Simulating the behaviour of light inside Arctic dwellings: implications for assessing the role of...

Simulating the behaviour of light insideArctic dwellings: implications forassessing the role of vision in taskperformance

Peter Dawson, Richard Levy, Don Gardner andMatthew Walls

Abstract

Visibility studies in archaeology have been criticized because they tend to emphasize the importanceof vision over other senses. The burgeoning field of sensory anthropology argues that the relativesignificance of visual, olfactory, acoustic and haptic (touch) senses varies cross-culturally, and is a

function of how human beings interact with their particular environments. The Canadian Arctic is aunique sensory environment because prolonged periods of winter darkness make artificial lightessential for everyday tasks. In this paper, we use 3D computer modelling to simulate the levels oflight produced by the small stone lamps used inside pre-contact Thule Inuit winter dwellings. The

results demonstrate that interior light levels fall well below those recommended by Westernarchitectural standards for tasks requiring high levels of visual acuity. We conclude that this mayhave influenced where activities were situated inside the dwelling and encouraged greater use of

touch relative to vision when performing tasks such as sewing and carving.

Keywords

Computer modelling; light; Thule Inuit; visibility; Canadian Arctic; spatial analysis.

Introduction

Visual perception has emerged as a fascinating area of study in archaeology. Aided by

advancements in GIS and 3D computing, informal studies relying on line of sight have

gradually been replaced by more rigorous mathematical approaches involving isovists and

viewsheds (Drewett 1992: 6; Lake et al. 1998). These methods have been criticized,

however, for promoting a hegemonic view of sensory perception that ranks vision above

World Archaeology Vol. 39(1): 17–35 Viewing Space

� 2007 Taylor & Francis ISSN 0043-8243 print/1470-1375 online

DOI: 10.1080/00438240601136397

all other senses (Bender et al. 1997; Classen et al. 1994; Howes 1991; Thomas 1991; Tilley

1994). The emerging field of sensory anthropology has challenged this position, arguing

that ratios of sensation vary cross-culturally, with some cultures emphasizing certain

senses over others (Classen et al. 1994; Howes 1991). All of this suggests that

archaeologists need to examine sensory perception from a wider theoretical perspective.

The field of sensory ecology proposes that agents inhabit environments that contain a

variety of sensory stimuli (Gibson 1966, 1979; Howes 1991). These stimuli can be visual,

haptic (touch), acoustic and olfactory. The unique sensory and interpretative systems of

agents develop in response to the specific ecological environments they live within (Classen

et al. 1994; Howes 1991). Computer modelling can be used to reconstruct the sensory

ecologies of past environments in virtual worlds, providing archaeologists with new

insights into how human agents experience and interpret their surroundings.

The Canadian Arctic offers a particularly interesting test case for such an approach. In

many areas of the Canadian north, daylight is seasonally restricted. High latitude areas

can experience either total darkness or only a few hours of light per day throughout the

winter months. During extended periods of winter darkness, the interiors of Inuit

dwellings were illuminated using small artificial light sources called qulliqs. Qulliqs are

stone lamps used to burn sea-mammal blubber – the only reliable source of fuel in

driftwood-poor regions of the Canadian Arctic (Hough 1898; Lee and Reinhardt 2003).

Archaeologists and anthropologists have long appreciated the intricate sewing and carving

work practised by Inuit, their Thule culture ancestors, and earlier Palaeoeskimo groups.

This included the manufacture and repair of tailored clothing using complex waterproof

stitches (Issenman 1997a; Oakes 1991). However, few have examined these tasks within the

context of a dimly lit semi-subterranean house. Just how marginal were lighting conditions

inside Arctic winter dwellings? How were their inhabitants able to perform such complex

tasks by lamplight during the winter months? Were they relying primarily on visual

information, or did they develop ratios of sensation that were uniquely suited to these

environments?

