Experimental archaeometallurgy in perspective (Doonan and Dungworth)

Introduction

Modern attempts to explain early metallurgical processes and techniques have formed an important strand of research within archaeometallurgy. Our understanding of many aspects of early metallurgy has been based primarily on archaeological evidence: including furnace structures, tools, waste materials and, of course, finished metal artefacts (Killick and Fenn 2012). This archaeological evidence is by its very nature fragmentary and incomplete. Furnace structures almost never survive to their full height and tools, waste materials and finished artefacts are rarely found in the contexts in which they were made and used. The difficulties imposed by archaeological evidence are further complicated by the ways in which technologies have changed so dramatically over time. Many of the metallurgical technologies employed in the past have no modern counterpart in the developed world, making them unfamiliar to most archaeologists. As a result they might be misunderstood or even unrecognised during the process of recovery and study. The ethnographic investigation of enduring technologies in contemporary societies has long been used to shed light on archaeological evidence (eg Bellamy and Harboard 1904; Gowland 1899) yet such usage can at times be employed in a manner that reinforces the erroneous assumption that all societies (past and present) are following a single technological trajectory, albeit at different rates of progress (Pfaffenberger 1992). Clearly there are metallurgical practices current in non-industrial societies which were not employed in Europe’s remote past and vice versa. Even where ancient and modern technologies appear to share similarities there may remain significant and subtle differences between past and present practices.

The fragmentary nature of archaeological evidence along with the limitations of modern ethnographic parallels have encouraged archaeologists and others to embark on projects with the aim of clarifying their own understandings of ancient technological practice (Cushing 1894; Gowland 1899; 1912a; 1912b; Coghlan 1939; 1939/40). Such experiments have tended to test whether a particular technology, procedure

or practice could be responsible for the archaeological evidence encountered through excavation or the study of artefacts and residues. In this paper a history of experimental archaeometallurgy is outlined with a critical analysis of the development of the discipline. In light of this review the future directions and needs for experimental practice are considered.

Experimental terminology The term experimental archaeology seems to emerge in the early sixties and carries with it a sense of the oxymoronic (Ascher 1961). It is an often lamented problem that sites can only be excavated once and in the process they are destroyed. Considered alongside the central tenet of experiment, repeatability, we quickly find ourselves dealing with some apparently irreconcilable concepts. Any hope of resolution fades when archaeology is understood as the study of the human past, and experiment as an objective methodical procedure seeking to establish the validity of a hypothesis free of human subjectivity. It seems then that the range of practices that can be considered as ‘experimental archaeology’ are broad and extend from the rigorously scientific to the whimsical and dramatic (Fig 1). John Coles, a leading figure in experimental studies, recognised this over 45 years ago when he described (not defined) experimental archaeology as,

a convenient way of describing the collection of facts, theories, and fictions that have been assembled through a century of interest in the reconstruction and function of ancient remains Coles 1967, 1

There is then a paradox at the heart of experimental archaeology (see Doonan this volume, 17–24) that is rarely tackled directly. Instead it seems that the almost tacit awareness of this issue has promulgated a rash of terms regarding specific practices that Coles would certainly see simply as experimental archaeology.

Experimental archaeometallurgy in perspective

Roger C P Doonan1 and David Dungworth2

1 Department of Archaeology, The University of Sheffield, Sheffield, S1 4ET, United Kingdom [email protected] 2 English Heritage, Fort Cumberland, Portsmouth, PO4 9LD, United Kingdom [email protected]

ABSTRACT: Experimental approaches have occupied a central position within archaeometallurgy with the result that the range of methods and contexts of practices have flourished. It is apparent that there is now no single approach to experiment when it comes to exploring past metallurgical practices and there is a danger that such diversity may lead to fragmentation. Here it is argued that there are a number of key issues that if recognised and addressed may initiate and sustain significant collaborations that in turn may allow a common, yet wide framework to be developed. Issues highlighted in this paper include the understandings brought to and gained from experimental practice, the problems of the (un)skilled practitioner, the challenges with documenting and recording experiments and the enduring issue of publication and dissemination.

Doonan R C P and Dungworth D 2013, ‘Experimental archaeometallurgy in perspective’, in D Dungworth and R C P Doonan (eds) Accidental and Experimental Archaeometallurgy (London), 1–10.

