in the great book of post-History . . .
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Goshka Macuga, When Was Modernism, 2008. Mixed media, installation at Museum voor Hedendaagse Kunst Antwerpen (MuHKA). Courtesy the artist, Kate MacGarry and MuHKA
One of the ways in which this historiographic “turn” has manifested itself lately is through a literalized amateur archeology of the recent past: digging. Archeology’s way of the shovel has long been a powerful metaphor for the various endeavors that both spring from the human mind and seek to map the depths of, among other things, itself. Perhaps the most famous example of this would be psychoanalysis (or “depth psychology”), in which the object of its archaeological scrutiny is the human mind. Throughout a history that stretches far beyond the work of, say, Robert Smithson, Haim Steinbach, or Mark Dion, psychoanalysis has long been a source of fascination and inspiration for the arts. Certainly, one could conceive of an exhibition consisting solely of artistic images of excavation sites, of “art about archeology.” The truth claims of art often quote rather literally and liberally from the lingua franca of archeology: artists often refer to their work as a labor of meticulous “excavation,” unearthing buried treasures and revealing the ravages of time in the process; works of art are construed as shards, fragments (the Benjaminian ciphers of a revelatory truth), traces preserved in sediments of fossilized meaning. Depth delivers artistic truth: that which we dig up (the past) in some way or other must be more “real” and therefore also more “true” than all that has come to accumulate afterwards to form the present. This also says something about why we think the present is so hard to explain.
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Likewise, the scrupulous archeological ethic of unending patience and monastic devotion to detail—seamlessly mirrored in its preferred optic, that of the clinical close-up—is, in spirit, close to the obsessive labor or “science” of art-making that often requires plodding through hours, days, and weeks of menial rubble-andmanure-shoveling before something that may (or may not) resemble a work of art emerges. Michelangelo’s sculptures of dying slaves wresting themselves free from the marble in which the artist “found” them captive continue to provide what is perhaps the archeological paradigm’s most gripping image.5 Furthermore, there can also be no archeology without display—the modern culture of museum display (if not of the museum itself ) is as much “produced” by the archeologist’s desire to exhibit his or her findings as it is by the artist’s confused desire to communicate his or hers. After all, the logical conclusion of all excavatory activity is the encasing of History’s earthen testimony within a beautiful, exquisitely lit, amply labeled glass box—an apt description, indeed, of much artistic and meta-artistic or curatorial activity of the last decade and a half.6 Finally (and most importantly, perhaps), art and archeology also share a profound understanding—and one might say that they are on account of this almost “naturally” inclined to a Marxist epistemology—of the primacy of the material in all culture, the overwhelming importance of mere “matter” and “stuff” in any attempt to grasp and truly read the cluttered fabric of the world. The archaeologist’s commitment is to earth and dirt, hoping that it will one day yield the truth of historical time; the artist’s commitment is to the crude facts of his or her working material (no matter how “virtual” or, indeed, immaterial this may be), which is equally resistant to onedimensional signification and making-sense, equally prone to entropy—yet likewise implicated in a logic of truth-production.
Mark Dion, The Birds of Antwerp, 1993. Mixed media, installation at Museum voor Hedendaagse Kunst Antwerpen (MuHKA).
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In this critical Bataillean sense of a “base materialism”—a materialism from which all traces of formalist idealization have been evacuated—both art and archeology are also work—hard and dirty work, certain to remind us of our bodily involvement in the world. The archeological imaginary in art produces not so much an optics as it does a haptics—it invites us, forces us to intently scratch the surface (of the earth, of time, of the world) rather than merely marvel at it in dandified detachment. By thus intensifying our bodily bondage to a world that, like our bodies themselves, is made up first and foremost of matter, the alignment of art and archeology compensates for the one tragic flaw that clearly cripples the purported critical claims and impact of the current “historiographic turn” in art: its inability to grasp or even look at the present, much less to excavate the future.
