Closely Observed Layers: Storytelling and the Heart

Abstract

I excavate layers of dead people’s residential debris; my trowel gradually reveals the thousands of events that have created the layers and material fragments of past lives. At the same time, my mind buzzes with all the small stories that rise up out of the debris of the dead residents. This chapter, inspired by the writing of George Saunders, by Slow (Careful) Archaeology, and by Slow Data, finds the heart in the specifics of the archaeological record and the slow versioning of one story that emerges from them about a house and its 10 residents who lived and died and were buried at the East Mound of Çatalhöyük at least 9000 years ago.

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239© Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020
K. Supernant et al. (eds.), Archaeologies of the Heart,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-36350-5_15
Chapter 15
Closely Observed Layers: Storytelling
andtheHeart
RuthTringham
At Çatalhöyük ……
I have had a professional lifetime of heartfelt experiences as an archaeologist, espe-
cially on excavation projects. This chapter is about my most recent stories and expe-
riences during the excavation of a 9000-year-old Neolithic house (Building 3) at the
settlement mound of Çatalhöyük in west-central Turkey (Tringham and Stevanovic
2012). All the houses at Çatalhöyük were built of sun-dried mud brick whose wall
surfaces and clay oors were repeatedly plastered in white clay. The walls of the
houses had no openings for windows or doors (or so it seems), and access to the
interior was by ladder from a hole in the at roof (Hodder 2006: chapter 5).1
Inside the house, the layers of the dead/past/ancestors and– above them– the
layers of the living are not separated from each other but are closely woven together
as part of the same labyrinth. The portal from one to the other and the key to under-
standing their connection are the lids with which the burial pits are closed. We
archaeologists understood this from the moment that we identied the lid of the
nal burial of Building 3, a young boy of 3–4years old in a basket (Feature 617);
for us who came to excavate their history, this was our rst Neolithic burial
(Figs.15.1 and 15.2).
RET Diary entry August 17, 1999: “I had an earthquake dream last night. I woke to nd out
that there had been a huge earthquake in Istanbul many thousands of miles to the north
…..Mira started work on the burial (F.617) today, starting with the white plaster lid that we
recognized two days ago by its plaster-but-not-plaster oor appearance.”
1 This is a video of Mirjana Stevanovic leading a tour of Building 3 as if she were its proud resident:
https://vimeo.com/337032483
R. Tringham (*)
University of California, Berkeley, CA, USA
e-mail: tringham@berkeley.edu

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240
Fig. 15.1 Photo of the burial lid of F.617. A demonstration of how difcult it is to recognize a
burial lid at Çatalhöyük. Note the red-painted wall next to the lid. (Unless otherwise stated, these
images are all copyrighted to members of the Çatahöyük Research Project, licensed with a Creative
Commons 2.5 license)
Fig. 15.2 Mirjana Stevanovic removing the lid of Feature 617 on August 17, 1999. (Unless other-
wise stated, these images are all copyrighted to members of the Çatahöyük Research Project,
licensed with a Creative Commons 2.5 license)
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241
Hunting theBurial Lids
The Neolithic custom of burial at Çatalhöyük is to dig a pit, often over a meter deep,
through the layers of plaster and clay oors of the living house. The pit is narrower
at the top than lower down; the deceased is laid at the bottom of the pit, which is
then lled in with soft dark earth to the level of the plaster oor from which it was
cut. After tamping down the soil of the ll, the top of the pit is then covered with a
5cm layer of clay plaster that is very close to the consistency and color of the oor
plaster itself, but it is not identical. This is the lid. The join is smoothed over so that
it is very difcult– unless you know or remember– to tell where the burial opening
is (Figs.15.3 and 15.4).2
As archaeologists, who poke and probe into these secrets, we want to know
where the burial opening is. But we don’t want to wait to come across it by accident,
plunging through the unrecognized lid into the grave pit, because the lid holds the
key to much more than the discovery of the resting place of the residents. It tells us
about the sequence of their dying, and it tells us about their death becoming a trigger
for events in the life of the living house. From a burial lid, we can track the new
2 This video is a discussion of Ruth Tringham with Mirjana Stevanovic about the burial lids and the
red-painted walls surrounding some of the burials: https://vimeo.com/336739527
Fig. 15.3 The cross-sectioned lid of Feature 631 built up to be level with the bottom of oor 2 on
the northeast platform. On the right (south) edge of the pit, the boundary between the lid and the
oor #2 plaster layer can be clearly seen. (Unless otherwise stated, these images are all copyrighted
to members of the Çatahöyük Research Project, licensed with a Creative Commons 2.5 license)
15 Closely Observed Layers: Storytelling andtheHeart

