Week 1 was devised and led by AJTF Beth Hodgett, a collaborative doctoral researcher in archaeology, working at the Pitt Rivers Museum and Birkbeck College, London. Twitter @Wcoloursburntin
Who is this? – Enlarge image to text width, i.e. 7”. – Mystery object. – Crop. – Could be helmet.
We begin Beth Hodgett’s symposium by examining the working notes O.G.S. Crawford scrawled in red ink, pencil, and biro onto the blue card mounts of his photographs taken at the 1939 Sutton Hoo excavation site. Much as the archaeologist and photographer’s images show the dig findings resting on the earth, his annotations too show his thinking process in situ.
Each photograph is taken as artefact, not document. The photographer’s handwritten additions highlight the journey from guesswork to polished interpretation. The second set of photographs is mounted on brown card. Here, that gained (or created) knowledge has been tidied into neatly inked formal captions: Cleaning the silver tray + drawing the other objects for our plan; Part of the silver tray, showing its decoration.
Every archive comes down to chaos held at bay. We trace the lively prehistory of the fifty box files forming the O.G.S. Crawford photographic archive at the Institute of Archaeology, a narrative reconstructed through Hodgett’s oral history work.
In his will, Crawford directed his executors to burn the contents of a trunk in his room without examining its contents. Rumours suggest the Institute of Archaeology’s photographer rescued Crawford’s eighty albums from a museum skip. An unnamed female researcher ripped out the album pages and reorganized the photographs into box files, creating a new order. Decades later, Crawford’s original celluloid negatives were removed from their wax paper sleeves for fear of spontaneous combustion.
Objects, like people, have lives.
The archivist’s work begins in medias res. It is the time spent in the same snug room day after day – immersed in the contents of the same burgundy boxes, revisiting the same photographs of archaeological sites or castles, cats or clouds – that yields up insights into how the images interrelate. New details and connections emerge through deep looking over time.
The photograph is the focus. But the surrounding rings of annotations, filing systems, curatorial history, acquisitions and storage records spin a dynamic pattern of elements that invites creative play, showing that fieldwork need not require distant journeys. Excavating an archive becomes like opening up new ground.
This post was written by Krasis Scholar Sylee Gore, a poet and artist undertaking an MSt in Creative Writing at Oxford. Twitter @berlinreified
Week 2 was devised and led by AJTF Katie Noble, a doctoral researcher in English Literature, working on 18th century theatre, using theatrical ephemera in the FB Brady Collection at Christ Church College. Twitter @Kaatienoble
Accessibility to resources comes in many shapes and sizes. As Katie Noble demonstrated in her symposium on Open Access, the issue of accessing resources for research is vast and complex, whether it’s completing your DPhil or feeding your appetite for academic knowledge. Beginning by looking at reading lists from our own disciplines, it became clear that even with immense institutional privilege, the barriers to entry for research are varied.
These barriers can take the form of an institutional log-in, complicated online interface, or six flights of stairs to an archive, to name a few. Katie outlined the ways in which limitations to access pertain to physical accessibility, online accessibility, social accessibility and cultural capital, care regarding content and trauma, financial barriers, public engagement and impact, amongst others. Not to mention that circumstances afforded by the Covid-19 pandemic further complicate these matters—ameliorating some while exacerbating others.
While the group conversation navigated these various twists and turns on the subject, we landed on a few struggles in particular that many researchers are currently facing. One of these is institutional politics, which could mean requiring supervision to view archives in a college basement or a lack of advertising for ongoing projects and available resources. This gives rise the issue of arbitrary manuscript digitisation, another topic that requires a worldwide collaborative strategy to make collections available online. Amid the Covid-19 pandemic, research has been forced to go virtual, but often resources can only be found physically in archives and libraries, which are temporarily closed or have restricted access.
What happens if those materials do get digitised and are made accessible to the general public? Often, open-access research carries the misconception that it ranks lower on the hierarchy of scholarly sources. We must rid ourselves of this notion and appreciate that restricting resources to those with paid subscriptions or institutional log-ins does not enhance their value. Additionally, we must be dynamic and flexible in solving issues of access while recognising that making resources available for ‘open-access’ goes beyond merely being able to Google them. For one, it means making academic work widely available and user-friendly while ensuring that researchers and authors are properly compensated. It also means looking inward at our own institutions and points of access to better this issue in its myriad forms.