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ACCIDENTAL AND EXPERIMENTAL ARCHAEOMETALLURGY

Reynolds (1999) saw no place for experimental archaeology in addressing matters human, specifically the emotional and motivational, and bemoaned the fact that re-enactment, bush craft, and living history had ‘become subsumed under the overall title of experimental archaeology’ (Reynolds 1999, 156). Whilst Reynolds wished to establish experimental archaeology as purely the testing of a hypothesis under controlled conditions, others have been more inclusive and recognised the role of human experience and incorporated phenomenological studies within experimental archaeology (Mathieu 2002). Presently two terms have tended to emerge amongst experimental archaeologists that often, but not always, indicate the general type of approach that they have taken. ‘Experiential’ has been adopted by those who wish to consider the role of the human in a particular experimental practice. The inclusion of humans may range from focused studies that attempt to use the body as a means of scrutinising space or examining skills and perceptual aspects of a process to events which adopt an overarching theatrical or narrative approach. The term ‘Experimental’, no matter how broadly it is now used, still tends to be held tightly by those wishing to align themselves with scientific approaches.

Wherever particular researchers sit in the experimental-experiential debate they are brought together in their laudably practical pursuits. The practical is often held subservient to theory yet it is a recurring point in this publication that it is central to the development of theory and can even be argued to be primary (Ingold 2007). Here too experimenters have found issues with terminology. A common term used in experimental archaeology is reconstruction. A seemingly innocuous term yet many have identified an implicit assumption lurking within it. To reconstruct implies that what the experimenter is constructing is already known — as how otherwise could a reconstruction be attempted. To reconstruct then is seen as an anathema to some as it is the construction of the experiment that aims to create knowledge about a specific past practice. Other perspectives

might include reconstruction as a useful term especially if they see the process of experiment as reconstructing the various parts or aspects of a process or artefact that have already been determined by post-excavation study. Similar arguments have been applied to archaeological creations and re-creations although the term re-creation and its innocent ability to communicate the fun and enjoyment which comes with practical engagement will surely have an enduring appeal to many. For a book oriented to the practical it may appear ironic to squander words in semantics yet such confusion and ambiguity highlight the myriad difficulties that often hinder the publication of experimental studies (see below). In this volume you will encounter all of these terms and when understood from these perspectives they gather more meaning than one might first suppose.

Archaeometallurgical experiments: an outline

Experimental archaeology has made significant contributions to our understanding of the materials and methods employed in metallurgical practice amongst early societies. Such undertakings have not been pursued in a single context: they can be found either in a laboratory, (eg Pollard et al 1991; Rostoker et al 1989; Rostocker and Dvorak 1991; Wynne and Tylecote 1958) or in the field (eg Anstee 1966; Cleere 1971; Crew 1991; Tylecote et al 1971), although the latter have sometimes taken place in an ethnographic context (eg Schmidt 1997). The variety of practices shows the strength and diversity of this aspect of archaeometallurgy whilst demonstrating the difficulty in marshalling such a breadth of information.

Almost all metallurgy ultimately begins with the winning of a suitable ore from the earth yet this is one area where experimental work has rarely been undertaken. There are numerous reasons for this but the most important is probably the difficulty in accessing suitable geological resources. In many places associated with ancient mining, the relevant deposits of metal-bearing minerals have been thoroughly explored and exploited over the past centuries and millennia. The destruction of ancient mining remains through later exploitation also removes the opportunity to explore practical issues of mineral extraction in their geological context.

The selection, modification, hafting and use of stone hammers for experimental mining has been investigated by Craddock and colleagues (Craddock 1990). In many cases the use of stone mining tools has taken place in conjunction with other materials (eg antler picks) and/or firesetting to weaken the rock (Crew 1990; Lewis 1990; Timberlake 1990).

The lack of suitable ore sources has meant that such experimental ‘mining’ has tended to focus on the practicalities of working host rock rather than winning actual ore. The study of the failure and wear patterns on the stone mining tools has been particularly valuable (Lewis 1990). Current metallurgical practice and historical sources suggest that mined ores would routinely be treated to improve their quality before smelting (Fig 2). Pre-treatments may include a variety of beneficiation techniques which crush and sort the

Figure 1: Iron smelting at the reconstructed medieval village for the Shambala Festival 2007.

EXPERIMENTAL ARCHAEOMETALLURGY IN PERSPECTIVE

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Figure 2: Ore washing in the Forest of Dean in 2012.

mineral from gangue and extend to roasting (Doonan 1994) which modifies both the physical and chemical properties of the ore making it more suitable for smelting. Like mining, very little experimental work has been carried out in this field although Merkel (1985) has shown that beneficiation can have a significant effect on trace element concentrations in copper ores and in the smelted metal.

