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The North Wall: A Gateway to the Lost Tomb of Queen Nefertiti?

Posted on January 12, 2026 by -

For decades, archaeologists and Egyptologists have wondered, theorized and ruminated about the whereabouts of the elusive tomb of ancient Egypt’s Queen Nefertiti, wife of Akhenaten and, for a short time, ruler of Egypt after Akhenaten’s demise. Egyptologist Dr. Zahi Hawass has been leading excavations in the Valley of the Monkeys, an area considered potentially important because Nefertiti’s father-in-law’s tomb is a short distance away. Hawass expressed confidence in 2022 that he is close to identifying her mummy, possibly among two unidentified female mummies (KV21A and KV21B) found in another tomb in the Valley of the Kings, but this is yet to be confirmed. Another theory suggests that Nefertiti’s mummy has already been found and is one of the unidentified female mummies (known as the “Younger Lady”) resting in the Egyptian Museum in Cairo. DNA evidence has linked this mummy to Tutankhamun as his biological mother, but definitive identification as Nefertiti remains unproven and controversial. What follows are two additional, debatable suggestions that provide scholars with tantalizing working hypotheses to test in the ongoing search for Queen Nefertiti’s intended resting place. The first presents the views of an independent researcher based in Cairo. The second, a republication of a premium article that appeared previously in Popular Archaeology Magazine (available in the premium version of this article, see below), details some more widely known suggestions made by a notable Egyptian archaeologist…..
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Searching for Nefertiti

Is Tutankhamun’s Tomb the Entrance to a Hidden Royal Burial?

By Menna Tallah Salah Eldin

 

With the inauguration of the Grand Egyptian Museum, global attention has once again turned toward Ancient Egypt. Alongside international fascination, a renewed local pride has emerged, accompanied by calls for the repatriation of iconic artifacts removed from Egypt under questionable circumstances—most notably the famous bust of Queen Nefertiti, now displayed in Berlin.

While much of the world searches for Nefertiti’s image abroad, this article poses a different question: where is Nefertiti herself?

Through historical context, architectural analysis, funerary precedents, and direct field observations in the Valley of the Kings, this writer proposes a coherent hypothesis: that the tomb known today as KV62—conventionally attributed to Tutankhamun—may originally have been designed as Queen Nefertiti’s royal tomb, with Tutankhamun later buried within it under exceptional circumstances.

Who Was Nefertiti?

Queen Nefertiti—whose name means “The Beautiful One Has Come”—was the Great Royal Wife of Amenhotep IV, better known as Akhenaten, a pharaoh of Egypt’s Eighteenth Dynasty. Far from a ceremonial consort, Nefertiti ruled as Akhenaten’s political and ideological partner, appearing in reliefs performing royal rituals traditionally reserved for kings.

She bore six daughters and played a central role in Akhenaten’s religious revolution, which elevated the sun disk Aten above all other deities.

The Mystery of Nefertiti’s Disappearance

Nefertiti vanished abruptly from historical records toward the later years of Akhenaten’s reign. Scholars have proposed numerous explanations: exile, death, a change of royal name, or even a brief reign as a female pharaoh.

This article adopts a more pragmatic hypothesis: Nefertiti withdrew from public rule after Akhenaten’s death, transferring authority to Tutankhamun—her son-in-law—and living the remainder of her life away from political power in order to stabilize relations with the priesthood and restore religious balance.

Such withdrawal would naturally explain the absence of her name from later inscriptions without implying disgrace or erasure.

How Old Was Nefertiti at Death?

If Nefertiti withdrew from power around age 35 and lived through most of Tutankhamun’s reign, her age at death would likely have been approximately 44 years, placing her well within the age range of royal burials prepared long in advance.

Why Tutankhamun’s Tomb Raises So Many Questions

KV62 is anomalous. Despite Tutankhamun ruling for nearly ten years—a period sufficient to complete a substantial royal tomb—his burial chamber is notably small and architecturally inconsistent with other Eighteenth Dynasty kings.

The steep descent into the tomb suggests an originally ambitious design, yet the interior abruptly narrows, implying that KV62 may represent only a portion of a much larger original plan, or that it was adapted from a tomb intended for someone else of higher status.

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The author at the entrance of Tomb KV62 (Tutankhamun), documenting on-site observations during field inspection.

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Nefertiti and the Original Tomb Design

Akhenaten and Nefertiti ruled jointly for 17 years. It was customary for Egyptian rulers to begin constructing their tombs at the start of their reigns. While Akhenaten chose Amarna as his burial site, political and religious tension may have prompted Nefertiti to commission her tomb in the traditional royal necropolis: the Valley of the Kings.

At that early stage, since Akhenaten and Nefertiti ruled during the middle of Egypt’s Eighteenth Dynasty, few kings had yet been buried there, and no queens possessed independent royal tombs. Nefertiti may therefore represent the first queen for whom such a tomb was planned—following the precedent of Hatshepsut, who shared a tomb with her father.

The link between Akhenaten’s royal tomb and the Tutankhamun Tomb

Although Akhenaten’s royal tomb at Amarna was conceived as a large, multi-chambered complex intended for the king and possibly members of the royal family, there is no direct archaeological or textual evidence indicating that Queen Nefertiti was ever buried there. While side chambers within the Amarna tomb have been interpreted by some scholars as potentially reserved for royal relatives, none bear inscriptions, iconography, or burial equipment explicitly naming Nefertiti. Her absence from the tomb’s dedicatory texts is particularly striking given her prominence during Akhenaten’s reign.

In contrast, the scale disparity between Akhenaten’s royal tomb and the tomb of Tutankhamun in the Valley of the Kings is significant. Akhenaten’s tomb extends deep into the cliffs of the Royal Wadi at Amarna and was clearly designed as part of a large, long-term funerary project, whereas Tutankhamun’s tomb (KV62) is remarkably small and architecturally constrained for a king who ruled nearly a decade. This contrast raises the possibility that KV62 does not represent a complete, standalone royal tomb, but rather a repurposed or truncated section of a larger, pre-existing funerary plan—potentially one originally prepared for a figure of higher status, such as Queen Nefertiti. The absence of any indication that Nefertiti was buried alongside Akhenaten at Amarna further strengthens the argument that her intended burial place may instead lie within the Theban necropolis, concealed within an unfinished or later-adapted royal monument.

How Does Tutankhamun’s Tomb Fit into This Narrative?

Following Akhenaten’s death, Egypt faced instability: religious reversal, weakened central authority, and labor shortages. Tutankhamun ascended the throne as a child and died unexpectedly.