In this paper, 3D computer modelling is used to simulate light levels inside a Thule

culture winter house. Thule peoples occupied the Canadian Arctic between 1100 and 1500

AD, and are the cultural and biological ancestors of contemporary Inuit societies (Arnold

and McCullough 1990; Mathiassen 1927; Maxwell 1985; McCullough 1989). Experiments

with qulliqs were used to measure the values of luminance (the amount of light that covers

a surface) and illuminance (the luminous intensity or glare emitted by the light source)

produced by sea-mammal oil lamps. The resulting values were then used to light the

interior of a 3D computer model of a Thule winter dwelling using photo rendering. Light

levels within the house were subsequently measured and compared with Western

architectural standards that define recommended illuminance levels for various domestic

tasks. Our study suggests that Thule whalebone houses possessed a unique sensory ecology

that may have required inhabitants to make greater use of haptic (touch) sensory input

when performing tasks that, from a Western perspective, normally require much higher

levels of lighting. This challenges hegemonic approaches to sensory information, which

place vision above all other senses. Our study demonstrates the need to understand the

sensory ecology of past landscapes and buildings, and the different ratios of sensation that

agents may have acquired by interacting with these environments.

18 Peter Dawson et al.

Visibility studies in archaeology

Many archaeologists have argued that visibility is one of the most important determinants

of how space is used within landscapes and buildings (Wheatley and Gillings 2002: 201).

Archaeologists have typically used two formal concepts to determine visibility: field of

view, which measures the area visible from a fixed location, and inter-visibility, which

calculates the presence or absence of a line of sight between features (Wheatley and

Gillings 2002: 202). The desire to make one location visible from two or more other

locations has been linked to a variety of behavioural and cultural factors. Inter-visibility

between cairns in Wessex, England, for example, was used by Renfrew (1979) to argue that

Neolithic and Bronze-Age long barrows functioned as territorial markers for families.

Other studies have examined the symbolic importance of visibility by investigating how

fields of view widen and narrow as subjects move through ancient buildings and

monuments. Tilley (1994) has suggested that such alternating sequences of display and

concealment were designed to convey meaning to occupants and visitors.

While early visibility studies tended to use informal measures such as line of sight, the

recent use of GIS and space syntax software has made such analysis much more rigorous

and mathematical. Two of the most common methods used to obtain objective measures

of visibility are viewsheds and isovists. Viewsheds calculate the area that is visible to an

observer from a fixed vantage point. These areas usually consist of some combination of

environmental elements like land, water and so on. Isovists, on the other hand, are more

commonly used to study buildings and delimit how much of the environment can be seen

from any given location within the configured space (Benedikt 1979; Turner 2003). Unlike

viewsheds, which factor in viewer height, isovists measure space in two dimensions. The

widening and narrowing of isovist ‘cones’ or view fields illustrate how visual information is

selectively revealed and concealed as an individual moves through a building.

Because viewsheds and isovists generate objective measures of visible space, hypotheses

about human use of the landscape can be statistically evaluated. Among the best-known of

these types of studies is Wheatley’s (1995: 180) investigation of inter-visibility among

groups of Neolithic long barrows. By means of a technique called cumulative viewshed

analysis, Wheatley was able to use a Kolmogorov-Smirnov test to determine that there

was a statistically significant correlation between placement and inter-visibility among

long barrows (Wheatley 1995: 180). The space syntax community has also developed

sophisticated software for constructing visibility graphs based on isovists. Depthmap, for

example, is a program that calculates the visible connections between points, which are

influenced by the placement of walls and doorways, creating an image of what can and

cannot be seen from various locations within a building (Turner 2003). Recent research

has focused on demonstrating the predictive power of isovists in determining human

movement (Turner 2003: 666).

Viewsheds and isovists rely on physical obstructions (mountains, walls, etc.) to determine

visibility. As a result, factors such as the distribution of light and shadow, which also influence

what can and cannot be seen, are rarely considered in visibility studies. Some researchers have

also suggested that viewsheds and isovists represent a return to positivism because visual

information is being used to generate predictive theories about the sociological nature of

landscape and the built environment (Hillier 1996, 2004; Turner 2003). Others have argued that

The behaviour of light inside Arctic dwellings 19

they promote a hegemonic view of sensory information in which vision is placed above senses

such as sound, touch and smell (Gillings andGoodrick 1996).However, there are good reasons

why archaeologists have tended to emphasize the importance of visual information. While the

sources of prehistoric smells and sounds may have been lost, the topographic character of the

landscape,which is the sourceof visibility, is often little altered (LakeandWoodman2003: 692).