Digging up the Future: On the Imaginary Archaeology in Art and other Sciences. [a reaction to Dieter Roelstraete’s The Way of the Shovel: On the Archeological Imaginary in Art /e-flux journal] by Maarten Vanden Eynde, April 2009 ‘The present returns the past to the future’ – Jorge Luis Borges’ Besides prediction models based upon recovered data from the past and the present, there is nothing but imagination at hand to envision the future. The specific interest or intent of art and all existing sciences seems to flock together whenever a distinctive humanistic evolution is inevitable, creating an épistème of knowledge (1) . In the Middle Ages we struggled to find similarities and resemblances between micro and macro, humans and god, earth and heaven. - We are all alike, mirrored by the image of God - was the prevailing dictum. It took until the 17th century before we started to look for differences, classifying species in separate models (taxonomy, Linnaeus) and paving the way for individual existence. In the 19th century Darwin and Lamarck opened the door to the past and instigated the origin of history. We discovered where we came from and started to reconstruct the string of our evolution. Marx introduced the theory of historical materialism and added why to the questions of when, where and how. Photography was invented and gave us the first artificial tool to catch a moment. Slowly but destined we became grounded in the reality of the present. These new certainties, knowing where we come from and the ability to define the distinctiveness of being a homo sapiens sapiens, created an outburst of self-confidence during the 20th century in art and all the other sciences, opening up endless possibilities to act within the present. The result was there, immediately visible and the responsibility was all ours. This conviction in own abilities stimulated the industrial evolution, which changed the world beyond recognition and gave way to the largest population explosion in human history. We learned to genetically manipulate
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life, we unravelled the mysteries of most DNA strings (including our own), we figured out a way to recreate almost anything out of almost nothing by using nanotechnology, and found ways to be everywhere at the same time (radio, television, internet). We mastered the épistème of the present, leaving but the future to be destined. The notion of consequence is the first manifestation of futurism; concern slowly replaced the initial euphoria about endless growth and infinite possibilities. The speed of new inventions and subsequently growing knowledge is accelerating just like the expansion of the universe and might bring us to what is currently known as the Singularity (2). At that moment, predicted to occur around 2035, knowledge is doubled every minute, making it impossible to comprehend for ‘normal’ humans.
Andy Warhol Campbell’s Soup Cans, 1962
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Ai Wei Wei Han Dynasty Urn with Coca-Cola Logo, 1994
The Club of Rome was the first to use computer models to predict the future (3). Some predictions proved to be farfetched since evolutions in general behave more chaotic than anticipated, but many future scenarios became reality by now. Their first report Limits of Growth of 1972 caused a permanent interest in what is to come and it is still the best selling environmental book in world history. The second report from 1974 revised the predictions and gave a more optimistic prognosis for the future of the environment, noting that many of the factors were within human control and therefore that environmental and economic catastrophe were preventable or avoidable. This notion of self-control in relation to making history by interfering in the present became the most important theorem of the 20th century. Also in the art world this feeling of being able to transcendent your own existence by imagining what might, what could and what should became predominant. Although a great deal of artists working with history are digging up old stories, forgotten facts and undisclosed objects of the past to reinvent and reinterpret history, a much bigger number of artists is involved in writing current history, looking at what might be relevant for future generations to remember us by. Preluded by Marcel Duchamp, Andy Warhol was probably the first artist to fully realize the potential of freezing and claiming history by randomly choosing an insignificant object like a can of Campbell soup or a box of Brillo soap and lifting it above oblivion. This self-proclaimed Deus Ex Machina or act of vanguardism was copied by many other artists, like Heim Steinbach, Jeff Koons and Damien Hirst, who, with changing luck, tried through object fetishization to declare or even force history to happen.
