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Elwyn B.

Robinson Lecture
Digital Archaeology: Technology in the Trenches
William Caraher
February 24, 2010
Chester Fritz Library, University of North Dakota
Grand Forks, ND
My paper today will explore the intersection of digital technologies,
Mediterranean archaeology, and transdisciplinary, synergistic research. This
work has grown from my thinking about the newly created Working Group in
Digital and New Media and some recent opportunities to talk about the role of
agency and technology in the field of archaeology.
When people think of digital technology, I am pretty sure that Mediterranean
Archaeology is not the first field to come to mind. In fact, I’d be hard pressed to
identify any fields more steeped in traditional approaches than Mediterranean,
or as we used to call it, Classical Archaeology, Ancient History, or Classical
Philology. While these fields did have digital pathbreakers, for example David
Packard’s efforts with the Packard Humanities Institute and his famous Ibycus
computer, the field never developed a reputation for embracing the cutting edge
of technology.1 The same may be said for History (where I make my disciplinary
home here on campus) which despite the important work of groups like the
Center for History and New Media at George Mason University, still features
individuals sufficiently skeptical of technology to publicly declare themselves
Luddites – and to understand the radical implication of Ned Ludd for academic
modes of productions (think of that next time the email server is down!).2 All
this is to say, that when I refer to trenches in my talk title, I am not just playing
on archaeologists’ predilection for spending time in holes, but the rudimentary
state of digital awareness in our field.3
While Mediterranean archaeologists and historians have traditionally lacked
technological savvy, the study of the ancient Mediterranean has a sound
foundation in the area of synergistic research and teaching. Its inclusion in the
field of Classics or Classical Studies places archaeology among the disciplines of
Classical philology, history, anthropology, art history, literary criticism, and the
history of religions – as well as numerous subfields each with their own
disciplinary practices like epigraphy, numismatics, silography, and the study of
ceramics. The location of Mediterranean Archaeology within this transdisciplary
space has produced a field perhaps more comfortable than most in disregarding
disciplinary boundaries.4
Its from this background that I’d like to argue today that technology holds out
the prospect of disrupting disciplinary boundaries in a far more profound way
than traditional trans or interdisciplinary work has before. The intersection of
digital technologies and archaeological (and historical) practices, in fact,
“threatens” – and it is clear that some people will see this as a threat – to


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destabilize the longstanding professional and disciplinary core of these fields of
study.5 Technology offers the ability to transform the networks through which
we create archaeological knowledge and in the process to create a dynamic and
hybrid field that may resemble more a space of engagement than a discipline – at
least as discipline are conceptualized within the academy today. To use the words
of our administrators here, I imagine such spaces of engagement as particularly
susceptible to synergistic (or is it synergistical?) relationships that will
transform the social organization in the humanities, create a more inclusive
model of academic life, and provide perspectives on intellectual problems that
more accurately reflect present realities. To demonstrate my point, I will present
two case studies that reveal my theoretical position on both the discipline of
archaeology and the role of technology. In doing so, I will outline some practical
implication of digital technology in the field of Mediterranean archaeology as it
stares into its digital future.

Thisvi

Over the past few months, I’ve been working on a body of archaeological data
generated from a field project conducted between 1979 and 1982 in the
immediate hinterland of the ancient city (and now modern village) of Thisvi, in
Boeotia. A team from Ohio State University under the direction of my graduate
adviser Timothy Gregory collected the data from the field using the technique of
intensive pedestrian survey. Today the material is under study in collaboration
with a larger project directed by Archie Dunn of the University of Birmingham in
the UK.6 The goal of this project is to re-write the post-Classical period at the site
of Thisvi by integrating our intensive pedestrian survey data into more recent
work done in surrounding regions and in the modern village of Thisvi.7 To
accomplish this, Archie invited Tim Gregory and me to re-discover and re-
analyze the data collected some 30 years ago. The first step in this process was
to produce a digital data set from the “analog” records preserved in the project’s
various field notebooks. Since its initial recording 30 years ago, the data had
been effectively lost both from academic scrutiny and from recent developments
both in the region and in discipline. This was in large part because it did not exist
in an easily portable or accessible format and consequently remained the
possession of the original project director.
This process of digitizing this data revealed a good bit about the nature of
archaeological data, the practice of digitizing, and the networks in which
archaeological data of all kinds exist.8 (And here you might hear some echoes of
recent work in Actor-Network analysis in archaeology and the study of material
culture more broadly. 9)
As with most intensive survey projects, the Ohio Boeotia Expedition recorded
Thisvi data with any eye toward quantitative analysis. The 1970s saw
Mediterranean archaeology embrace the principles of New Archaeology with its
emphasis on, among other things, statistical models and analyses. So the data
was recorded from the field with an eye toward quantitative goals. At the same