Under such conditions, constructing a new royal tomb was impractical. The most viable solution was to inter Tutankhamun within an already prepared royal tomb—Nefertiti’s—by modifying its entrance and adding a subsidiary burial space.

Precedents for Shared Royal Tombs

Shared burials were not unusual in the Valley of the Kings:

  • Thutmose I and Hatshepsut (KV20): The tomb was modified decades later to accommodate Hatshepsut, with corridors reworked and decoration altered.
  • Ramesses V and Ramesses VI (KV9): Ramesses VI reused the tomb, erasing his predecessor’s cartouches and redecorating walls.

These cases establish reuse, modification, and architectural compromise as accepted royal practices.

How Does Multiple Burial Affect Tomb Design?

  • Redistribution of chambers
  • Addition of side annexes
  • Alteration or removal of earlier inscriptions
  • Variations in artistic style within the same tomb

All of these features are observable in Tutankhamun’s tomb.

Architectural Clues from Field Observation

Direct observation in the Valley of the Kings reveals:

  • All tombs feature carved reliefs—except KV62, whose walls are painted rather than carved.
  • Ramesses III (KV11): Construction was redirected to the east to avoid an existing tomb, demonstrating how architectural obstacles shaped royal burials.
  • Most royal tombs descend deeply into the mountain, while KV9 (Ramesses V & VI) is unusually shallow yet fully completed.
  • KV9 lies directly north of KV62, while KV62 descends far deeper.

This spatial relationship suggests that, similar to what happened in KV11 where the construction was redirected to avoid the existing tomb, KV9’s shallow design may have resulted from encountering an underground obstacle and the proximity of KV9 north of KV62, combined with the greater depth of KV62, supporting the hypothesis that KV9 was constructed above an earlier tomb, avoiding it.

In other words, KV9 may have been built over the original tomb of Nefertiti and Tutankhamun, with the northern wall serving as a structural boundary.

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Hypothetical cross-sectional illustration showing KV62 beneath KV9, with a proposed extension beyond the northern wall.

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The North Wall of KV62

In 2015, British Egyptologist Nicholas Reeves proposed that the north wall of the main burial chamber of KV62 conceals a sealed doorway leading to a hidden chamber—potentially Nefertiti’s burial.

Ground-penetrating radar surveys conducted by Japanese, American, and Italian teams between 2015–2018 produced conflicting results, prompting Egyptian authorities to suspend further investigation.

Why the Northern Wall Opposite the Descent Corridor Deserves Investigation from an architectural perspective

There are moments when physical presence reveals what documents and data cannot. Entering a space allows patterns, inconsistencies, and structural logic to emerge instinctively—not as intuition alone, but as informed spatial reasoning shaped by observation and experience. It’s as if the place speaks in its own language and reveals secrets and you just have to listen carefully to know the hidden secrets.

When observing the northern wall facing the descent corridor in KV62, it raised significant questions. In royal tomb design, corridors typically continue along a main axis toward the burial chamber, with subsidiary chambers branching off laterally. The presence of a solid wall directly opposing the descent corridor interrupts this expected spatial logic. Such an architectural anomaly suggests the possibility of a blocked continuation of the original axis, rather than a terminal wall by design. This deviation from standard tomb planning warrants focused investigation, as it may indicate an intentionally sealed passage rather than a structural endpoint.

Based on the above, from the observation of the tomb, this writer agrees with Reeves proposal that there may be a hidden burial room, but it differs regarding the place of the hidden passage for the burial room.

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Inside KV62, photographed by the author during fieldwork.

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Why Radar May Have Failed

Howard Carter documented that upon entering KV62 in 1922, he initially mistook the massive wooden shrine for a wall. If a similar shrine and other artifacts exist behind the north wall, radar signals would likely be distorted—explaining inconsistent readings.

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The author inside the tomb of Ramesses IV, standing beside the massive granite sarcophagus lid. The scale of the lid illustrates how such large stone elements—if present in a hidden chamber—could significantly interfere with radar-based void detection.

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An Alternative Proposal for better results: Metal Detection

Rather than searching for voids, this writer proposes non-invasive metal detection.

If we are to expect a complete royal burial behind the wall, then a complete royal burial would normally contain:

  • A gold funerary mask
  • Gilded coffins or shrines
  • Dense concentrations of precious metals

So, advanced electromagnetic or magnetometric scanning could detect such materials without breaching the wall, providing a clearer indicator than radar.

Conclusion

This article does not claim discovery. Instead, it presents a structured hypothesis grounded in:

  • Historical chronology
  • Architectural precedent
  • Funerary practice
  • Field observation
  • Scientific plausibility

Where the question remains open—but legitimate:

Does the Tutankhamun tomb cover up the visible entrance to the real tomb of the great Queen Nefertiti?

And more importantly:

Does Nefertiti’s complete burial still lie hidden behind the northern wall?

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The north wall within the tomb. Diego Delso, delso.photo, License CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons

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References & Sources

  • Reeves, Nicholas. The Burial of Nefertiti? (2015)
  • Carter, Howard. The Tomb of Tutankhamun (1923)
  • Wilkinson, Richard H. The Complete Valley of the Kings
  • Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities (Egypt), radar survey reports 2015–2018
  • KV20, KV62, KV9 architectural plans (Theban Mapping Project)
  • Wilkinson, Richard H. The Complete Valley of the Kings
  • Valley of the Kings architectural surveys
  • Personal field observation, Valley of the Kings (2025)
  • Dodson, Aidan. Amarna Sunrise
  • Arnold, Dieter. Building in Egypt

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The author, Menna Tallah Salah Eldin, is an independent Egyptian researcher based in Egypt, with a focus on ancient Egyptian civilization. 

 

 

 

Read the full premium article, The Lost Tomb of Queen Nefertiti, for much more.

Cover Image, Top Left: Interior view of the tomb showing the north wall.  ولاء, CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons

Living in Stone — Matera’s Enduring Ascent

Posted on January 12, 2026 by -

Anastasia Adeler is a writer and contributor to Popular Archaeology Magazine on travel and museums. She is the founder and author of Living Rooms, a slow journalism magazine. 

We landed in Bari the way many travelers do—through the modern airport, bright signage, the small rituals of baggage claim and espresso—and then left almost immediately, trading the coast for the interior. The shuttle pulled away from the terminal and the landscape began to change in slow increments: olive groves repeating like a private alphabet, low hills, pale rock, the kind of winter light that makes southern Italy look older than it is.