The smelting of copper ores has a long history in experimental archaeology. Gowland (1912a; 1912b) carried out the experimental smelting of oxide copper ore in a shallow hearth. This hearth had no superstructure and was simply composed of a mass of ore and charcoal with air introduced via a tuyère. Coghlan (1939/40) carried out a similar experiment in a hearth with low walls and no tuyère but was less successful in producing metallic copper. Further experimental copper smelting has looked at the partitioning of trace elements during smelting (eg Tylecote et al 1977; Merkel 1990), the effect of low temperature smelting (eg Budd et al 1996; Pollard et al 1991) and co-smelting different ores (eg Rostoker et al 1989; Rostocker and Dvorak 1991). At Batan Grande, Peru, researchers went as far as actually using an excavated furnace to explore slag formation during the copper smelting process and estimate the number of workers needed to operate the furnace (Shimada and Merkel 1991).

The experimental casting of copper and its alloys (both as ingots and as finished artefacts) has been investigated by numerous researchers (eg Dungworth 2000a; 2000b; Kearns et al 2010; Merkel 1986; Van Lokeran 2000; Wang and Ottaway 2004). The experimental use of different materials (including metals) and the marks left by these on bone have been investigated (Greenfield 1999; Olsen 1988) but little attention has been paid to the ways in which metal artefacts undergo wear.

Experimental iron production can be traced back to the 1950s and has perhaps been more intensively and extensively explored than copper working (Pleiner 2000). Experimental iron smelting regularly takes place in many European countries and has even spread to America and Africa; the latter usually as part of an ethnographic investigation of recent practice. Several early experiments attempted to reconstruct iron smelting in a bowl furnace (that is one with little or no superstructure) with varying methods and

results (eg O’Kelly 1961; Wynne and Tylecote 1958; see also Dungworth forthcoming). O’Kelly’s and Wynne’s smelts contrast with each other in ways which are echoed in those of many subsequent researchers. O’Kelly appears to have reconstructed an ‘authentic’ furnace, out-of-doors, the furnace was blown using leather bellows and there appear to have been few quantitative measurements or recordings. It is not clear how often (if at all) O’Kelly repeated his experiment. Wynne’s furnace was constructed using modern materials in a laboratory and was carefully arranged to allow for the systematic recording of temperature and gas composition. In addition, Wynne repeated the experiment with the careful variation of factors such as ore type, the size of the ore and charcoal pieces, the charging procedure, the number of tuyères as well as their diameter and angle, and the blowing rate. Both O’Kelly and Wynne succeeded in producing iron, however, O’Kelly abandoned the subject and Tylecote and colleagues moved on to shaft furnaces, that is furnaces taller than they are wide and with a built superstructure.

The first experiment carried out by Tylecote et al (1971) using a shaft furnace marked a move out-of-doors but the limited success of this experiment (a single cake of mixed slag and iron) induced the researchers to return to the laboratory. The furnaces were all constructed from modern and highly refractory materials, they were also provided with numerous instruments to monitor temperature as well as gas pressure and composition. The construction and operation of a bloomery furnace was clearly a learning experience with many early smelts producing only small amounts (or no) iron, and in one case cast iron instead of a bloom. Later smelts were more successful: smelt 19 yielded a 5.8kg bloom from 27kg of ore. The systematic approach to the control of a wide range of variables yielded a great deal of information on the behaviour of shaft furnaces and the effect of ore:fuel ratio. Much of the detail on the individual experiments (at least 28 separate smelts) could not be included in Tylecote et al (1971) and remains unpublished. At the same time valuable experimental iron smelts were carried out by researchers in many European countries, however, it is unfortunate that there has been little reporting of this work in English (see Nørbach 1997 for a notable exception). In England, Tylecote’s experiments formed a foundation on which others continued to build (see Crew this volume, 25–50; McDonnell this volume, 61–68). Crew’s iron smelting experiments contrasted significantly with Tylecote’s work in that there was more attention paid to authenticity, although systematic recording was not neglected. The secondary working of iron has received rather less attention compared to smelting (see Soulignac and Serneels this volume, 119–126; Dungworth and Wilkes 2009).