This post was written by Krasis Scholars Victoria Horrocks, who is studying for an MSt in History of Art and Visual Culture at Hertford College, and Sandra Saade who is in the second year of an MChem degree at Christ Church.
Week 3 was devised and led by AJTF Petros Spanou, a doctoral researcher in History at Balliol College, working on Victorian ideas of war and peace, particularly in relation to the Crimean War. Twitter @Petros_Spanou
Immediate and Visible: Opening the First 'Media War'
What is war in the eye of the beholder? To the readers of British periodicals during the Crimean War of 1853-56, often referred to by historians as ‘the first media conflict’, the visibility of war changed drastically.
This week, Krasis Scholars were asked to explore how immediacy and visibility interlink through representations of war. Petros Spanou began this session by asking what war means to us as individuals. In our era of hyperconnectivity and never-ending media cycles, we are all too familiar with war: it is on the televisions of waiting rooms, the notifications at the corners of our screen, and can always be found at our fingertips. In spite of the near permanent state of war in global history, it is something that most of us see and feel at a distance. And these ways of ‘seeing’ and ‘feeling’ are almost always mediated by another eye.
The term ‘media war’ seems a misnomer in the 21st century, as we find it difficult to divorce our understanding of war from media representations. Yet is the high visibility of war dependent on a need for immediacy? Why do we - and indeed, why did onlookers of the Crimean war - want to view war to begin with? Moreover, how do we want to view war? Through a series of commissioned engravings and photographs, Petros asked us to consider what a ‘media war’ truly entails.
The Krasis Scholars began the discussion thinking about what it means to make conflict ‘visible’ and ‘immediate’, confronting the presentism we often bring to these terms. In the context of the Crimean War the process of bringing an ‘immediate’ image of the war to the reading British public could take weeks. Petros then introduced us to a series of wood engravings representing scenes of the conflict that appeared in The Illustrated London News over the course of the war.
The publication sent three engravers, Edward Goodall, Joseph Archer Crowe and Constantin Guys, to report as direct observers of the war in the Crimea. Their status as ‘artists’ rather than ‘press’ granted them unprecedented access to the army and the battlefields. The scholars speculated about the accuracy and authenticity of such images, recognising the time they would have taken to produce and the deployment of traditional artistic techniques to heighten their drama. Yet considering their place within the broader Victorian cultural milieu problematizes our demand for ‘authentic’ representations of violence; the fact that contemporary readers believed that the images were legitimate reconstructions of the events in the Crimea is perhaps more significant than their factual accuracy.
Petros brought us on to examine the impact of the introduction of photography to capture the events of the Crimean war. “For the first time since men fought we shall have history illustrated by the certainty of a reporter who never errs,” wrote one contemporary viewer of these new snapshots of reality. Far from the neoclassical representations of destruction and pain, the photographs brought a sense of reality and true visibility to representations of the Crimean War.
Yet, the Krasis Scholars were less than satisfied with assertions that the camera is infallible. In spite of our presuppositions, we came to the conclusion that the images in the wood engravings were possibly more accurate than those captured by photography, which was in its incipient stages of development at the time, requiring long exposure with posed subjects.
Perhaps it is our own postmodernity that forces us to doubt the concept of objective photography. Perhaps it is the ruins of a neoclassical building gazing over the rubble of a war well fought that reminds us too much of the commissioned engravings. Whatever it may be, despite the changing media of 'media wars', the relationship between immediacy and visibility remains complex and dynamic.
This post was written by Krasis Scholars Noorie Abbas, a third-year undergraduate in History and Politics at New College, and Corrina Summers, a second-year undergraduate in History and English at Harris Manchester College.
Week 4 was devised and led by AJTF Vithya Subramaniam, a playwright and doctoral researcher in Anthropology, working on the spatial and material experience of South Asian identities, particularly Punjabi, Sikh and Singaporean. Twitter @straitssettled
You'll Never Walk Alone
How do we understand walking?