For nearly fifty minutes, the road from Bari offered little in the way of drama. We talked as traveling companions—Dan, Tatiana, and I—about the usual things travelers talk about when they’re moving between places: what we had already seen, what we hoped this next stop would reveal, and the quiet calculations of time and light. The shuttle threaded along smaller roads, through a landscape that felt deliberately restrained. Olive groves appeared now and then—patient, silvery, repetitive—but nothing announced a city of myth. Nothing prepared you for a place so often described as biblical, petrified, impossible.

And then Matera emerged.

It wasn’t a gradual arrival, the way most towns introduce themselves with suburbs and gas stations and modern sprawl. Matera arrives the way a revelation does: one moment you’re in “not much,” and the next you’re staring at a stone body so dense with history that it feels like time has compacted into architecture. The first sightline catches you off guard. The city doesn’t sit politely on the land; it appears to be the land, folded into dwellings, terraces, stairways—an inhabited geology.

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Matera panorama. Image courtesy Dan McLerran

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Matera panorama. ebilotta0505, Pixabay

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We checked into Sant’Angelo Hotel, and the transition from road to stone to welcome happened quickly. Hospitality in places like this can feel performative, but here it felt like continuity—another layer in a city built on layers. The hotel’s general manager, Biagio Spagnuolo, greeted us with the kind of calm competence that makes you instantly stop worrying about logistics. He took care of everything, but more importantly, he did what great local hosts do: he translated a place, not into clichés, but into context. Over the course of a conversation that moved easily between practical advice and local memory, Matera began to shift from “spectacle” into “story.”

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Sant’Angelo, front entrance. Image courtesy Dan McLerran

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View of Matera from the Sant’Angelo facility.

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That distinction matters—especially for an archaeological audience—because Matera can seduce you into treating it as scenery. It looks like a set. It has the lighting. It has the angles. It has the aura of antiquity that makes every photograph feel already historical. But Matera’s real power isn’t aesthetic. It’s structural. It’s the rare kind of urban environment that forces you to ask not simply what you are looking at, but how it was made possible—and at what cost.

There are places you visit and places that feel as if they were waiting for you. Matera belongs to the second category. Long before you learn the names—Sassi, Gravina, Basilicata—you sense the governing rule of the city: here, architecture is not built so much as revealed. Houses are not placed on the land; they are carved from it. Streets are not simply drawn across terrain; they become part of a vertical puzzle of terraces, stairways, roofs that double as courtyards, doorways that open into darkness that once held families, animals, tools, and the unglamorous machinery of daily survival.

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Matera is often introduced with nicknames that try to do the work of description: the “second Jerusalem,” the “European Petra,” an ancient city that looks like a set built for Scripture. Film crews have agreed—Pasolini staged his severe, haunting Gospel here; Mel Gibson turned its ravines into a theater of suffering; even James Bond found a chase-ready backdrop among these stone folds. But the cinematic language can flatten what matters most. Matera is not merely photogenic. It is archaeologically profound because it is not a single monument or a neatly bounded ruin. It is a continuous human landscape—occupied, reshaped, and reinterpreted across millennia—whose core infrastructure was designed not for spectacle, but for persistence.

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Author scans the majesty of Matera’s intensely rock-imbued face.

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The astonishing fact is not simply that people lived in caves here in the distant past. In many parts of the world, caves sheltered Paleolithic and Neolithic communities. What makes Matera startling is continuity: those earliest decisions—someone, thousands of years ago, choosing a cave as a “good enough” home—did not remain an episode. Over time, settlement on the steep slopes of a river valley grew into an actual city. Its cave dwellings were inhabited, in one form or another, until the mid-twentieth century. Matera is ancient not only in origin but in habit. It is an urban organism whose oldest spaces refused to become obsolete, even when the rest of the world moved on to palaces, towers, and glass.

To understand how such continuity is possible, you have to start with the material itself. Matera is shaped by stone that is at once resilient and workable. The local rock—soft enough to excavate with determination, stable enough to hold form—made it possible for generations to sculpt homes, cisterns, storerooms, and churches into the hillsides. That geological permission produced a city with an unusual spatial logic: it is layered, nested, and efficient. Roofs become streets; streets become terraces; terraces become thresholds into interiors that are partly natural void and partly human design. In summer, the stone offers coolness; in winter, it holds warmth. The landscape becomes a climate system, a structure, a shelter, and—crucially—a storage device for the one resource that can determine whether a settlement thrives or fails: water.

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Matera’s most impressive achievement may be the one that remains largely invisible from postcard viewpoints. The city does not sit beside a generous river like Rome or Florence; it occupies a terrain where water management requires ingenuity. Yet Matera historically avoided chronic water scarcity, not through luck, but through engineering. Beneath the main civic space—Piazza Vittorio Veneto—lies a vast subterranean reservoir known as Palombaro Lungo, a space that feels less like plumbing and more like a cathedral turned inside out. Descending into it is like entering the city’s secret memory: an immense hand-excavated chamber, carved into the rock, built to collect and store rainwater drawn down from the surrounding slopes.

The scale is difficult to grasp until you are inside. The reservoir plunges roughly eighteen meters deep and, according to local accounts, could hold millions of cubic meters of water. What matters archaeologically is not the number alone but the concept: a collective system of capture and conservation that required coordination, maintenance, and trust over time. Rainwater was guided into storage through channels and cisterns; the city became a machine for harvesting weather. This was not merely a technical solution but a cultural one—evidence that long-term habitation in a marginal environment can be sustained when engineering, habit, and social organization align.

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Palombaro Lungo on Piazza Vittorio Veneto. Bernard Gagnon, CC BY 4.0, Wikimedia Commons

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The Palombaro Lungo cistern. Holger Uwe Schmitt, CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons

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And Palombaro Lungo was not an isolated marvel. In Matera, water was distributed through a network of smaller cisterns and channels—many integrated directly into domestic spaces. Homes often possessed their own collection points, fed by larger accumulators. In a region where resources were limited, efficiency became a form of architecture. The city’s multi-level form was not just an aesthetic accident; it enabled controlled flow and reuse, turning gravity into a civic tool. In that sense, it also demonstrates something modern cities often forget: infrastructure is not separate from identity. In Matera, infrastructure is identity – built into the landscape, maintained by communal necessity, and remembered even now with a kind of collective pride.

Above ground, the city’s social life also begins in civic space. Piazza Vittorio Veneto (see more about this below), the standard launching point for visitors, offers a snapshot of layered history: fountains that once served as essential water sources and, inevitably, social centers; palaces and churches whose façades display Romanesque and Gothic vocabulary; and a dense concentration of institutions that signal Matera’s role not only as a wonder of survival but as an administrative and cultural hub. Here, the “official” city touches the older, carved city—the moment when you step from a typical Italian square into the labyrinthine descent of the Sassi, and the centuries begin to stack more visibly. 