archaelogy
A similar strategy is the combination of elements from the past with the present, already cashing the idea that the present is also the future past and that future historians could unwillingly mingle both and by doing so creating a stimulus for an altered state of remembering or stronger; to rewrite history all together. These combined traces of different pasts create an endless chain of possible futures, visualised by artists like Simon Starling, Ai Wei Wei, Wim Delvoye and Brian Jungen. To many critics and curators focus on the past to make sense of or give value to archives, artistic research or current art production in general. By doing so, they enforce a self-fulfilling prophecy upon the work and don’t do right to the imagination and sheer curiosity of the creator towards representation of the present in the future. What will remain? What is our heritage for the future? Even artists like Gerard Richter, Roy Arden, Peter Pillar, Batia Suter and Lois Jacobs who on a first glimps seem to work with the past are rather formulating different answers to what could or should remain of the present. Roy Arden’s Versace for instance is not looking at the past in the historical sense but merely imagining how we might look back at the past in the future. It questions the relevance or value of anything present in our contemporary society to represent that same society in the future. Many other artists like Cornelia Parker, Mark Dion, Damien Hirst and Guillaume Bijl are doing the same thing; they lay the foundation of future history. They are telling a story, our story. Cornelia Parker uses remnants of (self ) destroyed parts of reality and tries to put it back together again. Mark Dion is showing the left over’s of our society in a more ‘classic’ archaeological context and Damien Hirst and Guillaume Bijl subtract a certain object or entire space out of our present world, like a slice of cake, and preserve it directly for future generations. Although using different modes of working they all work with possible remnants of our current civilisation, imagining different pieces of the puzzle that could be used in the future to puzzle back together again the history we are currently creating. They work within the future, not the past. This interest, or calling upon, is visible not only in the current art world but across most branches of the science tree. In the field of Biology animals are duplicated, cloned, crossbred and pimped in all imaginable ways to become stronger, smaller, longer lasting, fluorescent (4), faster running,… in general better equipped for eternity. Humans haven’t only discovered how to eradicate life, destroying, willingly or not, several entire species and ecosystems in the past, by now we also know how to manipulate and maintain life. The promise of being able to cure almost any disease in the near future by using nanobots to do the dirty work, caused a real run for life extension programs like Alcor, the world leader in Cryonics (5). More than one hundred
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people have been cryopreserved since the first case in 1967. More than one thousand people have made legal and financial arrangements for cryonics with one of several organizations, usually by means of affordable life insurance. The majority chose to only preserve their head, assuming that the body could be regenerated very easily in the future, using the same technique as lizards do to grow back a limb. The current emphasis on preservation seems also in Archaeology, a science that is traditionally grounded in the past, to overrule the act of excavation. Prophesising on an eminent crisis or apocalyptic disaster inspired us to bury time capsules deep underground containing samples of current societies including their historical highlights. In 2008 the Svalbard Global Seed Vault opened its doors for all the 1,300 gene banks throughout the world. The Seed Vault functions like a safety deposit box in a bank. The Government of Norway owns the facility and the depositing gene banks own the seeds they send. The vault now contains over 20 million seeds, samples from one-third of the world’s most important food crop varieties. In 1974 Ant Farm constructed Cadillac Ranch, ten Cadillac’s, ranging from a 1949 Club Coupe to a 1963 Sedan, buried fin-up in a wheat field in Texas. Much later, in 2006, during a performance work called Burial, Paul McCarthy and Raivo Puusemp buried one of McCarty’s own sculptures in the garden of Naturalis, the National History Museum of Leiden in The Netherlands. The buried sculpture resides underground as an artefact for future discovery.