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242
plaster that is laid over the lid and its surrounding platform oor, as it creates a new
oor surface over the rest of the house; we can track new congurations within the
living house– new walls, new oven locations– that are created on that new oor
after specic burials. The interpretation of such sequences and associations is full of
ambiguity, which can be expressed in a wonderful multitude of small stories. But it
provides a way of connecting the living house with the passing history of its occu-
pants (Fig.15.5).
Closely Observed Layers
I cannot escape the ambivalence I feel as I carry out my research in this 9000-year-
old building that is also the resting place of its residents. I am excavating– reveal-
ing– layers that have hidden this place from prying eyes for 9000years. By the time
I and my team have nished the project, we have not only revealed their hiding
places but we have displaced them. Worse still, that place that we revealed has
almost been forgotten by the archaeologists themselves. That is a very big responsi-
bility of destruction.
A partial exoneration of my heartlessness in this respect is provided by the heart-
felt care with which we carried out the destruction. James Mellaart rst excavated
at the Çatalhöyük East Mound during four eld seasons (1961–1963, 1965), a total
Fig. 15.4 Ruth Tringham, Lori Hager, and Basak Boz working out the sequence of the lids of
burial pits cutting through the platform Feature 162in 2000. (Unless otherwise stated, these images
are all copyrighted to members of the Çatahöyük Research Project, licensed with a Creative
Commons 2.5 license)
R. Tringham

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243
3 This video uses the north-central platform (Feature 162) and the nal burial (Feature 617) of
Building 3 at Çatalhöyük to explain how single-context excavation and the Harris matrix work:
https://vimeo.com/337158036
Fig. 15.5 Aerial photo of Building 3in 2001, where the continuous white oor can be seen from
burial platforms on the right to the “kitchen” on the left (south). Jason Quinlan is suspended from
the roof of the BACH shelter. Michael Ashley, perching even higher, is taking this photo. (Unless
otherwise stated, these images are all copyrighted to members of the Çatahöyük Research Project,
licensed with a Creative Commons 2.5 license)
of 226 working days in which his team excavated close on 200 buildings, a rate of
almost 1 a day (Balter 2005:26–27). By contrast, our BACH (Berkeley Archaeologists
@ Çatalhöyük) project completed the entire excavation of Building 3 in seven
6-week seasons (1997–2003) and a further 10-year preparation of the materials for
publication (Tringham and Stevanovic 2012). This is considered very slow, by most
standards. But we were not to be hurried for the sake of “efciency”; we had a very
ambitious aim that demanded a slow pace.
Our work proceeded by the denition and excavation of “units,” each one identi-
ed and recorded as a unique depositional event, perhaps a layer, perhaps a pit edge,
perhaps a human skeleton, each one contributing to a massive two-dimensional
scheme of the stratigraphy and history of Building 3– its Harris matrix.3
Our project was based on the premise that a building was constantly being modi-
fied throughout its occupation by the practices and rhythms of its occupants as well
as by the vagaries of weather and entropy (Stevanovic 2012, Hodder 2006:16–17),
just as Stewart Brand (1994) has described for modern residential buildings. Our
aim in analyzing the architectural features and identifying the sequence of
15 Closely Observed Layers: Storytelling andtheHeart