From this point, the story can go in many directions—into markets and bread ovens, into castle ruins born of ambitious taxation, into underground churches and private “excavation museums” that reveal how stone rooms were used to store wine, grain, and water. But every route returns to the same core theme: Matera is not a city built on top of an ancient past. It is a city built into it.

Markets, Bread, and the Archaeology of Daily Life

The easiest way to understand a place is often through its ordinary needs: food, water, storage, shelter. Matera’s beauty can distract you from those fundamentals, so we started where locals start—among produce, fish, and the morning rhythm of a small city feeding itself. The market may not be grand in scale, but it is a living reminder that Matera is not an open-air museum. It is a functioning community, and its continuity has always depended on the practical intelligence of daily life.

One detail that seems minor at first becomes an entry point into the city’s social archaeology: Matera’s bread. The traditional loaf is distinctive—large, rugged, shaped in a way that some locals claim echoes the region’s undulating terrain. More interesting than its silhouette, though, is what the bread tells you about scarcity and planning. Historically, families prepared dough at home but relied on communal ovens. To avoid confusion, each household used a personalized stamp—often wooden, sometimes decorated with symbolic figures, always marked with family initials. If a stamp was forgotten, the loaf could be claimed by the city.

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Pane di Matera, the signature Matera bread. Kars Alfrink, CC BY 2.0, Wikimedia Commons

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It’s an elegant system: communal infrastructure supported by individual accountability, with a built-in mechanism for redistribution. In archaeological terms, that stamp is a signature of social organization. It suggests a society where resources were limited, where storage mattered, where waste was morally and economically unacceptable. Bread in Matera is not simply cuisine. It’s a material archive of adaptation.

The Castle That Never Became What It Wanted to Be

Not all of Matera’s monuments speak the language of survival. Some speak the language of ambition—and its failure. Castello Tramontano, begun in the late fifteenth century, is often introduced as a ruined castle. But “ruin” implies a completed thing that decayed. This was different. The fortress stands as an unfinished project, a symbol of a political imagination that outran its own legitimacy.

Count Tramontano, inspired by architecture beyond Basilicata, attempted to build something that would signal power in the most direct way: through stone, scale, and dominance of the skyline. But power has a price. According to local history, the count was assassinated by citizens angered by excessive taxation. What one sees—two side towers and a central structure—feels less like a romantic ruin and more like a cautionary tale preserved in masonry: a reminder that Matera has never been a passive backdrop for authority. Even in stone, the city records resistance.

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Castello Tramontano. Anna Nicoletta Menzella, CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons

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Piazza Vittorio Veneto: Where the Official City Meets the Rock-Cut City

Most journeys through Matera pass through Piazza Vittorio Veneto, and not just because it’s convenient. The square sits at a threshold between two kinds of urban reality: the “official” city of civic buildings, libraries, memorials, and façades—and the older, deeper city of rock-cut homes and subterranean systems.

Here, architecture becomes a kind of public language. The Church of San Domenico, with its Romanesque roots and Gothic elements, offers one of those moments when iconography collides with daily life: a rose window that evokes the Wheel of Fortune, figures suggesting fate’s rotation, and the archangel Michael defeating a dragon—an image that appears repeatedly in the city, as if Matera needs to keep reminding itself that the spiritual must, eventually, triumph over the brutal realities of material life. Nearby, the simpler façade of Mater Domini may not compete for attention, but the view beside it does: an overlook where you suddenly realize you’re standing at the edge of something far older than the square itself.

Piazza Vittorio Veneto also holds a clue to Matera’s most sophisticated achievement. Because beneath the feet of tourists, beneath the café tables and the casual conversations, lies an engineered void—Palombaro Lungo—that turns the city into an argument about water.

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A view of Piazza Vittorio Veneto

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It also demonstrates something modern cities often forget: infrastructure is not separate from identity. In Matera, infrastructure is identity – built into the landscape, maintained by communal necessity, and remembered even now with a kind of collective pride.

Stone Interiors: Storage, Survival, and the Archaeology of Domestic Space

Once you understand Matera’s relationship with water, the interiors begin to speak more clearly. What looks, at first glance, like a poetic arrangement of caves quickly reveals itself as a carefully calibrated system of domestic spaces—each carved volume assigned a function dictated by necessity rather than comfort. In Matera, archaeology does not begin with temples or palaces. It begins with storage.

Small, privately run excavation museums scattered through the Sassi offer a rare opportunity to see how deeply these interiors were integrated into daily life. In spaces that once lay buried or forgotten, visitors encounter the anatomy of survival: wine cellars cut directly into stone, grain storage areas protected from humidity, ventilation shafts engineered to circulate air naturally, and channels designed to guide rainwater into cisterns below. These were not ad hoc solutions. They were standardized responses refined over generations.

The geological history of the area adds another layer of meaning. Fossilized seashells embedded in the stone walls—silent witnesses to a time when this land lay beneath the sea—coexist with stalactites formed through slow mineral accretion. Matera’s domestic archaeology is therefore doubly stratified: human habitation carved into rock that itself carries the memory of ancient oceans. Few cities make geological time so visibly present in everyday architecture.

What emerges from these interiors is not a narrative of primitiveness, but of precision. Ventilation openings in ceilings regulated airflow; separate chambers managed different types of storage; proximity between living quarters and animals reflected both economic necessity and thermal logic. In many homes, livestock were housed deeper within the cave, their body heat contributing to warmth during winter months. Light entered primarily through doorways. Smoke escaped through carefully placed openings. Comfort was secondary. Function was everything.

From a modern perspective, these spaces can feel oppressive. From an archaeological perspective, they are extraordinary examples of environmental adaptation. They demonstrate how architecture can evolve not exclusively from abstract ideals but from the slow negotiation between human bodies, available materials, and climate.

A Vertical City and the Intelligence of Layers

Walking through Matera is an exercise in spatial disorientation. Streets descend and ascend without warning; stairways lead to rooftops that double as courtyards; a door at ground level may open into a space several stories above another home. This multi-level structure is not decorative. It is the physical consequence of cutting, slicing and shaping rather than building.

The Sassi—divided primarily into Sasso Barisano and Sasso Caveoso—are often described as neighborhoods, but that term feels insufficient. They function more like interlocking strata of habitation. Roofs become roads. Roads become thresholds. Each layer supports another. The result is a city where verticality replaces horizontal expansion, and density is achieved not through height but through depth.