More recent studies have extended the range of subjects explored experimentally (eg Anguilano et al 2010; Azéma et al 2011; Guirado et al 2010; L’Héritier and Téreygeol 2010) whilst there is also evidence that experimental protocols are integrating laboratory practice with field practice as an effective manner to decrease and control the number of variables typically encountered (Bourgarit and Thomas 2011).

While experimental archaeometallurgy has a strong attachment to investigating smelting technology it seems

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that the limits of experiential archaeology to contribute to archaeometallurgy are set by the questions we ask of archaeological evidence. With the refinement of excavation practice and an increasingly sophisticated theory of material culture it is likely that the role of experiment will develop while being able to connect disparate sectors of knowledge.

Complex materials — complex societiesThe mastery of fire and its use by humans to transform materials has occupied a special place in human history from the earliest Promethean stories. Paralleling many mythological accounts of human development, modern archaeology has appointed a special role to the pyro-technologies in accounts of social development with the inception of metallurgy afforded, arguably, the greatest significance (Childe 1944; Wertime 1964; 1973; Wheeler and Maddin 1980; Budd and Taylor 1994). Metallurgy has come to hold a special position amongst technologies because of the sophisticated social and technical conditions thought necessary to allow its development (Childe 1944, Wertime 1964). In contrast with other technologies, eg ceramics, this specialisation of metallurgy has been further reinforced by scholars who have noted a number of aspects of metal-using communities: long distance exchange of mineral resources and metal artefacts (Renfrew 1972; Penhallurick 1986), the body of specialised technical knowledge (Childe 1944; Roberts et al 2009), and the complex ritual and political strategies used to control a principal economic activity (Doonan and Day 2007). When taken together it is clear why the origin and development of metallurgy have been considered as proxies for social development. Despite more than two decades of scholarly debate seeking to undermine the assumptions that support a simple relationship between technology and social development (Hughes 1986, Pfaffenberger 1992) the enduring interpretation of metallurgy is as a complex practice appropriate for signifying/identifying the emergence of social complexity (Anthony 2007), the interaction amongst complex institutions (Kristiansen and Larsson 2005) or processes of cultural transmission reliant on the coordination of strategic groups (White and Hamilton 2009). Rather than assuming that metallurgy is a series of complex sophisticated processes undertaken by complex societies, archaeologists should establish and demonstrate such relationships through evaluating a range of evidence which may include experimental archaeometallurgy. We should expect a set of clear relationships amongst primary field data, artefactual analyses and indeed the results of experimental archaeology. Whilst the first two are well established, it is the role of experiment that has often been poorly defined and remains in need of both theoretical and practical maturity.

An analysis of the context and conditions under which experimental archaeometallurgy developed reveals the disciplinary concerns of the community which initiated this mode of enquiry. The wider abandonment of technology and material culture studies (see Malinowski, quoted in Pfaffenberger 1992) by anthropologists and archaeologists in the early part of the 20th century, left the history of technology to be addressed by scientists eager to explore the origin of their own professions (Hughes 1986). Such groups were fluent with experimental protocols and fascinated

by the practical and technical abilities of their ancestors; they set about their enquiries from a perspective which incorporated experiment (Tylecote 1974; Tylecote et al 1977). Experimental approaches were not only familiar to these groups they were an ideal means through which to ‘test’ ambiguous field evidence and to assemble the fragmentary remains of past processes into working systems. Using dynamic practice also provided the opportunity to address site formation processes.

Experimental archaeometallurgy underwent its most significant development at a time when archaeology was being reconfigured to align more closely with the sciences (Clarke 1973). Its development therefore sat comfortably alongside the wider acknowledgement of experimental approaches (Coles 1973), yet it was further allied to the processual movement in light of the complex chemical transformations it sought to explore and the use of sophisticated instruments for monitoring experiments. In short, experimental archaeometallurgy became a science that seemed to be exploring the origins of science (Childe 1944).

The combination of scientific method and technique when applied to early metallurgy created the impression that such knowledge was beyond the easy grasp of researchers and certainly those who were still immersed in a culture-historical paradigm. The effect then was that the scientific atmosphere which now attended experimental archaeometallurgy served to further reinforce the idea of metallurgy as a complex practice and one necessarily restricted to complex societies. These attitudes serve to elevate the achievements of our forebears and simultaneously bolster the efforts (and egos) of those engaged in the study and reconstruction of ancient metallurgy. For those who had followed the writings of Childe in detail it was clear that the metalsmith was a central figure in the development of Bronze Age Europe. Childe had dwelt on the status of the smith and characterised ‘him’ as a full time specialist who experimented as the proto-scientist (Childe 1957). It was in the developing political and economic structures of the later Neolithic that Childe saw the conditions emerge where the metalsmith could operate. Having developed craft skills and mastery of their environment smiths could supposedly move freely amongst a supra-regional system exploiting diverse resources and materialising ideologies rather than being shackled by them. The idea of the socially-independent smith has exercised

Figure 3: Furnace building in the Forest of Dean in 2012.