244
Fig. 15.6 Micromorphological section of oor plaster layers in 2002. (Unless otherwise stated,
these images are all copyrighted to members of the Çatahöyük Research Project, licensed with a
Creative Commons 2.5 license)
depositional events was to construct the history of Building 3in order to lay the
groundwork for creating the stories about the lives of its residents. The key to track-
ing the history of the houses, as in any archaeological situation, is the observation
of the stratigraphic sequence of layers of deposition; in the case of Building 3
(Fig.15.6), as in all Çatalhöyük houses, this means observations of the very thin
layers created by the residents in their regular (annual?) re-plastering of walls and
oors that was a necessity to keep the house alive.
The oor of Building 3 was re-plastered as a single event, in most cases one that
was not associated with signicant changes. But sometimes, it would involve major
changes such as adding or removing a raised platform or reconguring its shape and
boundary on the new oor, removing a relief sculpture on the wall, adding or taking
down a partition wall, blocking and/or removing old storage bins and creating new
ones on their stubs, and– signicantly– changing the location of the house oven.
We dened such major remodeling associations on a oor as “phases” in the history
of the house. And we wondered whether such “phase events” were triggered by
the death and burial of a resident of the house (Stevanovic 2012:77). A minor but
sig-nificant event almost definitely associated with some of the burial events
of the north-central platform (F.162) was the repeated painting of the walls in red
that sur-round them (Stevanovic 2012:92).
We identied eight phases in the occupation of Building 3 and at least two phases
of its gradual abandonment and collapse in the Neolithic (Fig. 15.7), covering
a period of perhaps 60years, 9000years ago (Stevanovic 2012:51–56).The
Neolithic occupation was followed by a 7000-year “rest” with a subsequent
short-lived
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245
Slow archaeology evokes the practice of archaeology as a craft. It prioritizes an embodied
attentiveness to the entire process of eldwork as a challenge to the fragmented perspec-
tives offered by workows inuenced by our own efcient, industrialized age. While recog-
nizing that craft and industrial approaches to archaeology are not mutually exclusive in the
dirty realities of eldwork, the last eighty years of archaeological scholarship and practice
have tended to celebrate the potential of industrial technology in archaeological practice at
the expense of more integrated approaches associated with pre-industrial, craft
production. (Caraher 2013:45–46)
satalay@umass.edu
Fig. 15.7 The life history of Building 3in six concentrated layers. (Copyright 2019 Ruth Tringham
and Mirjana Stevanovic)
reopening in a series of rst-third century AD burial events. Then Building 3 fell
into another deep sleep, until– 2000years later– its exhumation and annihilation in
the name of post-processual knowledge of the past.
Heartfelt Archaeology
Such tracking demanded very slow and detailed excavation, starting with the scrap-
ing of the layers of plaster ooring and the thin layer of clay “packing” that lay
beneath each one; it demanded corresponding slow and detailed visual and alphanu-
meric documentation of every event (aided immensely by digital technology).
This detail of field practice resonates with Bill Caraher’s (2013, 2016)
“Slow Archaeology”:
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Shawn Graham in his Electric Archaeology blog has suggested– and I agree– that
Slow Archaeology is not the prerogative of eld archaeology but applies also to the
digital work that goes into eld and post-eld archaeology.
To get the digital stuff to work involves a constant cycle of feedback and productive failure.
‘Digital archaeology’ is sometimes the slowest archaeology around. There’s nothing inher-
ent in the craft aspect of ‘slow’ archaeology that isn’t also true of digital work. Digital work
is inefcient in my view– it never works the rst time. That’s its strength. It allows us to
fail faster, and that’s where the illusion of ‘efciency’ comes from........’.4
Eric Kansa, writing from the viewpoint of digital data collection and archiving,
emphasizes the ethical need for careful curation:
The most important value of research data does not center on its scale, efcient collection,
or even efcient interoperability. Rather, a slow data approach can highlight how data col-
lection, management, and dissemination practices need to be considered integral to the
larger ethical and professional conduct of research.....Slow archaeology captures the notion
that we as a professional community should emphasize excellence in the research process,
including taking time for thoughtful consideration, not simply high-throughput and efcient
production of tangible research outcomes. Slow data is basically the digitized aspects of
slow archaeology. (Kansa 2016:466)
All of these authors are promoting an archaeological practice that is organized more
along craft lines than the specialized, standardized, assembly-line factory workow
of industrialization. Such practice is not dependent on size of project, nor whether
it is paperless or paperful, but on care, attention, and detail of work. None of these
authors explicitly mentions whether or not such a practice is more heartfelt or affec-
tive, although Shawn Graham approaches with the quasi haiku at the end of his blog:
‘Go slow, go with care,
make through thinking and think through making,
employ a method of hope,
engage in the art of inquiry.
Play.’5 (RET: I have re-arranged the line breaks)
What they write, however, does resonate with the original inspiration for this chap-
ter– George Saunders, who nds the heart in the specics of people’s stories and
the careful versioning of “slow writing.” One morning in July 2016, I was woken as
usual by “Morning Edition” on our public broadcasting station KQED.I was barely
awake and trying to block out the dramas of the presidential campaign, when I heard
a fragment of an interview with George Saunders– ction and non-ction writer,
essayist– about an article he had just written for the New Yorker called “Who Are
All These Trump Supporters?”(Saunders 2016). This is the fragment that inspired me:
You know, as a ction writer, one of the things you learn is God lives in specicity. You
know, human kindness is increased as we pursue specicity… as you revise you always are
making it better by being specic and by observing more closely. ….In the process, the
piece gets more big-hearted, more fair, it includes more things and more people.6
4 Shawn Graham’s blog post is published at: https://electricarchaeology.ca/2017/03/20/slow-
archaeology/(accessed 5/1/2019).
5 https://electricarchaeology.ca/2017/03/20/slow-archaeology/
6 The text and recording of the complete broadcast can be accessed at: http://www.npr.
org/2016/07/09/485356110/in-search-for-answers-author-george-saunders-covers-trump-campaign
R. Tr ingham