Archaeologically, this matters because it challenges conventional urban models. Matera did not grow outward; it grew inward and upward simultaneously. Each new generation adapted existing spaces rather than abandoning them. This continuity explains why the city remained inhabited for so long: it was endlessly modifiable. New rooms could be carved. Old ones repurposed. Infrastructure expanded incrementally rather than through rupture.

Crucially, water systems mirrored this vertical intelligence. Domestic cisterns fed into larger reservoirs. Channels followed gravity rather than resisting it. The city’s architecture was not imposed on the environment—it cooperated with it. Few historic settlements demonstrate such a sustained dialogue between human intention and natural constraint.

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Sacred Stone: Churches Carved, Not Built

If domestic spaces reveal Matera’s pragmatism, its rock churches reveal something more complex. Throughout the Sassi, sacred spaces were carved directly into stone, evolving organically over centuries. Some were modest chambers; others expanded into multi-level sanctuaries with added chapels, altars, and eventually façades that attempted to reconcile the underground with the aboveground world.

Churches like San Pietro Barisano illustrate this layered evolution vividly. Initially excavated as a simple rock church sometime between the early medieval centuries, it expanded inward as needs changed, its interior deepening into the stone. Later additions—including bell towers and external architectural elements—attempted to give the church a recognizable silhouette from the outside. The result is neither purely subterranean nor fully conventional: a hybrid structure that records its own architectural hesitation.

Inside—or rather, below—San Pietro Barisano lies one of the city’s more unsettling archaeological realities. Due to chronic humidity and spatial constraints, the lowest levels of the church were used for mortuary practices now difficult to contemplate. Deceased monks and priests were placed in wall niches, seated and left to decompose naturally—a practice meant to symbolize prolonged presence among the living. The intention was spiritual continuity. The effect, by modern standards, is profoundly disturbing.

Such practices remind us that Matera’s beauty is inseparable from hardship. Stone preserves not only ingenuity but suffering. Moisture, darkness, disease—these were constant companions. Sacred spaces did not exist apart from these conditions; they absorbed them.

Nearby churches, such as Sant’Agostino or San Pietro Caveoso, offer different perspectives. Perched dramatically above ravines or integrated into cliff faces, they underscore how sacred architecture in Matera often relies on landscape to complete its meaning. Views across the Gravina valley transform stone into symbol. The city’s religious life was inseparable from its topography.

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San Pietro Barisano. Sailko, CC BY 3.0, Wikimedia Commons

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San Pietro Caveoso. Image courtesy Dan McLerran

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Interior view of Rock Church of Sant’Agostino al Casalnuovo, 13th – 17th century. Image courtesy Dan McLerran

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Cinema, Scripture, and the Reinvention of Image

Matera’s visual power has not gone unnoticed by filmmakers. Long before mass tourism arrived, directors recognized that the city could stand in for something larger than itself. Pier Paolo Pasolini’s The Gospel According to Matthew used Matera’s stark landscapes to strip biblical narrative of sentimentality. Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ later transformed nearby ravines into sites of cinematic suffering, drawing global attention—and controversy.

These films did more than use Matera as a backdrop. They reframed the city’s image. What had long been associated with poverty and neglect began to be seen as authenticity, austerity, and historical gravity. Cinema did not create Matera’s importance, but it helped redirect the world’s gaze.

Yet long before Hollywood arrived, one book had already forced Italy to look at Matera differently.

“Christ Stopped at Eboli”: Exposure and Rupture

In 1945, Carlo Levi published Christ Stopped at Eboli, an account of his political exile to southern Italy under Mussolini’s regime. Levi’s observations were unflinching. He described Matera not as a picturesque relic but as a humanitarian crisis: overcrowded cave dwellings, rampant disease, lack of sanitation, endemic malaria, and extreme poverty.

The book triggered national outrage. Matera was labeled “the shame of the nation.” What followed was a decisive—if deeply ambivalent—intervention. In the 1950s, the Italian government initiated a mass relocation of residents from the Sassi into newly constructed modern housing. From a public health perspective, the move was necessary. From a cultural perspective, it was traumatic.

Many residents resisted leaving homes that, despite their hardships, were familiar and deeply rooted in identity. In some cases, authorities sealed cave entrances to enforce relocation. The Sassi were emptied—not abandoned through decline, but vacated by decree.

Archaeologically, this moment represented a rupture rather than an end. Matera’s long continuity was interrupted, but not erased.

From Abandonment to Reinterpretation

For years, the emptied Sassi hovered between ruin and erasure. At one point, there were proposals to demolish them entirely and pour concrete over the site—to remove the “problem” once and for all. That this did not happen is perhaps Matera’s greatest stroke of fortune.

Gradually, attitudes shifted. What had been seen as backwardness began to be reevaluated as resilience. Restoration efforts focused not on sanitizing the Sassi into a theme park, but on reactivating them—carefully, selectively, with an eye toward preservation rather than spectacle. Museums, residences, hotels, and cultural spaces began to return life to the carved city.

In 2019, Matera was named European Capital of Culture—a designation that symbolized not triumph, but rehabilitation. The city had not reinvented itself by rejecting its past, but by confronting it directly.

Matera as a Living Archaeological Landscape 

Today, Matera resists simple definition.

It is neither a ruin nor a replica, neither a preserved relic nor a fully modern city. It is something rarer — a living archaeological landscape, shaped by time rather than frozen by it.

Here, people still inhabit spaces carved by hands that understood stone as shelter, storage, and strategy. Infrastructure follows ancient logic. Water still moves where gravity allows it. The city breathes according to rules written long before the modern world arrived.

Matera survived not because it was beautiful, but because it worked. And perhaps that is why its appearance still feels so arresting when it finally emerges from the road — sudden, uncompromising, inevitable.

A city that never stopped living in stone, and in doing so, learned how to begin again.

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Above and below, four views on foot in the ancient city by the author.

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Author Anastasia Adeler

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The author conversing with Biagio Spagnuolo, manager of the fabulous Sant’Angelo resort. Details of this conversation can be reached at the author’s slow journalism magazine, Living Rooms.

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Images by Anastasia Adeler, where not credited.