archaelogy
Closer to earth itself many artists have made works that can be seen from outer space. The biggest one, Reflections from Earth is made by Tom Van Sant in 1980: a series of mirrors over a 1.5 mile stretch of the Mojave Desert in the shape of an eye. In 1989 Pierre Comte did something similar with Signature Terre: sixteen squares of black plastic fabric with sides measuring 60m creating the “Planet Earth” symbol. Two noble attempts to leave a trace and write history but as a work of art not surpassing the early Land Art by Robert Smithson (Asphalt Rundown, 1969 and Spiral Jetty, 1970) or even smaller interventions by Richard Long (A line made by walking, 1967) or Christo and Jeanne-Claude’s Surrounded Islands of 1980-83. No single work of art however can compete with the collaborative global effort to create a new geological layer over the earth, consisting of asphalt, concrete and plastic, contemporary materials representing our current civilisation. No matter what happens, we will all be remembered, that is for sure. We just don’t know how. ‘Will we arrive at a moment of sufficient self-alienation where we can contemplate on our own destruction as in a static spectacle’? (7). I don’t think so. We will be to busy with self-preservation, looking back to figure out what lays ahead. Like the speakers of Aymara, an Indian language of the high Andes, who think of time differently than just about everyone else in the world, we should also position the future behind us, because you can not see it and the past ahead of us, since that is the only thing we can see. This is precisely what so many artists are doing today; looking backwards to discover the future. Whatever lies in front of you and can be seen is used as inspiration source to imagine the unknown. (1) Michel Foucault used the term épistème in his work The Order of Things (Les Mots et les choses. Une archéologie des sciences humaines, 1966) to mean the historical a priori that grounds knowledge and its discourses and thus represents the condition of their possibility within a particular epoch. ‘I would define the episteme retrospectively as the strategic apparatus which permits of separating out from among all the statements which are possible those that will be acceptable within, I won’t say a scientific theory, but a field of scientificity, and which it is possible to say are true or false. The episteme is the ‘apparatus’ which makes possible the separation, not of the true from the false, but of what may from what may not be characterised as scientific’. (2) Ray Kurzweil, The Law of Accelerating Returns, 2001 An analysis of the history of technology shows that technological change is exponential, contrary to the common-sense ‘intuitive linear’ view. So we won’t experience 100 years of progress in the 21st century—it will be more like 20,000 years of progress (at today’s rate). The ‘returns,’ such as chip speed and cost-effectiveness, also increase exponentially. There’s even exponential growth in the rate of exponential growth. Within a few decades, machine intelligence will surpass human intelligence, leading to the Singu-
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larity—technological change so rapid and profound it represents a rupture in the fabric of human history. The implications include the merger of biological and nonbiological intelligence, immortal software-based humans, and ultra-high levels of intelligence that expand outward in the universe at the speed of light. (3) The Club of Rome is a global think tank that deals with a variety of international political issues. It was founded in April 1968 and raised considerable public attention in 1972 with its report Limits to Growth. In 1993, it published followup called The First Global Revolution. According to this book, “It would seem that humans need a common motivation, namely a common adversary, to organize and act together in the vacuum; such a motivation must be found to bring the divided nations together to face an outside enemy, either a real one or else one invented for the purpose….The common enemy of humanity is man….democracy is no longer well suited for the tasks ahead.”, and “In searching for a new enemy to unite us we came up with the idea that pollution, the threat of global warming, water shortages, famine and the like, would fit the bill.” This statement makes it clear that the current common adversary is the future itself. (4) Alba, the first green fluorescent bunny made by artist Eduardo Kac in 2000, is an albino rabbit. This means that, since she has no skin pigment, under ordinary environmental conditions she is completely white with pink eyes. Alba is not green all the time. She only glows when illuminated with the correct light. When (and only when) illuminated with blue light (maximum excitation at 488 nm), she glows with a bright green light (maximum emission at 509 nm). She was created with EGFP, an enhanced version (i.e., a synthetic mutation) of the original wild-type green fluorescent gene found in the jellyfish Aequorea Victoria. EGFP gives about two orders of magnitude greater fluorescence in mammalian cells (including human cells) than the original jellyfish gene. (5) Cryonics is the speculative practice of using cold to preserve the life of a person who can no longer be supported by ordinary medicine. The goal is to carry the person forward through time, for however many decades or centuries might be necessary, until the preservation process can be reversed, and the person restored to full health. While cryonics sounds like science fiction, there is a basis for it in real science. (www.alcor.org) (6) ‘KEO, The satellite that carries the hopes of the world. What reflections, what revelations do your future great grandchildren evoke in you? What would you wish to tell them about your life, your expectations, your doubts, your desires, your values, your emotions, your dreams’? (www.keo.org) (7) Walter Benjamin (Technocalyps – Frank Theys, 2006)
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Vocabulary
vocabulary
Cave The formation and development of caves is known as speleogenesis. Caves are formed by various geologic processes. These may involve a combination of chemical processes, erosion from water, tectonic forces, microorganisms, pressure, atmospheric influences, and even digging.