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The Zen ofExcavating
I think that George Saunders’ idea of specics and versioning applies to the way in
which we scrape through the layers of dead people’s life and death debris at
Çatalhöyük.7 Some of the team, especially Lori Hager and Mirjana Stevanovic, are
more skilled and experienced than others. However, at rst, when our team from UC
Berkeley started the project in 1997, none of us had excavated in mud brick and
plaster. We were all trained on wattle-and-daub architectural remains in very
differ-ent contexts (Tringham and Stevanovic 2012). I swallowed my pride and
learned like a nervous apprentice, watching others more experienced than I and
trying it out for myself (Fig.15.8).
7 This video expresses the aura of contemplation and focused concentration that surrounds excava-
tion of layers in Building 3: https://vimeo.com/336477361
Fig. 15.8 The zen of excavating at Çatalhöyük in 2001: (a) Ruth Tringham. (Unless otherwise
stated, these images are all copyrighted to members of the Çatahöyük Research Project, licensed
with a Creative Commons 2.5 license), (b) Ruth Tringham and Tish Prouse. (Unless otherwise
stated, these images are all copyrighted to members of the Çatahöyük Research Project, licensed
with a Creative Commons 2.5 license), (c) the BACH team.(Unless otherwise stated, these images
are all copyrighted to members of the Çatahöyük Research Project, licensed with a Creative
Commons 2.5 license)
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Then we the apprentices showed the new learners the Zen of excavating that
involves both specics and versioning: if you can’t work out the problem, leave it,
have a coffee, and come back; or change position and work from another angle; or
change hands; ask someone else what they think. Repetition and patience, white on
white, no shortcuts, don’t look for the immediate solution, don’t dig holes, keep it
clean and level, and so on. Meanwhile, inside my head, my mind is joyfully busy, mak-
ing sense of the layers, using all my senses and intuition to plan where my hands-with-
trowel should go next, respectfully fearful of the responsibility of the decision. This is
how (for me) specicity engenders the heart and passion in archaeological practice.
Post-excavation study and publication preparation involves yet more versioning,
until, as Saunders writes (2005, 2016, 2017), what emerges (we hope, but do not
always succeed in producing) is not a false consensus of “what happened,” but a
transparent expression of the ambiguity of the past (in our case, the history of
Building 3) as represented in the archaeological record (Tringham and Stevanovic
2012). The constrictions of printed publication make this a challenging ambition.
But in the ether of the Cloud and other areas of the Digital World, there are end-
less opportunities to continue the slow versioning of the interpretation of the source
materials of an archaeological project– if they have been curated with care, as Eric
Kansa (2016) advises. And, as an example, I end here with just one of the many
versions of the life history of Building 3, from the point of view of one of its c-
tional residents.
Dido’s Life
Unlike the neighboring and slightly later Building 1 that had 55 burials beneath its
oors, only 10 people were buried under the oor of Building 3: 2 older adults, 2
teenagers, 3 toddlers, 1 baby, and 2 adult skulls of indeterminate age and sex. Except
for the skulls and two toddler boys, each burial was a separate event. The earliest
burial occurs in the second half of the history of Building 3 (Phase 3) and is of a
baby (Feature 757) in a basket under the central oor of the building. It was fol-
lowed by the burial of two young boys in the same place. None of these Phase 3
burials are capped by lids. In the subsequent two phases (4A and 4B), however, all
the burials were capped by lids. The nal burial of a child (Feature 617) triggered
(or so we surmise) the closure of Building 3 (Phase 5A) in a ceremony that involved
the placement of two skulls on the oor in the center of the building and the partial
collapse of its roof to cover the platforms where the burials had occurred (Fig.15.9).
In Fig.15.9 I have charted the sequence of burials and noted which ones might
(in one scenario) have triggered the remodeling that helps us to distinguish different
phases in the history of Building 3. The analysis of human remains, on the basis of
which this chart has been created, is published in detail by Lori Hager and Bashak
Boz (2012); their chapter is an excellent example of respectful, caring, and careful
archaeology. They describe their aim in and the process of “reeshing” the remains
(the illustrations were created by John Swogger) as you see them in these charts