The Gravina: Climbing into the Past

Posted on January 12, 2026 by -

The Italian word, ‘sassi’, takes on double meaning as one walks through this place. By definition it means ‘stones’. Here, in this ancient town known to Italy and the world as Matera, it defines an ancient, rock-cut urban center whose zones are famously known as the Sassi. The Sassi features, in its essence, a landscape assemblage of ancient cave dwellings boasting human habitation dating back likely to Paleolithic times. Very little remains to attest to the Paleolithic human presence, but there is enough evidence suggesting a significant Neolithic occupation, the foundation for a history of continuous habitation extending back to at least the eighth millennium BC. This ranks it among the world’s oldest continuously occupied settlements, and certainly the oldest in Italy.

For those appreciating the aesthetic ambience of ancient structures, it is wondrous to behold.  As a writer of things archaeological, I spent three days here.

Three days that left me with as much questioning wonder as answers.

The Gravina 

Matera is as much about its geography and geology as it is about its ancient and medieval architecture and historic culture. Emerging from my vehicle, the uniformly tan, rock-cut soft limestone structures of the medieval town rose closely contiguous to me on the slope, almost as if to touch me, while a steep, rocky, cavernous ravine spread out before me to my left.

This dramatic ravine immediately drew me in. I walked toward it to perceive its vertical expanse below, to the river far below. Bushy vegetation interspersed with trees hugged and adorned the river in a narrow, slightly meandering swath, dominated on either side by the natural cliff wall formed through hundreds of thousands of years of water-cut erosion. Far and high on the opposite cliff face I could see scores of naturally carved caves — protective rock cavities that once, deep into the past, harbored groups or families of human occupants. Today they remained vacant and devoid of obvious evidence of any human presence, though they still provide natural visual reminders of an ancient accommodating environment. 

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This was the Gravina di Matera. I dedicated one day to hiking and exploring this compelling landscape. The trail began at the edge of the city, introducing me to a very steep, roughly cut stone stairway leading to the first natural rest stop for trail walkers. I made my way slowly down this, the ‘city’ side of the Gravina, making periodic stops to shoot photos as I approached the river at its base. My destination, the Neolithic caves, from this point appearing as distant, small, irregular black holes punctuating the high rocky cliff face far above on the opposite side of the ravine, compelled me forward.

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The hike downward was moderately precarious, with no handrails for support on either side, despite the necessity of straddling a trail edge that, with one unintended slip, could lead me plummeting to certain injury, if not death. I encountered couples and a few small families with children along the way, people hailing from Italy, Germany, the UK, the U.S., and other countries — some of the children robustly scampering the trail with no regard for the unguarded edge just inches away from their feet.

Reaching the bottom of the Gravina, it became a gentle, level hike beside the river’s flowing water and picturesque greenery, a significant stretch that would accommodate a relaxing and scenic stroll for anyone. In time, the terrain inclined with a rocky outcrop that met the suspension bridge, the only way to easily traverse across the bed of the ravine to reach the other side. It was a one-minute crossing at an easy walking pace.

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With the city-side cliff now behind me, I began to make my way up the opposite side of the ravine, my sights set squarely on the summit above me. The climb was rigorous. A slight injury of my right ankle from a careless fall the day before weakened my gate and made me considerably more careful than I otherwise would have been, so each step was slow and deliberate, but deliberately forward. I stopped, more than once, to rest, hydrate, and shoot more images of the, now distant, ancient city crowning the summit across the ravine from me. Its panorama became more breathtaking as I progressed upward on the trail, affording numerous new photo opportunities.

The reward for my efforts came less than an hour after the beginning of my ascent. A final push put me onto a natural rock terrace featuring an amazing assemblage of 3 caves, one large and two much smaller. Before exploring the caves, I stopped and relaxed to enjoy the high, panoramic view of the Gravina below me, and the ancient city spread across the summit on the opposite side of the Gravina. It was easy to see why the ancients settled and built there. With a strategic view of the region around them, set atop subterranean water resources and in a defensible position from any would-be attackers, it was ideal.

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The view of Matera as I ascended toward the caves above me.

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I peered in from the exterior edge of the largest cave. It was shallow enough to see the back wall, and well-lit by the natural light streaming in from outside, so it was easy to see that it was empty of any surprises in terms of animals and large insects. Walking in, the surface beneath me was impacted soil, with a few large stones nature or previous animal and human activity had scattered about, breaking visual monotony. The lines and undulations of the walls of the cave were fascinating to look at, carved by the erosive power of nature. There was enough space here to accommodate a small family, or one or two individuals who preferred a spacious abode. I thought about what may have transpired in this space over the millennia. These caves were likely visited, not only by animals, but by Paleolithic and Neolithic humans, as well. I didn’t know the history of any scientific exploration or excavation of this cave, but I was surmising that not enough investigation has been made of this place to know the history for certain. I imagined, with some funding and other resources, a good survey with possible ensuing excavation could reveal a human prehistoric presence dating back into Pleistocene times. Certainly the geology would support the suggestion that this cave, with the river below as a fresh water source, could have existed for the benefit of archaic Homo sapiens or even Neanderthals. Research and studies have shown that what is today known as Italy was a land occupied by early humans hundreds of thousands of years ago. Investigations have only touched the surface for evidence still likely buried across this ancient land. Scarcity of money and time are the biggest obstacles to expanding our knowledge.

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Above and below: the view from the interior back wall of the cave, looking back at Matera.

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I did not venture into the smaller caves. My impression was already complete.

Gathering my backpack and camera, I began my descent back to the river far below, the suspension bridge, and what turned out to be a moderately grueling ascent to return to my original starting point on the edge of the city.

I was not alone. I encountered scores of individuals, and even a few small families along the way — visitors from all over the world, young and old.

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Article Supplement

A Prehistoric Land

We know that what is currently called Italy was occupied by early humans, or hominins, as much as 850,000 years ago. Evidence for this has been discovered at the site of Monte Poggiolo, where thousands of Paleolithic artifacts were recovered. A fossil of the genus Homo (Neanderthal) was discovered in 1993 in a cave near the city of Altamura, Italy. Though well preserved, it was covered in calcite. Dating of the calcite indicated it was between 128,000 and 187,000 years old. Other Neanderthal fossils dating to about 50,000 years ago were discovered at 20 other sites, including Grotta Guattari at San Felice Circeo, on the Tyrrhenian Sea south of Rome; the grotta di Fumane (in the province of Verona) and the Breuil grotto, in San Felice.