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time, the project began before computer technology had come to exert the strong
influenced on data collection that we see today. Consequently, while there was
proper quantitative data collected – for example artifact densities from the field –
much of the finds data – that is the description of the artifacts recovered from the
field – was not normalized for analysis. The ceramicists assigned identical
examples of the same type of archaeological material different names,
descriptions, and even slightly different chronologies. This was not based on an
archaeological reality, but on the vagaries of data capture – in other words: how
the ceramicist wrote down the entry in the notebook. So, the first step in re-
analyzing these tiny fragments of archaeological interpretation was to normalize
it in order to make these bit of information susceptible to integration over the
course of larger scale analysis.
The idiosyncratic nature of the archaeological knowledge recorded in the field
and its preservation in a paper notebook revealed the tenuous place of the
original “analog” data in our knowledge universe. The only place where 3 field
seasons of data collection existed was in paper notebooks stored at a secure
excavation house in Greece. They were only as secure as the excavation house
and access to this data (provided one knew how to find it) had to be arranged
through the excavation director personally. The process of keying this data into
a database and normalizing it made it not only more susceptible to analysis by
means of a computer database, but also make it somewhat less perishable in that
any responsible computer user backs up their hard drive regularly.
As I worked away on these bits of archaeological knowledge, it became clear that
my work normalizing the data was more than just a response to the changing
methods of computers analyses but also a response to the changing technology
surrounding the curation of archaeological knowledge. So, by entering the data, I
produced a small number of digital copies. These copies, however, were still
neither particularly discoverable nor stable. As we all have experienced, data
formats change quickly and isolated datasets will almost certainly fall obsolete
through neglect. This is especially true if they remain the possession of the
individual archaeologist and depend upon that individual’s data curation
practices. Many scholars now suggest that the next step in responsible curation
of data involves releasing encoded bits of archaeological knowledge into the wilds
of the internet.10
In fact, it may be that this step in the curation process is the most important. On
the most basic level, both server architecture and the structure of the internet
ensures that data is backed up typically on multiple servers in multiple places.
Once data made accessible on the web, it becomes possible for other people to
gain access to this data and, if the data is present in a sufficiently accessible way,
to preserve another copy. Finally, the more public data is, the more likely it is to
becomes embedded in the scholarly discourse. Simply put: visible data can
receive multiple human made links and, this is alone is more likely to attract the
attention of an automated archiving site like the Internet Archive, if more formal
archiving arrangements are not made.11 Moreover, the more central the data