vocaburary
Dunes In physical geography, a dune is a hill of sand built by aeolian processes. Dunes are subject to different forms and sizes based on their interaction with the wind. Most kinds of dune are longer on the windward side where the sand is pushed up the dune, and a shorter “slip face” in the lee of the wind. The “valley” or trough between dunes is called a slack. A “dune field” is an area covered by extensive sand dunes. Large dune fields are known as ergs.
vocabulary
Rockfall Rockfall refers to quantities of rock falling freely from a cliff face. A rockfall is a fragment of rock (a block) detached by sliding, toppling, or falling, that falls along a vertical or sub-vertical cliff, proceeds down slope by bouncing and flying along ballistic trajectories or by rolling on talus or debris slopes,” (Varnes, 1978). Alternatively, a “rockfall is the natural downward motion of a detached block or series of blocks with a small volume involving free falling, bouncing, rolling, and sliding”.Unfavourable geology and climate are the principal causal mechanisms of rockfall, factors that include intact condition of the rock mass, discontinuities within the rockmass, weathering susceptibility, ground and surface water, freeze-thaw, root-wedging, and external stresses. The pieces of rock collect at the bottom creating a talus or scree. Rocks falling from the cliff may dislodge other rocks and serve to create another mass wasting process, for example an avalanche.
Tumulus A tumulus (plural tumuli) is a mound of earth and stones raised over a grave or graves. Tumuli are also known as barrows, burial mounds, Hügelgrab or kurgans, and can be found throughout much of the world. A tumulus composed largely or entirely of stones is usually referred to as a cairn.
vocaburary
Crater A volcanic crater is a circular depression in the ground caused by volcanic activity.[1] It is typically a basin, circular in form within which occurs a vent (or vents) from which magma erupts as gases, lava, and ejecta. A crater can be of large dimensions, and sometimes of great depth. During certain types of climactic eruptions, the volcano’s magma chamber may empty enough for an area above it to subside, forming what may appear to be a crater but is actually known as a caldera.
vocabulary
Hill A hill is a landform that extends above the surrounding terrain, in a limited area. Hills often have a distinct summit, although in areas with scarp/dip topography a hill may refer to a particular section of scarp slope without a well-defined summit (e.g. Box Hill). A hillock is a small hill.
vocaburary
Canyon A canyon,or gorge, is a deep valley between cliffs often carved from the landscape by a river. Most canyons were formed by a process of long-time erosion from a plateau level. The cliffs form because harder rock strata that are resistant to erosion and weathering remain exposed on the valley walls. Canyons are much more common in arid areas than in wetter areas because weathering has a greater effect in arid zones. Canyon walls are often formed of resistant sandstones or granite. Submarine canyons are those which form underwater, generally at the mouths of rivers. The word canyon is Spanish in origin (ca帽贸n). The word canyon is generally used in the United States, while the word gorge is more common in Europe and Oceania, though it is also used in some parts of the United States and Canada. The military derived word defile is occasionally used in England.
vocabulary
Mound A mound is a general term for an artificial heaped pile of earth, gravel, sand, rocks, or debris. The most common use is in reference to natural earthen formation such as hills and mountains, particularly if they appear artificial. The term may also be applied to any rounded area of topographically higher elevation on any surface. Artificial mounds have been created for a variety of reasons throughout history, including ceremonial (platform mound), burial (tumulus), and commemorative purposes (e.g. Kościuszko Mound). In the archaeology of the United States and Canada, the term “mound” has specific and technical connotations. In this sense, a mound is a deliberately constructed elevated earthen structure or earthwork, intended for a range of potential uses. In European and Asian archaeology, the word “tumulus” may be used as a synonym for an artificial hill, particularly if the hill is related to particular burial customs. Mound types * Cairn o Chambered cairn * Effigy mound * Kofun (Japanese mounds) * Platform mound * Tell (also includes multi-lingual synonyms for mounds in the Near East) * Tumulus (Barrow) o Bank barrow o Bell barrow o Bowl barrow o Chambered long barrow o Kurgan o Long barrow o Oval barrow
vocaburary
vocabulary
Turbidite Turbidite geological formations have their origins in turbidity current deposits, which are deposits from a form of underwater avalanche that are responsible for distributing vast amounts of clastic sediment into the deep ocean.