(Hager and Boz, 2012:300; also see Hawkes and Molleson 2000): “The images
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8 The very rst version was a 1-minute video of Lori Hager excavating Dido’s skull in 2000 which
I set to background music of Dido’s Lament in Purcell’s opera Dido and Aeneas, in which Dido
sings: “Remember me, but forget my fate.” After that, the name Dido for the burial Feature 634
remained.
Fig. 15.9 The sequence of burials in Building 3, noting which ones might have triggered the
remodeling that helps us to distinguish different phases. (Copyright 2019 Ruth Tringham)
(reconstructions) represent the principal characters in the story of Building 3, and
seeing them as people rather than as skeletons gives us a sense of who they might
have been, young or old, male or female. The reconstructions help us see the people
who in death, and perhaps in life, were directly linked to Building 3” (Hager
and Boz 2012:300).
In this quote, I am reminded of Jane Baxter remarking in her chapter in this book
of the strong emotional empathy that archaeologists will have as a response to chil-
dren’s and young people’s deaths as “disruptive, transgressive, and outside the
expected (or hoped for) natural order of things” (Baxter, Chap. 9, this volume).
Even though these burials are many thousands of years prior to those discussed by
Jane Baxter, I nevertheless nd strong resonance with the emotional affect engen-
dered by the specics of the archaeological record (including something as mun-
dane as a burial lid) and the careful imagining of details of life and death for which
there is little or no tangible evidence.
There is a myriad of small stories that rise up out of the debris of the dead resi-
dents in Building 3. I come now to the closely tethered but high-ying ights of
imagination that bring light and sound to the silent archaeological remains. I have
considered the story of “Dido,” the mature 40–45-year-old woman, whose death
probably triggered the remodeling of Building 3in which the active space of the
building diminished by closing off access to the western “storage” room, in
many versions in many different formats (e.g., Tringham 2015a, b).8
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In this version (Fig.15.10), I pose the possibility that all the dead young people
are the offspring of the two older individuals. Working this out brings me face to
face with the life of Dido in an uncanny– and quite emotional– way. At the same
time, it is a complex algebraic problem to work out the sequence of births and
deaths of the Building 3 residents. And there still remains a small mystery of who
gave birth to the 3-year-old child (F.617) in the nal burial event of Building 3, and
who buried him? Dido begins her story: I came here when I was 12. The house I
came to live in was not new, but they had made it stronger and more elaborate for us
newly betrothed. I have had a long life that I mark by the births and deaths of my
loved ones, and a few events in between…..Now read on in the gure.
Versioning Continues
This version of the story will be frozen by the constrictions of the printing press. But
already another version is appearing in an online repository of Dido’s story that
resides, for the moment, in a temporary collection.9 The next version may well
incorporate an experiment of using emotional nonverbal vocalizations
(Tringham 2019). Narratives in the Digital World are never closed or finite.
Different versions in different formats online can draw endless, ever richer, more
multisensorial narra-tives from the research base, formats that move, speak, sing,
and sigh, that surprise with their juxtapositions, and that enchant the eye
(Fig.15.11). All of these are wait-ing our heartfelt creativity to get to know the
past residents of the earth.
9 All the media (mostly videos, so far) that are relevant to this chapter are currently gathered
together in an online Vimeo Showcase: https://vimeo.com/showcase/5980186. Readers should be
warned that the videos in this Vimeo Showcase are the only ones in Ruth Tringham’s online video
archive that are guaranteed not to show images of human remains.
Fig. 15.10 Dido’s life story. (Copyright 2019 Ruth Tringham)
R. Tringham

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Crossing Timelines Haiku10
Timeline “Now”: the BACH project from start (1997) to lling in (2004), archae-
ologists peering back from left to right, into the life history of Building 3.
Timeline “Then”: Neolithic residents of the house from construction to closure,
living forward from right to left.
At some point, in my mind, these timelines cross;
That,
Makes my heart beat faster at its possibilities.
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