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becomes in academic discussions, the more likely it is to receive digital curation
and remain in up-to-date formats.
In this environment the key to the curation of archaeological knowledge is for
data to be available to a dynamic network of potential end users. The traditional
approach to archeological data has sometimes worked counter to this impulse.
I’d argue that the technology of data collection and archives, most notably the
long term use of paper notebooks to record preliminary analysis of
archaeological material, have reinforced certain characteristics of archaeological
culture to discourage the circulation of archaeological information.
Traditional practices of recording in notebooks rely upon the careful protection
of a very limited number of paper copies typically maintained at either the
location of actual fieldwork (e.g. at a museum or workroom of a project) or in the
possession of some individual or institution responsible for the work (university
archive, faculty member’s office, et c.). It seems to me that these practices
emanate from and reinforce, an older, “heroic model” of scientific knowledge
which associates the results of an experiment or excavation with an individual or
an institution.12 For example, it is common for archaeologists today to refer to
notebooks by the name of the excavator – Carl Blegen’s notebooks or Dimitrios
Pallas’s notebooks – although this practice is certainly on the wane. [Slide of
“Blegen’s” notebook from Zygouries]
This is not to suggest that keeping excavation notebooks presupposes an
exclusive or “heroic” model, but there seems to be a clear parallel between the
need to curate very carefully the results of fieldwork in a pre-digital age and the
concern for the intellectual legacy of the individual and institutions involved in
the collection of data. The continued tendency to limit access to the “data”
produced by archaeological fieldwork, whether intentionally or not, seems to
represent the lingering legacy of the heroic model.
Changes, however, are afoot as the heroic model gives way to what I’d like to
suggest is a “small science” model which recognizes the production of
archaeological knowledge as a collective enterprise, but one of limited scope and
resources.13 Projects across the Mediterranean have begun to invest the
necessary (and sometimes substantial resources) into presenting their data on
the web in ways which make it visible not only to individual, human, researchers
but also search engines and aggregators.14 This allows others to access results of
small science and to combine them with other data sets to produce big science
conclusions. Toward this end, projects are making their data available not just as
complete data sets – like digitized notebook pages -- but as individual pieces of
archaeological data that can be critically referenced, recombined, and redeployed
across any number of contexts and media. This work is being facilitated by the
creation of standards to mark up this data to make it useable. The near future
will bring terms like ArcheoML, XML and RDF more to the attention of
archaeologists and forge new ties to people capable of data-mining, text-encoding,
and querying. As you might imagine, things get more complicated as the types of


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data collected – ranging from descriptions of artifacts to GIS produced maps, text
files, and quantitative data – proliferate across multiple platforms, adopt varied
standards of naming, and, perhaps most significantly, derive from more
complicated professional and archaeological contexts.
Preparing a digital copy of the paper notebook from the Ohio Boeotia Expedition
is only the next stage in the life of this archaeological knowledge. The first stage
saw it from the artifact through the archaeologist’s mind, through a pen, and into
a paper notebook stored in an archive; this next step will open these bits of
archaeological knowledge to a another network of active participants who will
both reproduce the physical object of archaeological knowledge and deploy it in
the service of new ways of understanding the past.

Transitional Notes

The move from a heroic model of data curation where a single institution or
individual was responsible for the archaeological knowledge produced by a field
project, to a model more in keeping with recent efforts to integrate the results of
“small science” research has parallels with the shifts in the way archaeologists
conceptualize the very data that they collect. Scholars like M. Shanks, I. Hodder,
and C. Tilley have problematized the assumptions and processes that shape
archaeological data collection and worked to undermine any naively scientific
view of archaeological research.15 Just as collective models of data curation
explicitly presupposed distributive models of knowledge production, scholars are
increasingly recognizing archaeological projects themselves as dynamic,
collective, efforts to document an engagement with the remains of the past. This
open-ended approach to the production of archaeological knowledge subverts the
authority vested in modernist, disciplinary approaches to the past by
undermining a neat linear relationship between hypothesis, data collection, and
conclusion.16 It is easy to recognize in the traditional mode of archaeological
knowledge production the modernist legacy of disciplinary models. Like
elsewhere in the social sciences and humanities, archaeology has increasingly
come to embrace research that recognizes diverse, mulivocal ways to
understanding and explaining the past. This makes sense: just as objects from
our contemporary world – like archaeological notebooks – draw upon complex
conceptual networks for meaning, the material remains of the past exist within
diverse networks that impart objects with meaning at every instant and situation
within the archaeological process. In other words, the work of archaeological
interpretation stretches from the moment of discovery, through the process of
recording and preservation, to the object’s presentation, and, the formal
interpretation of an object’s function in the past.
The recognition of the diverse meanings generated when individuals and
communities engage material culture from the past has led to a corresponding
emphasis on the processes that produce archaeological knowledge. The first part
of my paper today has explored the role that technology has played in the ability
of individuals to gain access to the process of archaeological knowledge