vocaburary
Volcano
A volcano is an opening, or rupture, in a planet’s surface or crust, which allows hot magma, ash and gases to escape from below the surface. The word volcano is derived from the name of Vulcano island off Sicily which in turn, was named after Vulcan, the Roman god of fire. Volcanoes are generally found where tectonic plates are diverging or converging. By contrast, volcanoes are usually not created where two tectonic plates slide past one another. Volcanoes can be caused by mantle plumes. These so-called hotspots, for example at Hawaii, can occur far from plate boundaries. Hotspot volcanoes are also found elsewhere in the solar system, especially on rocky planets and moons.
vocabulary
Fault scarp Fault scarp (scarp-απότομη κατηφοριά) A fault scarp is the topographic expression of faulting attributed to the displacement of the land surface by movement along the fault. It can be caused by differential erosion along an old inactive geologic fault (a sort of old rupture) with hard & weak rock, or by a movement on an active fault. In many cases, bluffs form from the upthrown block and can be very steep. The height of the scarp formation is equal to the vertical displacement along the fault. Active scarps are usually formed by tectonic displacement, e.g. when an earthquake changes the elevation of the ground, and can be caused by any type of fault, including strike-slip faults, whose motion is primarily horizontal. This movement is usually episodic, with the height of the bluffs being the result of multiple movements over time. Displacement of around 5 to 10 meters per tectonic event is common.
vocaburary
Deposits Deposition is the geological process by which material is added to a landform or land mass. Fluids such as wind and water, as well as sediment gravity flows, transport previously eroded sediment, which, at the loss of enough kinetic energy in the fluid, is deposited, building up layers of sediment. Deposition occurs when the forces responsible for sediment transportation are no longer sufficient to overcome the forces of particle weight and friction, which resist motion. Deposition can also refer to the build up of a sediment from organically derived matter or chemical processes. For example, chalk is made up partly of the microscopic calcium carbonate skeletons of marine plankton, the deposition of which has induced chemical processes (diagenesis) to deposit further calcium carbonate. Similarly, the formation of coal begins with the deposition of organic material, mainly from plants, in anaerobic conditions.
vocabulary
slope A badlands (also badland) is a type of arid terrain where softer sedimentary rocks and clay-rich soils have been extensively eroded by wind and water. It can resemble malpaĂs, a terrain of volcanic rock. Canyons, ravines, gullies, hoodoos and other such geological forms are common in badlands. They are often difficult to navigate by foot. Badlands often have a spectacular colour display that alternates from dark black/blue coal stria to bright clays to red scoria.
vocaburary
Geomorphology (from Greek: γη, ge, “earth”; μορφή, morfé, “form”; and λόγος, logos, “knowledge”) is the scientific study of landforms and the processes that shape them. Geomorphologists seek to understand why landscapes look the way they do: to understand landform history and dynamics, and predict future changes through a combination of field observation, physical experiment, and numerical modeling. Geomorphology is practiced within geology, engineering geology, geodesy, geography, archaeology, and geological engineering. Early studies in geomorphology are the foundation for pedology, one of two main branches of soil science. Landforms evolve in response to a combination of natural and anthropogenic processes. The landscape is built up through tectonic uplift and volcanism. Denudation occurs by erosion and mass wasting, which produces sediment that is transported and deposited elsewhere within the landscape or off the coast. Landscapes are also lowered by subsidence, either due to tectonics or physical changes in underlying sedimentary deposits. These processes are each influenced differently by climate, ecology, and human activity. Practical applications of geomorphology include measuring the effects of climate change, hazard assessments including landslide prediction and mitigation, river control and restoration, coastal protection, and assessing the presence of water on Mars.