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considerable influence in archaeology and within this we see ideals such as the freedom of science and the sanctioning of unmetered experimentation to emerge (Gathercole 1971). Contemporary experimental archaeometallurgists thus employ methods, theories and practices that have been endorsed by the same discipline within which they operate (ie an origin myth). This is a significant realisation and testimony of the important need to reflect carefully not just on the mode of practice but the very motivation for enquiry itself.

It should then be of some concern that a review of experimental literature fails to identify a single account which celebrates the expediency or simplicity of a metallurgical process, instead we encounter narratives that warn of difficulties in maintaining adequate temperatures or specific furnace atmospheres. Again, the effect is to elevate these practices and emphasise the link between complexity and metallurgy. In doing so we severely compromise our ability to understand social development in anything other than evolutionary and linear terms.

Archaeometallurgy is not alone amongst ancient craft studies in elevating its own practice. Until recently, the development of ceramic technology was often seen as a consequence of sedentary modes of existence associated with agriculture (Jordan and Zvelebil 2009). Pottery was rarely, if ever, considered to occur in hunter-gatherer societies. Emerging dating programs strongly suggest that pottery first emerged in hunter-gather communities in the far east of the Eurasian landmass and indicates the dangers of reiterating simple and uncritical models of technological development (ibid).

If experimental practice has contributed to the characterisation of metallurgy as the zenith of craft and skill, then it falls to the current generation of experimental archaeometallurgists to reflect on attitudes and approaches to experiment. The accumulation of appropriate skill is a necessity in the undertaking of experimental practice but to what extent is such understanding used to reinforce dominant paradigms for social development? Metallurgy and complexity may well endure as associated concepts yet it would be refreshing to see studies that did not necessarily prioritise such notions.

Skilled practice and craftThe need for craft skill in carrying out experimental metallurgical activity is of fundamental importance but the implications of this are not always fully articulated. The degree and nature of the skills required will vary depending on the structure of the experiment. An idealised laboratory-based experiment will usually control a large number of variables and leave relatively little room for the practitioner to exercise craft skill. Such closely controlled experiments do, however, require considerable skill and training in scientific methods (eg Gooding et al 1989; Latour and Woolgar 1986) but these are rarely the same as craft skills. In contrast, less controlled experiments tend to prioritise dextrous skills and acute perceptions over scientific control, monitoring and recording. The ways in which the skill of the experimenter can affect the outcomes of an experiment

are rarely made explicit in published accounts. One of the reasons why skill remains largely hidden in the formal accounts of experimental archaeology is the rather skewed nature of publications themselves (see below). Most of the literature reporting experiments deals with closely cont-rolled experiments where there is limited acknowledgement (or need) of craft skill.

Within archaeometallurgy the highly controlled experiment continues to contribute to our understanding of aspects of early metalworking, however, many experimenters now make strenuous efforts to carry out their experiments with more attention to authenticity. They try to use only tools and materials that are appropriate (or at least plausible) to a specific cultural-historical context for the technology they are attempting to investigate. The use of tools that are rarely, if ever, used in the contemporary world requires dexterous skills that most academics simply do not have (Reynolds 1999). Some of the undesired outcomes of experiments (including outright failures) can be traced to deficiencies in skill and or experience (see Dungworth this volume, 11–16; Pitman et al this volume, 153–160).

There are perhaps two key approaches which can be used to address this skills deficiency: improve our understanding of the principles of craft, and work in collaboration with craft practitioners. The ethnographic literature contains numerous examples where a particular metallurgical technology has been studied (including how technologies can be embedded in song, religious practice, etc), but there are relatively few explicit accounts which investigate the role of individual skill. One of the most successful attempts to study craft skill has been the study of blacksmithing by the Kellers (Keller and Keller 1996). Charles Keller (an anthropologist with a background in African Stone Age technology) persuaded a contemporary artist blacksmith to take him on as an apprentice. Charles Keller aimed to learn blacksmithing but he was actually more interested in the ways in which craft skill was transferred from master to apprentice. It quickly became apparent that the skills required to manipulate hot iron did not lend themselves easily to abstract thought and could only be incompletely relayed in words (verbal or written). The skills that the master blacksmith regarded as the most fundamental to becoming a blacksmith were those which were hardest to verbalise and to some extent even conceptualise. These skills were generally conveyed from master to apprentice by demonstration, observation and imitation.