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production. The second part of this paper will look at how simple technological
changes are forcing open the archaeological process even further and cultivating
the performative aspects of archaeology.17 The role of technology within the
increasingly transparent and community oriented process of knowledge
production has led some scholars to see parallels between archaeology and the
embodied knowledge of craft production.18 In this assessment, technology –
ironically – situates archaeology in relation to premodern forms of knowledge
that act as a dynamic counterpoint to the stagnant authority of modernity’s fixed
interpretative products.
It is important to note, that the growing emphasis on process and embodied
knowledge does not preclude the traditional forms of systematically collected
data – whether these are qualitative or quantitative – but looks to these data as
fragments of archaeological knowledge dependent as much upon the immediate
processes of production as larger interpretative regimes. As one result, the last
few decades have seen a growing emphasis on documenting the dynamic
environment where the production of that knowledge (or the performance of that
knowledge) creates a space for understanding the past.
These changes in archaeological epistemology, methods, and procedures took
place in parallel with a number of crucial technological innovations (including
many of a non-digital nature). Over the last couple of decades, the quickening
pace of digital innovation has played a key role in redefining the kinds of data
that we can collect from the field. In particular, digital devices have combined
with the idea of archaeology as a process to eliminate the distinction between a
kind of “objective” primary data collection and the subsequent analysis and
dissemination of this data.

Transmedia and Social Projects

At my archaeological project on the island of Cyprus,19 we’ve witnessed and


facilitated the gradual increase in the number of digital devices and media set to
document the archaeological discovery process. We have used portable voice
recorders to conduct impromptu interviews in the field, edited and unedited
digital video, digital photography, and a wide range of regular blog posts
describing the process of archaeology from a wide range of perspectives. The
goal of these projects is to capture the collaborative, synergistic nature of
archaeological knowledge production. This is crucial for two, interrelated
reasons: first, the proliferation of technology in an archaeological context works
to obscure the line between the modern, professional, and disciplinary
production of archaeological data and the production of data either intentionally
or unintentionally outside of these constraints.
Second, by obscuring the difference between disciplinary and “non-disciplinary”
archaeological knowledge, technology reveals knowledge production as anything
but a linear processes. In this way, it challenges the linear model of the heroic
excavator who asks the question, produces the data, and validates the
hypothesis. Research questions change continuously in a reciprocal relationship


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with the data produced in the field and in conversation with other specialists on
the archaeological project. Thus, like the curation of archaeological knowledge,
data collection is made visible as a dynamic, social, collaborative process.
For the final part of this paper, I will focus in particular on the collapse of the
barriers between “official” data production and “unofficial” knowledge
production. These examples are technologically simple and relatively easily
integrated in an archaeological context, but I think their simplicity speaks to how
technology works to redefine the practice of everyday life by affecting real
changes in archaeological practices.
In the last 5 years, high-resolution digital cameras have become commonplace
among participants in an archaeological project.20 Whereas even a decade ago, a
project might have several, or even only one, designated film cameras to produce
official publishable photographs, now every member of the team has the ability to
produce their own, high-resolution archives of the archaeological experience. The
ability of students and staff to take and circulate their own photos and the
photographs of their colleagues, breaks down many of the mechanical difference
between the official gaze of the project director and the gaze of the participant.
In fact, any insistence on a singular authoritative photograph of the trench or
object will erode in the face of myriad, equally valid, photographs of the same
space or object from the field. To be clear, it’s not that archaeologists will not
continue to produce definitive, publishable, and authoritative photographs; it is
that technology alone will no longer establish these photographs’ authoritative
character.21 [Slide of Ryan’s, Susie’s and an official photo]. In fact, project
directors now regularly struggle with too many archaeological photographs or
we’ve been forced to confront the difficult issue of how and whether to limit what
photographs can be circulated publicly while the excavation is occurring.
Digital video is clearly the next frontier in laying bear the archaeological process,
and in some ways represents the opposite challenge from that offered by the
proliferation of digital photography.22 In the past, the production of film was
expensive, involved complex equipment and processes, and required
considerable technical expertise. These technological issues, to some extent,
fortified the position of the film industry and the “mass media” in creating an
image of the archaeologist. [Slide of Indiana Jones and Naked Archaeologist].
Today, archaeological documentaries can be produced by even modest sized
projects. Moreover, high-quality footage can be disseminated “on the fly” and
footage can be produced with widely available and inexpensive technology.
Services like YouTube have made it simple to expose the archaeological process
to millions of viewers around the globe. The point here is not to suggest that
there is no longer room for a well-made archaeological documentary or that the
aesthetic vision of a filmmaker has lost value, but rather to suggest that the
availability of technology has created an environment where almost any project,
not to mention participant, in the production of archaeological knowledge could
produce video, edit and distribute it. This democratization of the recording,
editing, and distribution process complements the growing interest in reflexive