Nevertheless, a few archaeologists have approached the use of space from the perspective of

sensesother thanvision (Watson2001).These include investigations into theacoustic properties

of Bronze Age Scandinavian rock art sites (Goldhahn 2002) and Megalithic monuments

(Devereux and Jahn 1996). Such studies challenge the Western idea that vision is somehow

dominant over other senses, and demonstrate that archaeologists need to examine perception

in a more holistic way because vision never functions independently of other senses (Bender

et al. 1997; Thomas 1991).

Sensory ecology in an Arctic setting

The concept of sensory ecology was first introduced by James Gibson (1966, 1979), a

psychologist known for his research in the field of perception. Gibson maintained that

perception was derived from the active engagement of a human agent with the total

environment. From Gibson’s perspective, visual, acoustic and tactile feedbacks all

influence the agent’s perception and interpretation of his/her surroundings. Human agents

respond by developing ‘ratios of sensation’ that are uniquely suited to the environments

they inhabit. The emphases placed by individuals on different senses eventually become

cultural norms known as sensoria (Howes 1991; Ong 1991). The relatively new field of

sensory anthropology argues that different cultures possess unique sensoria. Western

societies, for example, tend to emphasize visual information and actively suppress smell

(Classen et al. 1994). Sensory anthropologists have used the concept of sensoria to critique

the so-called ‘vision-centric’ interpretations of space dominant in social science research.

Many have attempted to investigate the sensoria of other cultures through ethnographic

research, arguing that the sensory experience of space and place is invested with meaning

in ways that vary cross culturally (Stoller 1989).

From a purely visual perspective, the Arctic environments inhabited by contemporary

Inuit peoples and their Thule culture ancestors are unique because of seasonal and

latitudinal variations in daylight and darkness. The community of Iqaluit on Baffin Island,

for example, experiences twenty-four hours of daylight in June and six hours per day in

December. Grise Fiord, the most northerly community in the Canadian Arctic, experiences

twenty-four hours of daylight in June and round the clock darkness in December. During

the months of winter darkness, household duties such as tanning, cooking, carving and

sewing were conducted indoors by lamplight. Qulliqs were manufactured from stone or

clay, and could range from several inches to several feet in length (Jenness 1946: 57–61;

Stephansson 1921: 597). The standard fuel for a qulliq lamp was oil derived from the

blubber of sea mammals such as seal and whale. A wick made from moss or cotton grass

was soaked in oil, and arranged in a line about ¼00 high along the edge of the qulliq (Birket-

Smith 1976: 174). A light was then struck using sparks created from two pieces of iron

pyrite or a bow drill (Ekblaw 1927: 170; Jenness 1946: 55; Lyons 1824: 319). Once lit, the


qulliq required constant attention and trimming to ensure that the flames were the right

height, did not produce excessive smoke and would not go out (Birket-Smith 1976: 163;

Jenness 1946: 163). When properly tended, the lamp produced a smokeless flame that was

typically two inches in height (Ekblaw 1927: 170). Even so, enough soot was produced to

coat the walls of the dwelling, which would have been especially apparent in snow houses

(Lyons 1824: 280–1). Other air quality concerns included the production of excessive

carbon monoxide. A clean white flame was an indicator that the air inside the house was

healthy. As carbon monoxide levels increased, the flame would turn yellow. Women

constantly monitored the flame and tried to maintain a balance between cold fresh air, and

warm polluted air (Steensby 1910: 320). Oil lamps burned continually inside dwellings

during the period of perpetual winter darkness (Ekblaw 1927: 172).

Hypothetically, the low levels of light put out by a qulliq lampwould havemade it difficult to

perform complex tasks requiring high levels of visual acuity. This may have especially been the

case for sewing.Making tailored hide clothing was essential to survival in Arctic environments

because it kept the family warm and dry while travelling and hunting. Poor-quality clothing

would have adversely affected a person’s ability to hunt, and contributed to ill health during the

winter months (Stenton 1991: 14–15). Sewing durable and waterproof clothing required the

proper sizing of hide pieces and the use of complex and intricate measurement, cutting and

stitching techniques (Hall et al. 1994; Issenman 1997a, 1997b; Oakes 1991; Oakes and Riewe

1995). Hand, string and eye measurements were used to size garments for specific individuals.