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Ο λόφος ήταν η αφορμή για να ξεκινήσει η σύνταξη ενός λεξιλογίου. Επιστρέφουμε λοιπόν στον λόφο. Ο λόφος αποτελεί την κεντρική μας γεωμετρία. Εκείνη που επιχειρούμε να εισάγουμε στην περιοχή. Τα χωρικά του χαρακτηριστικά, όπως η καμπύλη, το ύψος και οι παρυφές, η εκ των έσω ώθηση και η κάθετη φορά συνυφαίνονται με τα χαρακτηριστικά της περιοχής και παραφράζουν την αρχαία γεωμετρία που κρύβει. Τα αρχαία βρίσκονται θαμμένα αλλά η παρουσία τους είναι σημαντική. Δεν πρόκειται πλέον για έναν λόφο, αλλά για έναν λόφο πάνω από αρχαία. Πρόκειται για ένα απρόσμενο και νέο στοιχείο που προσγειώνεται στην περιοχή πάνω σε κάτι παλιό. Είναι τελικά ένας λόφος που υποδεικνύει την παρουσία του κάτω, βρίσκεται εκεί για να τη θυμίσει. Ξεκινήσαμε να σχεδιάζουμε σε μακέτα 1:200, με πηλό και περιβάλλοντα χώρο. Ο όγκος άρχισε να μορφοποιείται και να διαδρά με το γύρω. Άρχισαν να σχηματίζονται εσοχές, υποχωρήσεις, ανεβάσματα, πορείες για ανάβαση και περιμετρική κίνηση, θέσεις για παρατήρηση και ρεμβασμό. Ο όγκος άρχισε πλέον να σχηματοποιείται και να γίνεται χώρος αλλά και ένα νέο έκθεμα. Ένας μικρός τόπος ύψους έντεκα μέτρων από την πλευρά της Ολύμπου και πέντε μέτρων από την Αγ. Δημητρίου. Οι χαράξεις του παρέμεναν καθαρές και ευανάγνωστες για εκείνον που τον κοίταζε από ψηλά. Στο εσωτερικό, ωστόσο, ο όγκος έκρυβε και εμφάνιζε στοιχεία του περιβάλλοντός του. Επέτρεπε την γενική εντύπωση σε αυτόν που τον περπατά, αλλά δεν γινόταν ποτέ εξ ολοκλήρου αντιληπτός. Πάνω από τα αρχαία, απέναντι από το Διοικητήριο, ένας άνθρωπος βρίσκεται αντιμέτωπος με έναν λόφο.
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_διαδρομή στις παρυφές_ σταυροδρόμι διαφορετικών γεωμετριών
κορυφή_πορεία ανάβασης
υποχώρηση του όγκου_ δυνατότητες στάσης και περιπλάνησης στρεφόμενος προς τη γειτονιά _εγκολπώνει την κίνηση
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θέση κλειδί_παρατηρητήριο _προστατευμένη
διαπλοκή των κοιλοτήτων_
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Οι χαράξεις του όγκου παρέμεναν αδρές στον πηλό και το χέρι ήταν εμφανές. Η μετάβαση ωστόσο από το εύπλαστο υλικό στην ψηφιακή απεικόνισή του ήταν το επόμενο στάδιο που έδωσε στον όγκο μια άλλη διάσταση και μια υπόσταση ακριβείας. Προέκυπτε τώρα μια άλλη εικόνα του, λίγο αλλοιωμένη, από ψηλά, σε κάτοψη με υψομετρικές καμπύλες. Ο όγκος μεταγλωττισμένος.
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δοκιμή προσεδάφισης_οι πρώτοι άνθρωποι κάνουν την εμφάνισή τους στον λόφο_
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πανόραμα
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o καιρός αφήνει την σκιά του
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_στην κορυφή του λόφου
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