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archaeology by making it possible to open to the entire project, the ability to
document the reflective and collaborative nature of archaeology.
My final example focuses on social media and blogging in an archaeological
context. Blogs have received a decidedly ambivalent response within academia.
Blogs are neither the fish of peer-reviewed publication nor the fowl of informal
(and perhaps largely obsolete) academic correspondence. At the same time, blogs
are free, easy to use, and designed to facilitate entrance into intellectual and
social networks. The low bar to access and relatively powerful medium
presented by blogging has carved out a hybrid, middle space between traditional
methods of publication (i.e. books and articles) and presentation of
archaeological knowledge in a format open to continuous critique. My project in
Cyprus makes a whole series of blogs available for participants and considers
part of the project all the day-to-day activities, impressions, and reflection
recorded in these blogs. Blogs and other new and social-media applications have
expanded public access to archaeological knowledge production by disseminating
text, images, and video quickly. They also open a whole range of archaeological
knowledge to critical comments from a wide audience. This is not to suggest that
blogging will replace the peer-reviewed article or archaeological monograph, but
they have already proven to be an easily manipulated platform for publishing an
interactive, communal, transmedia discourse. Like digital photography and
video, the blogger whether an undergraduate, a graduate student, or a senior
staff member presents a kind of archaeological knowledge to the community and
contributes to the larger archive of archaeological knowledge in ways that
economic and technological issues (as well as theoretical and intellectual) would
have barred just decades ago.
It is clear that the future offers many more such low-cost, high-resolution,
collaborative platforms for archaeological work. For example, Google Earth and
Maps provide easy access, collaborative platforms for producing georeferenced
archaeological datasets.23 Low cost GPS units allow individuals to map a
landscape at with a remarkable level of precision. In fact, my camera has a GPS
unit in it that is more accurate than a GPS unit costing thousands of dollars just a
decade ago. Recently I’ve been intrigued by the possibility of aggregating
individual photographs, GPS points, and text descriptions to produce richly
nuanced archaeological datasets for landscape type analysis. This data will not
be the product of a directed investigation, but rather collective efforts of
numerous individuals with individual goals, but developed on a common
platform. In other words, the technology itself is the agent facilitating integrated
analysis.
To return to the present, our work in Cyprus is manifestly the product of a
dynamic synergy between a wide range of collaborators with a range of abilities,
interests, perspectives, and goals. As a result, the archaeological knowledge that
the project has so far produced ranges from typical qualitative and quantitative
excavation and intensive survey data to far more reflective digital video, audio,
writing and photographs. This disparate and faceted body of archaeological


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knowledge both provides a dynamic and extensive effort to document the
archaeological process and challenges narrowly held perspectives on the
production of archaeological knowledge.