Hands comprised several units of measure: the space between the thumb and index finger and

the spaces between finger and thumb joints (Issenman 1997a: 86; Oakes 1991: 119). Once

measured, skinsweremarked down themiddle by biting or pinching (Issenman 1997a: 87). The

pieces were then carefully cut using an ulu knife so that edges were kept as straight as possible,

and pieces could be sewn properly (Issenman 1997a: 89). Inuit seamstresses used a variety of

complex stitching techniques such as the overcast stitch, tuck stitch, running stitch and

waterproof stitch (Fig. 1). Themost famous and intricate of thesewas thewaterproof or ilujjiniq

stitch, said to be unequalled in the annals of needlework (Issenman 1997a: 90). The needle only

partially penetrates the hide in the first line of the stitch, and then travels completely through in

the second. This produces a tight waterproof seam because the needle and sinew thread never

penetrate both skins at the same hole (Hall et al. 1994: 25; Issenman 1997a: 90).

Archaeological evidence of sewing equipment (i.e. needles, needle cases, thimbles,

cutting boards, ulu knives) similar to that used by historic Inuit groups demonstrates that

Thule families practised many of the same domestic tasks (Maxwell 1985; McCullough

1989; Whitridge 1999). Furthermore, the recovery of sewing equipment and hide scraps

from inside winter dwellings indicates that these activities were carried out during the dark

winter months (McCullough 1989; Whitridge 1999). How were Inuit and their ancestors

able to accomplish these tasks? Did they utilize visual information alone or did they

develop ratios of sensation that were uniquely suited to their environment?

Modelling the light distributed from a qulliq

As mentioned previously, visibility studies in archaeology rarely consider factors such as the

distribution of light and shadow, which also influence what can and cannot be seen. Instead,


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there has been a tendency to visualize the interiors of the structures we excavate as if they

were uniformly illuminated by a single overhead source of light. Contemplating the true

appearance of an interior space leads to three relatively straightforward questions: exactly

how dark was it inside an ancient building, and would this have influenced what activities

were performed, and where they would have occurred? Such questions might be explored

with an approach that is equally straightforward: simply sit in a dark room illuminated using

traditional light sources, and subjectively assess how light levels might have affected the use

of space. Using computer-aided drafting and lighting software is a more technologically

complex method of exploring this issue, and it offers a number of distinct advantages. First,

the reflectivity of surfaces such as walls, floors and furnishings can be simulated within a

computer model, thereby providing the archaeologist with a more accurate idea of how the

interior of the dwelling may have appeared to its occupants. Second, computer models can

be used to examine the effect that different lighting patterns/arrangements might have had

on one’s perception of privacy, relaxation and interior spaciousness. These arrangements

include wall-washing, in which the walls of the dwelling are illuminated, and up-lighting,

where light sources are placed low and off to the side. It is practically impossible to gain such

a complex sense of place from a simple simulation in a dark room. Finally, architectural

computing software such as Lightscape can be used to calculate how light levels might

have varied within different areas of the structure. These values can then be compared

against Western architectural lighting standards for analogous tasks. This provides the

archaeologist with a useful context in which to evaluate potential relationships between light

level and task performance within the structures they are investigating.

Dawson and Levy have recently constructed a three-dimensional computer model of a

Thule whalebone house (built using 3ds Max software) (Plate 1). The model was assembled

using archaeological data from a well-preserved Thule archaeological site in the Canadian

High Arctic and laser-scanning data acquired from the skeleton of a North Atlantic Right

Whale (Eubalaena glacialis) (Plate 2). In driftwood-poor regions of the Canadian Arctic,

Thule peoples used the jawbones and skull bases of large baleen whales to frame semi-

subterranean house pits (Mathiassen 1927; McCartney 1979; Savelle andMcCartney 2002).

A hide covering was then placed over the structure and covered with blocks of cut sod.