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Three-dimensional model by photogrammetry of the back chamber of Altamura cave as seen from above. Part of the ceiling has been digitally removed to show the inside. The red rectangle indicates the position of the cranium and the right humerus, zoomed in b) model of the back of the cranium (above) and a digital model of right humerus (below) showing the relative positions of the two specimens. Costantino Buzi, Marco Boggioni, Andrea Borsato, Giovanni Boschian, Damiano Marchi, Jacopo Moggi-Cecchi, Antonio Profico, Alessandro Riga, Marco Samadelli, Giorgio Manzi, CC BY 4.0, Wikimedia Commons

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Altamura skeleton as seen when discovered within the cave. Costantino Buzi, Marco Boggioni, Andrea Borsato, Giovanni Boschian, Damiano Marchi, Jacopo Moggi-Cecchi, Antonio Profico, Alessandro Riga, Marco Samadelli, Giorgio Manzi, CC BY 4.0, Wikimedia Commons

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Homo sapiens sapiens, or modern human, remains have also been found, the earliest dated to about 48,000 years ago in Riparo Mochi. Homo sapiens fossil teeth were unearthed in 1964 at the Grotta del Cavallo, dated to between 43,000 and 45,000 years ago. The Villabruna rock shelters in the Veneto region of Italy yielded modern human remains dated to about 14,000 years ago. In 2011 a complete human skeleton, Amsicora, was discovered at Pistoccu in Marina di Arbus and dated to 8500 years ago. And Italy’s Val Camonica features a series of rock engravings (petroglyphs) dated from 8,000 BC to 1,000 BC with scenes depicting the daily life of prehistoric humans, abstract symbols and animals.

The Neolithic period (6000 BC — 3000 BC) saw the transition from the nomadic lifestyle of hunting/gathering to settled agriculture in Italy as evidenced at sites like Lagozza in Lombardy, Passo di Convo in the region of Puglia, and here in Matera. 

Research and investigations continue to uncover evidence that Italy is an ancient land that hosted migrating and settling populations long before the recognized elements and trappings of urbanized civilization.

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A City of Caves and Churches

With my hiking journey now complete, a can of chilled Fanta never tasted so good and refreshing as the one I acquired at the very strategically located outdoor cafe overlooking the Gravina near the entrance gate of the trail. It was an establishment the owners surely knew, I thought to myself, would be a business winner when they made their plans to create it.

Leaving the cafe, it was only a short walk back to my room at the Sant’Angelo resort. My room was, quite literally, a cave. Not only a luxury resort, Sant’Angelo is best known for its rooms carved directly from the natural stone, with some of the rooms adapted from already existing caves. The light tan stone of my cave room bestowed a feeling of light, and with the artificial light of the lamps and the sun filtering through my windows, it hardly felt like the dark, closed-in ambience typical of most caves. It was, in fact, like living within a work of sculpture.

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The Sant’Angelo resort. Front entrance.

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The cavernous bright of my room.

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Like Sant’Angelo, Matera is a habitation characterized by caves — spaces created by nature where people historically lived their daily lives, and other, much larger caves where people worshipped. It is how old Matera derived its famous name, Sassi (stones) di Matera, a maze-like urban system of spaces carved by nature and human settlers into the calcarenitic rock. Here, Byzantine and Benedictine monks transformed the many caves on the landscape into churches, embellishing their interiors with stunning frescoes and other decorated religious spaces, now part of the Park of the Rupestrian Churches.

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Above and below: the Sassi di Matera.

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I ventured into one of those churches. It was, in contrast to the churches I have entered before, an endearingly intimate space. It was the feeling, not only the structure and interior decor and objects, that gave this place its unique impression. It was as much personal as it was ecclesiastical. It was but one example of the powerful religious culture that permeated this ancient city. Aside from the historic structures, restaurants, shops and resorts that gave the city its draw for tourists, there appeared to be more christianity per square foot here than any other place on earth, excepting the Vatican.

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Above and below: interior view of Rock Church of Sant’Agostino al Casalnuovo, 13th – 17th century.

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Underlying all of this, the city’s inhabitants, over thousands of years, created an extensive subterranean network of cisterns and underground structures for water management and other uses, such as animal stables and cellars. I entered one of these, perhaps the most magnificent, subterranean structure to get a feel for the genius of their water management practices. Known as the Palombaro Lungo, it was built in 1832. With massive pillars carved from the rock and a vault height of more than fifteen meters, it has been described as a water cathedral, navigable by boats. It is a testament to the genius of historic engineering in stone and water management that has given this city its remarkable character.

The Promise of the Gravina

My journey through the Gravina had to be unfortunately cut short due to my personal injury. Still, these few caves offered me a taste of the scores of caves that punctuated the walls of this magnificent ravine. With future archaeological investigation, new stories of Matera’s prehistory will be written. And perhaps, as is the case at other sites of prehistoric Italy, new evidence will be uncovered shedding light on the early journeys of hominins — humans of deep time — enlightening our understanding of human evolution and early human migration in this critically prehistorically important region of the European continent.

I made a mental note to return to this place. There were many more caves to explore. And much more to see in a city where visible spaces belie the works that lie behind and beneath them. 

The Sacred Heart of Lycia: Letoon and the Lost Priestesses

Posted on January 12, 2026 by -

Bülent Ortakcı is a freelance and ghostwriter based in Turkey. As an independent writer with a deep passion for history and archaeology, he focuses on creating compelling articles rooted in thorough research and inspired by the rich heritage of Anatolia and surrounding regions.

His writings often explore lesser-known archaeological sites, the legacy of ancient civilizations, comparative religious beliefs, and folklore involving supernatural or paranormal phenomena.

Nestled quietly between the modern provinces of Antalya and Muğla, Letoon stands as one of the most remarkable religious centers of ancient Lycia. Just four kilometers from the administrative hub of Xanthos, Letoon was the spiritual counterpart to its bustling neighbor, serving as the central sanctuary where myth, ritual, and political authority intersected. Today, recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site alongside Xanthos since 1988, Letoon preserves more than the echoes of stone and mortar—it harbors the living pulse of Lycian religion, mythology, and culture that endured for over a millennium and a half.

A Historical Crossroads

The story of Letoon cannot be disentangled from the history of Xanthos. Founded as the greatest administrative city of Lycia, Xanthos occupied a strategic position near the modern village of Kınık. Throughout its long history, Xanthos fell under successive dominions: from independence until the Persian conquest of 545 BCE, to periods of reconstruction following devastating fires, then to Roman control and later Byzantine rule until the Arab incursions of the 7th century CE. Each civilization left its mark, blending local Lycian traditions with Hellenistic and Roman influences. Letoon, located along the banks of the Ksanthos River, became the sacred heart that complemented Xanthos’s political center.