Towards a Conclusion

What I have tried to argue in this paper is that intersection of archaeology and
digital technology present a model for the kind of synergistic behaviors so
favored by university administrators across the country. As a means of
conclusion, I’d like to suggest that technology has created an understanding of
archaeological knowledge that resists modern and, frankly, industrial paradigms
of knowledge production.24 The proliferation of digital technology has made it
possible to reveal some of the mechanisms which have long defined disciplinary
knowledge as an exclusive right of the adherents to particular epistemological,
socio-economic, political, or institutional position. The power vested in the
archaeologist’s access to a proper camera or to institutionally held notebooks
gives way when confronted with free access to data or the technology necessary
to produce archaeological photographs.
When a traditional discipline encounters digital technologies and commits to
using and understanding them as more than “simple tools” for facilitating
archaeological work or collecting data more effectively, these technologies can
undermine the restrictions and limitations that, in fact, define the discipline.
This is not to suggest that these new approaches to producing knowledge are
completely dependent upon digital technology or completely independent from
the production of traditional disciplinary knowledge.
After all, the parallel between archaeology’s focus on process and pre-modern
methods of craft production suggests that attacks on the modernist organization
of knowledge can derive as easily from the most distinctly un-modern aspects of
academia as those most closely tied to a post-modern future. Nevertheless,
digital technology has made clear archaeology’s dependence on the larger
scholarly community, on the members of the project, on the local community
where the project is located, and even on outside observers of the project. As a
result, the character of what constitutes archaeology has changed.
While I am optimistic that the professional practitioner of archaeological
methods will continue to occupy a place within the archaeological discourse –
after all disciplinary organizations still control certain technologies, resources,
and, as a result, methods – I am equally confident that technological changes will
consistently threaten the intellectual, methodological, and institutional basis for
this ascendency.
The end of disciplinary knowledge in some ways represents the adaptation of the
university and academia to the new conditions created by the interplay between
new technologies and existing epistemologies.


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1 G. Crane, “Classics and the computer: an end of the history,” S. Schreibman, R. Siemens, and J.
Unsworth eds. A Companion to Digital Humanities. (Oxford 2004), pp. 46–55.
2 For the work in Digital History from the founders of the Center for Digital and New Media see: 1.

D. J. Cohen and R. Rosenzweig, Digital history (University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006); For
Luddites see: E.P. Thompson, The Making of the English Working Class. (New York 1963), pp.
529-602.
3 Standard works on digital archaeology have largely focused on the use of technology as a tool to

analyze or present archaeological data. Standard works include: G Lock, Using computers in
archaeology : towards virtual pasts. (London 2003), T. L. Evans and P. T. Daly eds., Digital
Archaeology: Bridging Method and Theory. (London 2006).
4 For survey of the history of Mediterranean Archaeology see: S.Dyson, In pursuit of ancient

pasts : a history of classical archaeology in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. (New Haven
2006).
5 For a recent critique of disciplines see: L. Menand, The Marketplace of Ideas. (New York 2010),

59-126.
6 A. Dunn, 'The rise and fall of towns, ports, and silk-production in western Boeotia: the problem of

Thisvi-Kastorion', E.Jeffreys ed., Byzantine style, religion and civilization. In honour of Sir
Steven Runciman, (Cambridge 2006), pp.38-71.
7 See especially: J. Bintliff, P. Howard, and A. Snodgrass, Testing the Hinterland: The Work of the

Boeotia Survey (1989-1991) in the Southern Approaches to the City of Thespiai (Cambridge:
2006).
8 T.E. Gregory, "The Ohio Boiotia Expedition Exploration of the Thisbe Basin," in Donald R. Keller

and David W. Rupp, eds., Archaeological Survey in the Mediterranean Area. British
Archaeological Reports, International Series 155 (Oxford 1983), 245-47; "Diporto: A Byzantine
Maritime Settlement in the Gulf of Korinth," Deltion tis Christianikis Archaiologikis Etaireias 12
(1984) [1986] 287-304; "Intensive Survey and its Place in Byzantine Archaeology," Byzantine
Studies/Etudes Byzantines 13,2 (1986 [1990]) pp. 155-75; --"Archaeological Explorations in the
Thisbe Basin," Boeotia Antiqua 2 (Amsterdam 1992) 17-34.
9 For a recent survey of Actor-Network analysis in the context of archaeology see: Carl Knappett

and L. Malafouris, Material agency towards a non-anthropocentric approach (New York 2008).
10 S. Heath, Diversity and Reuse of Digital Resources for Ancient Mediterranean Material