What does the modern human take note of and what is particularly important when deciding upon a walking route?
And how does a contemporary anthropologist use walking as a research tool to explore identity and environment, and the relationship between the two?
Vithya Subramaniam sent us out to walk, tracing our interaction with the ‘more-than-human’
In comparison with a bus journey, walking allows access to an urban wall (the noise of traffic, of pets, the smell of fresh grass), a social context and to the environment, all of which may be explored by recording empirical knowledge in the form of lists, photographs or scene drawing.
However, considering the worldwide impact of the pandemic, weather and the purpose of the walk (academic or non-academic, solo or in company, social or practical), the ways people relate to their walking experience definitely shape its way of being.
Deciding on the threshold of an ambulatory experience is more than a question of when to press 'Start' on Strava - it is an unconscious testimony to our relationship with the landscapes around us and might tell us a lot about what we most value when moving through different environments.
We shared our experiences of walking and the records we kept
Comparing the views of those who walked rurally with those who chose a route through the city (whether through the golden Headington stone of Oxford or the urban cityscapes of Berlin); those who walked alone with those who enlisted company; and those who wrote notes with those who painted watercolours; all this opened up a conversation on how and why we travel on foot, and what the value of recording this travel might be.
A particular experience has been choosing completely different routes to reach the same destination, no matter the duration or distance, depending on the goal needing to be accomplished.
Another question we came across in discussing how we notice the more-than-human was whether the issues we think of when walking determine why and how the walk even starts or ends.
We walked around the rooms we work in
Having been asked to walk around the room and record by closing our eyes what we hear, what kind of smells we perceive, what makes a cosy place comfortable, we crossed the room by our usual route and then by an alternative. Most of us had comparable encounters : the light taking up a lot of space, the room as a microcosm of the world, divided into sections (space to exercise, bookshelves, a spot to play). These experiences raised an essential question: are the things there because I am there or is it the other way around?
The diverse ways of recording included sketching lines accounting for the side of the space noises came from, the unexpected sneeze from another room, or arranging words into blocks.
We walked from the Bodleian to the Ashmolean on Google Maps
Finally, we questioned the accuracy and reliability of the pictures taken for an online walk and considered the timeframe, overlapping images from 2019, 2018 and 2012. An important strength of walking virtually was, no doubt, the possibility of discovering alternative routes, quieter or narrower streets, making the journey shorter. Nevertheless, our inability to explore through the human senses was also highlighted: the noise of the buses, the feeling of the raindrops, or the flatness of the ground.
The experience of moving from a sunny morning to a rain-soaked afternoon (or from a busy Broad Street to an almost empty one) in the space of a keyboard click is jarring, accentuating the loss of physical sensation and real-world interaction in the theatre of the everyday walk.
Vithya's symposium allowed us to explore again the social rhythms of a world currently deprived of spontaneous interaction, and left many of us with a keener understanding of how walking shapes our lives on a daily basis; as well as a lingering nostalgia for a lost Oxford.
Some of the texts Vithya has drawn on in her own research and practice are:
Ingold, T., Lines: A Brief History (London: Routledge, 2007)
Ingold, T. and Vergunst, J. L. (eds.), Ways of Walking: Ethnography and Practice on Foot (London: Routledge, 2008)
O’Neill, M. and Hubbard, P., ‘Walking, sensing, belonging: Ethno-mimesis as performative praxis’, Visual Studies, 25(1) (2010): 46–58.
O’Neill, M. and Roberts, B., Walking Methods: Research on the Move (New York: Routledge, 2020)
Springgay, S. and Truman, S., Walking Methodologies in a More-than-Human World: WalkingLab (New York: Routledge, 2018)
This post was written by Krasis Scholars Sandra Saade, who is in the second year of an MChem degree at Christ Church, and Annabelle Fuller, who is a third-year Classics and English student at Magdalen College.