Detailed descriptions of how the computer model of the Thule whalebone house was built

have been published elsewhere (see Dawson and Levy 2005a, 2005b).

Replicas of two qulliqs of different sizes were manufactured out of steatite (30cm) and

clay (60cm). Lard was used in place of seal oil as a fuel source, and cotton batting

substituted for the traditional moss wick (Plate 3). These substitutions were necessary due

to the lack of availability of traditional materials. However, observations of qulliqs

operated using sea-mammal oil and moss wicks, made by Dawson during previous visits to

Inuit communities, indicate that the flames produced by the experimental lamps were not

significantly different in either colour or intensity (Plate 4). The lamps were then placed in a

windowless room with non-reflective surfaces (unpainted wooden walls, dark cement floor).

A 60-watt light bulb was mounted to the side of a worktable for use as a standard of

comparison with the qulliqs. A series of exposure readings were then taken at intervals ranging

15cm to 300cm from the light source, in the otherwise dark room, using a Sekonic StudioDelux

illuminancemeter. Thismeter is ‘industry standard’, and is an incident-type lightmeter that can

be used for measuring reflected light. When the same process was repeated using the


experimental qulliqs, we discovered that light levels were too low to differentiate changes at

various distances from the lamp. Switching to a General Electric Exposure meter, Type PR-3,

set at 125-second shutter speed for afilmrated200ASA,yieldedbetter results,but the light levels

recorded were again extremely small. At a distance of 300cm from the lamp, for example, our

recording device was insufficient to measure anything meaningful. Illuminance levels recorded

at anarrayofdifferent angles fromthe lamps (above,below, side to side) also failed to reveal any

significant differences due to the low light levels produced.

Comparisons between the known 60-watt source and the qulliqs revealed that the larger

lamp was the equivalent of a 15-watt light source, while the smaller one would be

comparable to an 11-watt bulb. This calculation was made using simple ratios of f-stop

and light intensity:

1. (f-stop measurement)/(light 60-watt bulb)¼ (f-stop measurement whale-oil lamp)/

(wattage of the whale-oil lamp).

2. wattage of the whale-oil lamp¼ (f-stop whale-oil lamp)/(f-stop 60-watt bulb)6(wattage of 60-watt bulb).

Once the values for the qulliqs had been established, a single incandescent light source

was added to the model, and assigned the value of the larger qulliq lamp (15 watts). While

there are probably differences in the colour and spatial distribution of light produced by

an incandescent lamp as opposed to a qulliq, the computer application used (Lightscape)

Plate 1 The computer reconstruction with the hide and sod covering removed to show the whaleboneroof frame. Note the flagstone floor and elevated sleeping platform.


required a recognized source of light, and provided a reasonable facsimile. Regardless,

given the low levels of light being used, it seems unlikely that such differences would have

been significant enough to alter the results of our experiment.

The light source was placed on one side of the sleeping platform, in accordance with

archaeological and ethnographic observations of lamp position in winter houses (Ekblaw

1927; Jenness 1946; Mathiassen 1927). Linear exposure images were used to simulate how

Plate 2 An unexcavated Thule whalebone house, Bathurst Island, Nunavut, Canada.

Plate 3 A qulliq lamp is lit using lard as an energy source and cotton as a wick.


bright the house interior would have appeared to an observer under qulliq lamplight using

luminance, a measure of how bright or dark a surface is perceived to be (Plate 5 and

Plate 6). The reflection of surfaces such as walls and floors influences how light is

distributed inside buildings. For the purposes of our experiment, surfaces inside the

Plate 4 The larger qulliq being tended to ensure that it stays fully lit.

Plate 5 A linear exposure map (luminance) showing how the interior of the house would haveappeared, using light levels measured from the qulliq lamp.


whalebone house were considered to be 15 per cent reflective. This value was used to err on

the side of caution, as reflectivity was probably much lower due to the amounts of lamp

soot that would have been deposited on the walls and floor of the dwelling.