Culture.' In G. Bodard and S. Mahony, eds., Digital Research in the Study of Classical Antiquity.
(Farnham, UK Forthcoming); See also: S. Heath, “Drilling Down (and Up)”
http://mediterraneanceramics.blogspot.com/2008/03/drilling-down-and-up.html (Retrieved
February 20, 2010); --, “Ecosystems”
http://mediterraneanceramics.blogspot.com/2008/04/ecosystems.html (Retrieved February 20,
2010).
11 H. Onsrud and J. Campell, “Big Opportunities in Access to “Small Science” Data,” Data Science

Journal 6 (2007). 58-66; Note systems like LOCKSS an distributive, library archiving system
developed by Stanford University Libraries. http://lockss.stanford.edu/lockss/Home. Retrieved
on February 20, 2010.
12 For the notion of the heroic model see: J. Appleby, L. Hunt, M. Jacobs, Telling the Truth About

History. (New York 1994), 15-51.


13 For the use of “small science” in this context see: Onsrud and Campell, p. 58; A. Pickering, “The

Mangle of Practice: Agency and Emergence in the Sociology of Science,” American Journal of
Sociology 99 (1993), 572-573.
14 See Heath note ## above,
15 M. Shanks and C. Tilley, Social Theory and Archaeology (Cambridge 1987), --, Re-constructing

Archaeology: Theory and Practice, 2nd ed. (London 1993); Ian Hodder, The Archaeological
Process: An Introduction (Oxford 1999); M. Shanks and M. Pearson, Theatre/Archaeology.
(London 2001).
16 For the relationship between Modernity and Archaeology see : J. Schnapp, M. Shanks, and M

Tiews, eds. Archaeologies of the Modern. A Special Issue of Modernism/Modernity 11 (2004).


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17 M. Shanks, “Three Rooms: Archaeology and Performance,” Journal of Social Archaeology 4
(2004) 147-180; M. Shanks, Theatre/Archaeology.
18 M. Shanks and R. H. McGuire, “The Craft of Archaeology,” American Antiquity 61 (January

1996): pp. 75-88; M. Herzfeld entitled, "Deskilling, 'Dumbing Down', and the Auditing of
Knowledge in the Practical Mastery of Artisans and Academics: An Ethnographers Response to a
Global Problem," in M. Harris ed, Ways of knowing (New York, 2007), pp. 91-112.
19 W.R. Caraher, et al. “The Pyla-Koutsopetria Archaeological Project: First Preliminary Report

(2003-2004 Seasons),” RDAC (2005), 246-267; --, The Pyla-Koutsopetria Archaeological Project:
First Preliminary Report (2003-2004 Seasons),” RDAC (2007), 293-306.
20 J. Bateman, “Pictures, ideas, and things: the production and currency of archaeological

images,” in M. Edgeworth, ed., Ethnographies of Archaeological Practice: Cultural Encounters,


Material Transformations. (Lanham, MD 2006), 95-102; F. N Bohrer, “Photography and
archaeology: the image as object,” Envisioning the past: archaeology and the image. (Oxford
2005): 180–191.
21 See: Y. Hamilakis, A. Anagnostopoulos, and F. Ifantidis, “Postcards from the Edge of Time:

Archaeology, Photography, Archaeological Ethnography (A Photo-Essay),” Public Archaeology 3


(2009), pp. 283–309.
22 See, for example, the various essays in: T. Clark and M. Brittain, eds. Archaeology and the

Media. (Walnut Creek, CA 2007)


23 These have occasionally been called “besides science” forms of data gathering.
24 For the relationship between archaeology and science see: B. Trigger, A History of

Archaeological Thought. Second Ed. (Cambridge 1996), pp. 26-39.


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