Week 5 was devised and led by AJTF Ruby-Anne Birin, a doctoral researcher in Archaeological Science, working on the application of infrared-radiofluorescence (IR-RF) to the dating of Early Stone Age sites in South Africa. She is also the first former Krasis Scholar to return as an AJTF. Twitter @Rubys_Travels
Geography is not fixed; we produce space and its meanings. In Week 5 of Krasis 10, we worked with archaeologist Ruby-Anne Birin to rediscover what maps can do, making our own intertwining and varied cartographies, putting into practice - as Krasis seminars are bound to make us do - an alternative, productive way of thinking about time and space,
To begin, we created our own maps, using ArcGIS StoryMaps software: cartographies that are not fixed, but are rather socially and culturally produced. Feeling pangs of lockdown nostalgia, I produced a map of all the places where I had fallen in love, accompanied by pictures. Another scholar produced a map of the locations of all of the people they had met and bonded with via video gaming. The constellation of human dots stretched far and wide across the continents.
Next, working in small groups we toggled between maps of Oxford from different periods, to consider how the spatial - and thus social - relationship between student and town has shifted. We thought about how changes in political climate change the maps we make, and in what ways maps might be manipulated to reflect particular values or goals. We began to experience a strange sense of bodily relation to maps from hundreds of years ago. Placing myself between faded parchment lines, I could chart my route from Tesco to home, imagining cycling across Magdalen bridge and into the swirl of the bustling Cowley roundabout, through maps made when it was filled with grazing cows.
We moved on to objects associated with Oxford and currently on display at the Ashmolean. Since, as Ruby-Anne pointed out, ‘each object has its own story, linked to many places and multiple lives,’ we were to use five maps to reconstruct the unique history of our objects through space and time.
My group investigated a little, blue-glazed, earthenware vase or cup of circa 1520-40, from Liguria or Antwerp, inscribed with the Christian IHS trigram.
Like bona fide detectives, we explored exactly where it would have been buried, while the historian among us spoke to the reformation, and the possible fate of a catholic object in 16th century Oxford.
Its burial had been in what was a garden behind Broad Street; but as we explored the subsequent maps, we saw how more dwellings and buildings were constructed over it until it was unearthed in the 1930s during excavations before the construction of the Bodelian Library extension.
The activity was meaningful in multiple ways. To me, it seemed a good example of how we can think about objects - what work goes into not only making and keeping them, but even discarding them? If we were to simply look at the basic form and materials of the object, what stories would we miss?
Instead of taking the object’s presence in the museum for granted, we asked how it got here? Why? What serendipities had to unfold for it to emerge, be acquired, written about, catalogued and placed within a glass box?
Maps acted as the ideal tools to explore these questions. But Ruby-Anne’s invitation to ‘propose other maps which may assist in unravelling your object’s mystery,’ required us to question our assumptions not just regarding cartography, but also the traditional fixity of time and space in Western knowledge. I began to think about my own research, which is rooted in feminist redefinitions of the things we take for granted - like time and space - by employing queer lenses. I considered my understanding of feminist phenomenology in relationship to maps, and why and how it was possible to imagine myself existing between the lines of a very old map despite the yawning distance of time.
I recalled two books I’d recently read about theories of bodies in space; by Katherine McKittrick on the cartographies of Blackness, and by Sara Ahmed on queer phenomenology; because following McKittrick, it is my belief that ‘human geography needs some philosophical attention.’ This is exactly the kind of attention that this symposium encouraged, not only because we want to alter the oppressive strictures of traditional disciplines, but also because we simply want to make new maps and new meanings.
Sara Ahmed describes how the phenomenologists Edmund Husserl and Maurice Merleau-Ponty both refer to bodily horizons as ‘sedimented histories.’ Ruby-Anne’s maps allowed us to literally see this sedimentation, as we toggled the transparencies of older maps onto newer ones. As an archaeological scientist, her research deals with scientific sedimentation; mine with amorphous, bodily sedimentations. Nonetheless we are both interested in charting these layers, regardless of the forms they take. And as the seminar seemed to demonstrate, we are all, in one way or another, invested in understanding the sediments we stand on.
McKittrick, Katherine, Demonic Grounds: Black Women and the Cartographies of Struggle (Minneapolis, MN and London: University of Minnesota Press, 2006)
This post was written by Krasis Scholar Kathleen Quaintance (also an Ertegun Graduate Scholar), who is reading for an MSt in Women's Studies at St Peter's College.