The Kellers proposed that smiths conceived of their work in a goal-orientated manner and that ideas and sensory observations (fire, metal, etc) were combined in a dialectic fashion. The Kellers explored how combinations of intentions and senses (as well as the interactions between them) could be represented as metaphorical umbrellas or constellations. Despite the use of the term cognition in the title of their book, the Kellers’s analysis includes elements which are not always thought of as cognitive: non-verbal reasoning and skill embedded in action. Perhaps their most telling conclusion is that neither mind nor body have primacy but rather each plays a mutually supporting role in allowing the skilled body to act effectively — practice makes perfect. Such analysis echoes elements of Heidegger’s ideas about how our

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The relationship between people and things necessitates an understanding of the ways in which the properties of a material can influence the final form of an artefact (Ingold 2000, 339–348). Ingold suggests that form emerges as a dialogue between material and maker and that the maker often has no clear blueprint at the beginning. Objects are seen to grow from a set of relationships that incorporate skill, intention and material properties. Such perspectives contrast starkly with ideas of material culture being the result of ideas being impressed on material and are more consistent with many traditional societies that conceive craft in terms of negotiating the uncovering or releasing of an artefact from the starting material (Carpenter 1961).

While an understanding of craft skills provides information about the ways in which skills can be learnt, it does not follow that those skills will be acquired through abstract study. Ideally those academics who wish to pursue successful experiments employing craft skills will be provided with the freedom and resources to learn from repeated trial and error. Such latitude is likely to be rare, however, and a more pragmatic approach would be for academics to seek out skilled practitioners prepared to collaborate on joint projects. This is a significant issue and one that is symptomatic of a hierarchy of value that privileges the cerebral over the corporeal.

In recent years there has been a growing group of skilled practitioners who have developed skills and practical knowledge to enable them to undertake highly successful bloomery iron smelts. Many of these practitioners come to bloom smelting from a non-academic background, such as the artist blacksmith Lee Sauder (see Sauder this volume, 69–74) and the school teacher Jake Keen (see Keen this volume, 75–82). Their approach is embedded in skilled practice and their goals are primarily the production of metal rather than the replication of a particular ancient technology or an engagement with a particular culture-historical context. The establishment of Umha Aois (Hansen 2008) has led to a number of successful collaborations between artists and archaeologists looking at the ways in which copper alloys were melted and cast in prehistory.

Even where skilled practitioners are not available to teach or collaborate with academic archaeologists, it is still possible to

see ways in which skill deficiencies can be addressed through untutored and even unstructured activity. This is especially true for technologies and skills which are no longer practiced. Everyone with an interest in the past use of materials should be urged to get to know these materials better (Ingold 2007). A reflexive engagement with ‘experiment’ can afford countless opportunities for the experimenter to perceive new materials and practices in novel ways. Importantly, we need to conceptualise (and even accommodate) experiments from the very beginning of any engagement with archaeology — including field-work. The recent move towards employing embodied approaches to archaeological recording in the field, even in commercial practice (Andrews et al 2000), offers the potential to develop direct links between field practice and experimental programmes where the inhabitation of archaeological contexts and space can inform the planning and execution of experimental campaigns.

Scientific recording and practice Any review of experimental archaeometallurgy will quickly highlight the diversity of practice, recording and reporting amongst the community. Arguably such diversity makes it harder to develop syntheses that draw upon a wide range of studies. The publication of experimental campaigns is a critical issue (see below) because the lack of a widely accepted format, contents or even need for publication, hinders wider dissemination. Similar attitudes and issues can be found in the experimental methods and recording. What then might we consider as future directions for the practice and recording of experimental archaeometallurgy?