Next, the Lightscape plug-in for 3ds Max was used to produce a pseudo-colour rendering

of the interior of the house using illuminance, which measures how much energy has fallen

on the surface. Illuminance is especially useful for describing the level of illumination

incident on a surface (i.e. floor, wall) without making the measurement dependent on the

size of the surface itself. Illuminance is also a function of the distance from the light source,

and is therefore a useful measure for gauging the light available for activities in different

areas of a dwelling. The lux (lx) is the International System (SI) unit of illuminance. The

American System (AS) unit for illuminance is the footcandle (fc). One footcandle is equal

to 10.76 lux, although typically this is approximated as 1 footcandle being equal to 10 lux.

In Plates 7 and 8, all interior surfaces are toned according to their illumination values (lx);

from white (high) along a grey scale to black (low). A scale running along the bottom of the

image provides values (lux/10) for each colour that are read as footcandles (fc).

Results

The images of the interior of the whalebone house generated by our lighting experiments

are intended to give the viewer a sense of the space. No photo, no matter how realistic, can

Plate 6 Plan view of the linear exposure map (luminance) showing the distribution of light on thefloor of the dwelling.


accurately convey the actual experience of place. Keeping this in mind, the linear exposure

(luminance) maps of the house interior, as seen in Plates 5 and 6, reveal that it would have

appeared quite dark to its occupants. In fact, given the presence of lamp soot in the air,

and on objects within the dwelling, it is likely that the actual interior would have been even

dimmer than the imaged space. White surfaces with contrasting line work, similar to words

printed on a page, would have been visible for several feet from the light source. However,

areas including the sleeping platform would have appeared dark, even with a qulliq

burning in the corner.

In order to contextualize our results, we compared the illuminance values for our model

to ISO/CIE standards for lighting used in Western houses, factories and offices (Hancock

1982; Woodson 1992). The illumination levels recommended by architects are generally

dictated by the needs of the visual task. The amount of light necessary for an activity, for

example, is influenced by such factors as details of the task, the contrast between task and

background, the age and condition of the eye, and the importance of speed and accuracy

when performing the task. Typically, the more light that is available, the more easily a task

can be carried out. Table 1 presents the recommended light levels for a series of generalized

tasks in footcandles (fc). As we can see, difficult and prolonged visual tasks with objects of

low brightness and contrast have recommended lighting levels that far exceed those

generated in our simulation. Furthermore, the light levels suggested for detailed close

Plate 7 The illuminance map of the interior of the house. Surfaces are toned according to the valuesscaled along the bottom of the figure. Values (lx/10) can be read as footcandles (fc) for tasks

described in Tables 1 and 2.


work, where speed and accuracy are not as essential, are found within only a few feet of

the lamp. Table 2 presents the recommended light levels for specific types of tasks

performed at work and at home (Hancock 1982: 4–301). Our simulation again shows that

Plate 8 An illuminance map showing how values are distributed across the floor of the dwelling.Values (lx/10) can be read as footcandles for tasks described in Tables 1 and 2.

Table 1 Recommended light levels for generalized tasks

Task conditionLight level

(footcandles (fc)) Type of lighting

Very difficult and prolonged visual tasks withobjects of low brightness contrast.

High speed and extreme accuracy required

100 or more Supplementary. Specialfixtures such as desk

Small detail, fair contrast, close work,speed not essential

50 or more Supplementary

Prolonged reading, assembly, general office,ordinary bench or laboratory work

25 or more Local lighting and ceilingfixtures directly overhead.

Occasional reading. Washrooms, power plants,

waiting rooms and kitchens

10 or more General lighting

No detail vision necessary. Stairwaysor supply houses

5 or more General or supplementarylighting

Source: Woodson (1992)


light levels close to the source (qulliq lamp) would have provided sufficient light for

activities analogous to reading and cooking, but not for activities comparable to drafting

and sewing.

It is important to stress that the architectural standards cited in Tables 1 and 2 represent

maximum levels of light, and that most people are capable of performing these types of

activities under much lower levels of illuminance. The very fact that these lighting

standards are so high, however, illustrates the importance that Western societies place on

vision when performing tasks. For these reasons, our lighting simulations have some

interesting implications for how and where specific types of tasks may have been

performed inside semi-subterranean winter dwellings.