The range of experiments and practitioners at the 2010 HMS West Dean conference highlighted the diversity of approaches employed in the discipline as a whole. Activities ranged from those which were tightly controlled with scientific monitoring equipment and record keeping (eg McDonnell this volume, 61–68; Smith this volume, 99–106) to those which relied upon internalising the event in the form of personal experience (eg Keen this volume, 75–82). It was clear that the activities that incorporated scientific monitoring were the ones that also included other instrumentation to measure ore quantities and to deliver air. From this perspective it seems unreasonable to

Figure 4: Blacksmithing experiments at West Dean in 2005.

relationship with the material world changes depending on how we act in the world (Heidegger 1962). A hammer is an object of diverse potentials until we pick it up and start using it to hammer a nail (note the way in which hammer can be a noun and/or a verb). The act of hammering focuses our attention on the nail and we become less aware of the hammer as a separate object — the hammer becomes part of us and our intentions (cf the idea of constellation as used by the Kellers). The tool becomes ‘submerged in the practice of use’ (Thomas 2006, 46). Such perspectives have been discussed widely in a range of disciplines from material culture studies to science and society studies which are currently exploring new human technology relations especially those which integrate robotics, digital networks and bodily augmentation. Latour (1994) offers such a nuanced approach to the relationship between things and people, seeing the emergence of new actors/agents formed from a combination of initial agents/actors (human-technological hybrids).


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expect, or even desire, convergence in terms of practice or recording. Most noticeable was the contrast in recording and practice highlighted in the differing parameters that were considered important by different groups. Despite many instances of iron bloom smelting it was clear that different groups attached very different values to aspects of the smelt.

Although diversity is often celebrated, it might be considered an indulgence for a discipline which has lamentably few experiments, let alone whole campaigns, reported. If some basic guidelines to best practice could be agreed by the community then it would be likely that wider use of results could be made which would go some distance to producing real insight from such studies. It is perhaps unlikely in the short term that such developments will emerge unless some network is established where shared principles and approaches are adopted. The results of such an initiative could be extremely powerful and, if planned correctly, could accommodate a diversity of theoretical approaches.

There is an apparent tension between craft-based approaches and those that endorse scientific recording of experiments. This tension is likely influenced by individuals with a (secondary) desire to present a dynamic diorama to a public (see Dungworth this volume, 11–16) and those who wish to be seen aligning themselves with scientific practice, perhaps to confirm their credentials or express loyalty to their professional origins. Both approaches face significant difficulties when translating experience into published text and data (see below). The two extremes of smelting experiment, the highly monitored mechanised approach and the craft-based approach have a very different focus. Those who adopt a scientific focus tend to concentrate on the internal process of the furnace itself, if temperatures and air flows are adequate and the furnace form is correct then the conditions in which effective smelting and slag formation occur should develop. Craft-based approaches turn more to the relationship between the skilled practitioner and the process. Neither one is right or wrong, and, while it seems an obvious move to dilute one with the other, this presents problems as the consistent conditions and steady state process associated with the scientific approach is very different to the highly variable craft approach.

An immediate issue is effective recording. Documenting the activities of an individual charging ore, pumping bellows or fiddling with tuyères is an extremely burdensome task yet without such fine-grained detail the utility of precise scientific data is eroded. Other methods of recording should then be considered and it seems the potential for various digital media is high. Time-lapse photography and video recording have been available for some time yet are rarely taken advantage of in routine experiments. The use of multiple cameras offers real benefits in terms of recording, but at the cost of significant data processing. This is one area where sophisticated software packages can be used to analyse recorded data. The ability to map and process aspects of a series of images or video means use of space can be easily addressed over long periods of time, equally, ore charging activities can be characterised temporally and in terms of technique, equally bellow pumping rate can be captured. Techniques such as motion capture have great potential to distil such huge data sets and make them manageable (cf Dunn et al 2012).

Digital recording using high-speed cameras can also be used to capture elements of archaeometallurgical experiments which are too quick to be perceived effectively by the human eye (eg Dungworth and Wilkes 2009). That future recording developments in experimental archaeology are certain to be digital brings with it challenges and opportunities (Hodder 1999). The opportunities to share huge data sets quickly and effectively means that processing and analysis could be done by the wider community, this would also bring benefits regarding critical input (Coles 1979). The challenges though are many, and the current tradition of academic publication is no more able to handle large digital databases than it seems to be ready to adopt alternative and varied styles of reporting.

PublicationOne of the most frequently recurring issues in experimental archaeology is publication. In many cases, a sustained series of experiments will provide considerable insight for an individual or team but rarely is this communicated to a wider community. There are many reasons why experimenters have not succeeded in producing accounts of the wide range of experiments and experiences (see above), but most revolve around an experimental-experiential axis. Less structured activities provide experiential insights that are seen as less valuable by classical experimental archaeologists working within a formal scientific methodology. Experiential activities are often seen as lacking clear aims or academic contexts, and vague in their recording (Outram 2008). It is rare to see such activities recorded in reputable academic publications. It seems that those who adopt an experiential craft approach need to develop a method of reporting that transcends the idiosyncrasies of a personal account of an event (cf Flores 2011).