Archaeological and ethnographic data reveal that Inuit and their ancestors were

extremely adept at intricate activities such as carving and sewing – activities that involve

objects of fair to low contrast. Many pre-contact and historic Inuit societies, for example,

produced highly detailed carvings of animals and people (Maxwell 1985). Even everyday

objects like harpoons, knives, needle cases and children’s toys were frequently decorated

with drilled holes and incised lines arranged in geometric patterns (Mathiassen 1927;

Maxwell 1985; McGhee 1978, 1984; Whitridge 1999, 2004). As discussed previously, the

sewing of tailored clothing and boots, which was an essential component of life in the

Arctic, was also highly detailed and complex work. When our computer simulation is

viewed in the context of Western lighting standards, our model predicts that many of these

activities would have been practised within only a few feet of the lamp. This has obvious

implications for activity area research and for the organization of domestic space in these

dwellings. Given the disparity between the recommended and the simulated lighting levels,

however, it is possible that senses other than vision played a role in facilitating task

performance.

Don Gardner is a recognized expert in replicating traditional Inuit manufacturing

techniques, many of which have been taught to him by Inuit Elders from across the

Canadian Arctic. His experiences working with Inuit craftspeople bear out the importance

of touch when working with materials such as stone, bone, hide and wood. In order to

split wood, for example, the craftsperson must feel rather than see subtle pressure changes

Table 2 Recommended light levels for specific tasks

Specific tasks

Light level

(footcandles (fc)) Type of lighting

School standards

Reading 30 or more Local lighting and ceiling fixtures directly overheadDrafting 100 or more Supplementary. Special fixtures such as desk

Home economicsSewing 100 or more Supplementary. Special fixtures such as desk

Cooking 50 or more SupplementaryIroning 50 or more SupplementarySink activity 50 or more Supplementary

Note taking 70 or more Supplementary

Source: adapted from Hancock (1982: 4–301)


within the two halves of the piece as they separate. The same is true for splitting spruce

root for basket making. While holding one end of the root in your mouth and the other

end with one hand, vision is practically useless. Watching individuals perform such tasks

reveals that their eyes are rarely directed towards what they are doing. Instead, they rely

on a deft sense of touch to split the roots successfully into separate strands. In the same

way, feeling how the resistance between needle, thread and hide varies while sewing

tailored clothing, boots and kayak covers allows seamstresses to minimize needle breakage

and produce fewer errors.

Gardner’s experiential work with Inuit technology provides valuable insights into the

importance of haptic (touch) sensory information when performing many of the intricate

and complex tasks traditionally carried out by Inuit and their predecessors. We suggest

that emphasizing touch might reflect a long-term adaptation to the relatively low levels of

illuminance experienced in semi-subterranean dwellings during the winter months. From

the perspective of sensory ecology, this may have resulted from centuries of interaction

between human agents and the Arctic environment, with its seasonal and latitudinal

extremes of daylight and darkness. It seems logical that, under these conditions, agents

would have developed different sensoria, or ‘ratios of sensation’, in which haptic senses

were used to a much greater degree in tasks that, from a Western perspective, would

normally require high levels of visual acuity. Individuals who lose a sense due to blindness

or deafness often talk about a compensating effect, in which one or more of their

remaining senses becomes more acute (Classen et al. 1994). It is possible that Inuit and

their ancestors underwent a similar, albeit less extreme, version of this same process,

developing a sensorium that elevated touch to the same level as sight when performing

intricate and detailed tasks.

Conclusion

The results of this study demonstrate that technologies like computer modelling and

virtual reality can be used to obtain a more holistic understanding of how humans perceive

and interact with the environments they inhabit. The prolonged periods of darkness

experienced in the Canadian Arctic during winter months would have made the use of

artificial light essential when performing domestic tasks that were critical to the welfare of

historic and pre-contact Inuit societies. Simulating the distribution of light from qulliqs in

winter houses reveals that interior surfaces would have appeared quite dark. Considering

these results within the context of Western architectural lighting standards suggests that it

would have been necessary to perform many domestic activities within only a few feet of

the lamp. Furthermore, the illumination values for the interior of the dwelling fall well

below those recommended by Western architects for activities such as sewing. The unique

sensory ecology of such a built environment may have encouraged the development of

sensoria, in which individuals depended as much on haptic (touch) sensory information as

they did on sight when performing tasks that would normally require high levels of visual

acuity.