Different issues confront the science-oriented campaigns. It has often been difficult to find a publisher who will happily include the large volumes of quantitative data that an experiment might generate. Such data can be made available via websites; however, this form of dissemination lacks the peer review element essential to scientific research and publication. The complexity and ongoing nature of experimental programmes often gives the experimenter the sense that anything they write is an interim report; the temptation is to hold off publication until another experiment is undertaken! This volume hopefully shows a way forward as it is clear that the range and quantity of experience and data generated in even moderate experimental campaigns is very different to much archaeological data and often does not lend itself to traditional publishing methods. This represents a significant challenge to writers and editors alike and suggests that more flexibility needs to be incorporated in the process of publication. This needs to begin with a confidence in and a tolerance to diverse styles of writing. This is already established in more humanities focused archaeology projects (eg Edmonds 1999) yet is still woefully absent in areas such as ancient technology studies which have traditionally been classed as scientific.

The written discourse of scientific archaeology is an essential activity through which academics promote and regulate themselves. Success, funding, promotion and almost

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everything that constitutes a career depends on publication and the perception that publication is successful. The style, language and tropes of much scientific publication contain little room to accommodate experience, which suggests that any strong affection for disciplinary categories may need to be weakened if we are to achieve real change.

The motivation for publication though should not be forgotten. The individuals and teams who are mostly strongly engaged with the experiential end of experimental archaeology generally have little to gain from publication and have not been schooled in academic discourse and are effectively excluded (Hyland 2009). There are several examples in this volume which make a valuable contribution, yet the degree of discomfort and the inevitable compromises that publication often requires should not be doubted. In summary then perhaps the most pressing concern is for a widening of boundaries and the strengthening of networks where confidence in varied types of knowledge can flourish. This will require effort and we can expect it will involve the academic being less than academic and the crafts person perhaps been held to account perhaps more than they might wish.

Conclusions

It is an exciting time for experimental archaeometallurgy. The broad range of activities have served the discipline well for over a century, yet the past four decades have been characterised by a mode of practice that has aligned itself with the New Archaeology of the 1970s (Clarke 1973). More recent theoretical debate has provided a set of ideas and approaches which offer real opportunity for experiment to develop in a number of ways (see Doonan this volume, 17–24). The different approaches of science and craft seem likely to collapse or at least be increasingly blurred as diverse communities, including academics, craft practitioners, living history enthusiasts, professional archaeologists and heritage workers, form networks and constellations of interest which centre on experimental practices.

We should not forget the strong scientific base from which experimental archaeometallurgy has emerged but neither should this confine us to specific or restrictive modes of practice. The current economic situation will serve to place increasing pressure on heritage and archaeological pursuits of all kinds and it is only through cooperative and inclusive working that we can hope to sustain an ongoing programme in this area. The role of public engagement and the wider public understanding of science are obvious areas which link to experimental archaeology, yet such relations will not be to everyone’s taste. There will be a need for tolerance which must come through structured debate and the creation of common ground, not by diverse groups working in isolation. There will be concerns about serving many masters and suspicions of compromising programmes of scientific work, yet with the facility of digital recording and dissemination the potential to work in different ways across individuals and groups must be explored.

More broadly, experimental archaeology has languished in academic circles over the last two decades as it was consigned to the New Archaeology paradigm. It has recently resurfaced refreshed with new theoretical foundations, and ironically it looks likely to be the practice that links so many disparate aspects of contemporary archaeology as it reconciles scientific experiment with experience and the excavated context with the reconstructed space. Students will be enthused by the debate but they should recognise that it seems to be only within academia (which is so often inconstant in its allegiances to method) that it saw a demise. There remain widespread and committed communities who have continued such practices in the interim and it would be unproductive for new theories to be espoused to those who have remained committed to the subject. If there is only one result of producing this volume, it is hoped it will be the legitimisation of the varied practices described here; both theory building and discussions begin at the furnace side.

Figure 5: The pleasure of experimental archaeometallurgy, Gerry McDonnell at Rievaulx (Photo: Sarah Paynter).


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Experimental archaeometallurgy in perspective (Doonan and Dungworth)

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