It must be acknowledged that the results of this study are based on a number of

assumptions. Our experiment presupposes, for example, that the composition (spectrum)


of light from a qulliq would have been similar to that of an incandescent lamp, when it

would have almost certainly been different. Second, because comparisons were made

between a point source light and a lamp, the resulting images of the interior are probably

brighter than they would have appeared in actuality. However, the possibility that we

over-estimated the amount of light inside the model would only further support our

hypothesis regarding the importance of haptic relative to visual information in task

performance. Third, the simulation we have produced fails to consider that the reflectivity

of surfaces varied across different types of winter houses. The interiors of snow houses, for

example, would have been extremely reflective as compared with those of a semi-

subterranean house. Fourth, the standards we have applied for task performance are

based on recommended levels of lighting – in actual fact, people regularly perform tasks

requiring visual acuity at lower lighting levels. Finally, acceptable lighting levels can vary

from individual to individual as a function of age and health. Regardless, we feel confident

that we have been able to at least approximate how the interiors of semi-subterranean

houses would have appeared to their inhabitants, and how this may have affected the

performance of everyday tasks. In the next phase of our analysis, we plan to use the photo

rendered maps of illumination to interpret the spatial distribution of artefacts and

manufacturing debris inside similar Arctic dwellings. This will provide us with a means of

further examining the role that light and shadow may have played in mediating the spatial

organization of activity areas inside these houses. In small dwellings, which lack interior

partitions, for example, the distribution of light and shadow may have been used to ‘zone’

areas of public and private space.

Rather than relying on vision alone, it seems logical that peoples living in different times

and places would have developed ratios of sensation that were uniquely suited to their

environments. Using virtual worlds to reconstruct the sensory ecologies of past landscapes

and built environments may afford archaeologists the opportunity to explore this

fascinating idea more fully.

Acknowledgements

The funding for this project was provided by the University of Calgary. The authors

would like to thank A. Kate Peach, Gerald Oetelaar and two anonymous reviewers for

their valuable comments on an earlier draft of this paper. The authors assume

responsibility for any mistakes and/or errors the paper may contain.

Peter Dawson

Department of Archaeology, University of Calgary

Richard Levy

Faculty of Environmental Design, University of Calgary

Don Gardner

Independent scholar

Matthew Walls

Department of Archaeology, University of Calgary


Note

Colour versions of the figures in this paper are available for inspection at: 5http://

www.ucalgary.ca/Thule4.

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Peter Dawson is an Assistant Professor in the Department of Archaeology, University of

Calgary. Dr Dawson has conducted research in the Canadian Arctic for more than a

decade. His research interests include traditional and non-traditional Inuit architecture,

inter-societal contact in the Canadian Arctic, spatial analysis and computer modelling. His

published work appears in such journals as Internet Archaeology, Visual Studies, Journal of

Field Archaeology and American Antiquity.

Richard Levy is a Professor of Planning and Urban Design at the University of Calgary,

where he serves as the Planning Director (Chairman) for the Planning Program. Since

1996, Dr Levy has also served as Director of Computing for the Faculty of EVDS. Dr

Levy is a founding member of the Virtual Reality Lab. Dr Levy speaks at international

and national conferences in the fields of virtual reality, 3D imaging, education,

archaeology and planning. His published work appears in journals such as Internet

Archaeology, Visual Studies, Environment and Planning and Plan Canada.

Don Gardner makes museum-quality replicas of Native and Inuit implements through his

company, Oldways. In Calgary, Alberta, Gardner also offers workshops, demonstrations

and videos of original technologies, such as flint knapping, woodworking with stone tools,

clothing and food processing and bark canoe, skin kayak building, etc. He has organized

and participated in several traditional technology workshops for Inuit elders and youth in

Canadian Arctic communities.

Matthew Walls is a graduate student in the Department of Archaeology, University of

Calgary, where he is presently completing his Master’s degree. His research interests focus

on traditional Inuit technology, including kayak construction and usage.


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