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Lycian tombs in Xanthos, Turkey. Nikodem Nijaki, CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons

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Partial reconstruction of the Nereid Monument at Xanthos in Lycia, ca. 390–380 BC. Jastrow (2006), Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

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Foundations of the Sacred Site

Letoon’s mythological significance begins with Leto, the Titaness mother of Apollo and Artemis. According to legend, Zeus, the chief of the gods, fell in love with the beautiful Leto and fathered twins by her. In Hera’s jealous pursuit, Leto fled across the Mediterranean, giving birth first to Artemis and then to Apollo on the rocky, uninhabited island of Delos. But Leto’s journey did not end there. The mother and her children eventually arrived at Lycia, seeking a place where her divine presence could be honored. Here, she encountered local resistance at a sacred spring along the Ksanthos River. Frustrated by the villagers’ refusal to allow her to purify her children in the water, Leto cursed them, turning them into frogs—a myth that echoes through the region even today, where frogs continue to inhabit the sacred waters of Letoon.

The site itself reflects this rich narrative. Three major temples dominate the sacred precinct: the Leto Temple to the west, the Apollo Temple to the east, and the small but central Artemis Temple between them. The Leto Temple, measuring approximately 30.25 by 15.75 meters and built in the peripteros style, stands as a testament to her prominence in Lycian worship. The Apollo Temple, Doric in style but less well-preserved, measures 27.90 by 15.07 meters, while the modest Artemis Temple measures 18.20 by 8.70 meters. Together, these structures formed the triad of divine focus, where rituals, offerings, and sacred ceremonies unfolded.

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Above and below: Leto Temple of Letoon. QuartierLatin1968, CC BY-SA 2.0, Wikimedia Commons

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Dosseman, CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons

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Three Languages, One Legacy

One of Letoon’s most remarkable discoveries is its trilingual stele, unearthed in 1973 and now displayed at the Fethiye Museum. Inscribed in Lycian, Greek, and Aramaic, the stele dates back to 338 BCE, under the Persian hegemony over Lycia. The text decrees the appointment of a priestess named Simian to establish a new cult at the behest of King Kaunos and Arkesimas, under the supervision of Satrap Pixodaros. This rare inscription not only attests to Letoon’s religious significance but also provides invaluable insight into the administrative and legal frameworks of the region.

Such inscriptions emphasize that Letoon was more than a spiritual sanctuary; it was a civic hub where decrees were made, disputes mediated, and alliances cemented. The presence of notable monuments like the Arruntii Monument, dedicated to Marcus Arruntius Claudianus—a Lycian senator who served in the equestrian order during Emperor Vespasian’s reign—underscores the intertwining of sacred and civic life.

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Letoon Trilingual, Lycian Side. Author Ansgar Bovet, CC BY-SA 3.0, Wikimedia Commons

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Sacred Waters and Ritual Spaces

Central to Letoon’s identity was its sacred spring. Revered for its purifying properties, the spring likely originated from pre-Lycian water cults, possibly dating back to the Hittite period. Water was life, cleansing, and divine; the ritual use of springs was a consistent theme in the region’s spiritual landscape. During the Hadrianic period in the 2nd century CE, an ornate fountain was constructed near the spring, further elevating its sacred status. Pilgrims and local worshippers alike sought the water’s blessings for healing, fertility, and protection—a practice that persisted into the Ottoman period.

The Letoon Theater, carved directly from the bedrock, provided the stage for civic and religious performances. Capable of seating 7,800 spectators, it reflects the integration of communal life with ritual observance. The theater, along with terraced walls, porticoes, and other civic constructions, embodies the harmony of functional architecture and sacred design.

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Leotoon Hellenistic Theatre. Dosseman, CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons

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Echoes of a Lost Priesthood

Among the shadows of Letoon, whispers of lost priestesses linger. Inscriptions and myths suggest the presence of women who conducted sacred rites, guided pilgrims, and preserved the rituals of Leto, Apollo, and Artemis. These priestesses, operating within a male-dominated world, wielded influence in both spiritual and social domains. Their disappearance from historical record leaves gaps filled only by fragments of inscriptions, artifacts, and enduring legends of their devotion and authority.

The Continuity of Sacred Space

Letoon’s religious significance endured through successive civilizations. From the Hellenistic constructions of the 5th century BCE, through Roman additions such as Hadrian’s Fountain, to early Christian adaptations like the 6th-century church and monastery—built using stones from the older temples—Letoon exemplifies continuity in sacred space. Even as political and cultural tides shifted, the area remained a locus of veneration.

Today, visitors encounter not only ruins but a tangible sense of sacred history. Frogs still inhabit the spring, relics of myth; mosaics from the Apollo Temple floor preserve the artistic and symbolic vocabulary of Lycia; and the trilingual stele quietly testifies to a once-flourishing cultic and civic life. Walking through the site, one experiences the layering of history, mythology, and devotion, an experience unique to Letoon.

Letoon’s Enduring Legacy

Letoon represents more than archaeological interest; it is the spiritual memory of Lycia. Its temples, inscriptions, fountains, and monuments offer glimpses into a culture where mythology, civic authority, and religion were inseparable. The lost priestesses, the sacred waters, and the enduring myths of Leto and her divine children continue to resonate, reminding us of the human impulse to connect with the divine, to sanctify space, and to leave a legacy that transcends centuries.

As a UNESCO World Heritage Site, Letoon today draws scholars, tourists, and pilgrims alike, offering a profound encounter with the past. Its story is not merely a tale of stones and ruins, but of living traditions, mythic narratives, and sacred continuity—a testament to the enduring power of belief in shaping both landscape and memory.

Alexander Severus — The Good Emperor of Rome

Posted on January 12, 2026 by -

Professor Frank J. Korn has retired from his teaching position on the Classical Studies faculty at Seton Hall University.  He is a Fulbright Scholar at the American Academy in Rome and the author of nine books on various aspects of the Eternal City.  He is listed in Marquis Who’s Who as “a notable classical educator and writer.”  Recipient of the Princeton Prize for Distinguished Teaching, he resides with his wife Camille in Scotch Plains, N.J.  The couple’s three sons –  Frank, Ronald, and John and their families live nearby.  His latest book  –  Below Rome, the Story of the Catacombs  –  which he co-authored with his wife, is available on Amazon or from the publisher, St. Johann Press, Haworth, N.J.

In the year A.D. 222 a bright and principled lad ascended the throne of Rome, left vacant by the assassination of his first cousin, Elegabalus.  The new emperor, however, was but thirteen years old.  Nevertheless, Alexander Severus, of Syrian ancestry and birth, brought hope to a Roman world sickened by his predecessor’s four-year reign of unparalleled decadence, depravity and despotism.

Because of Alexander’s youth, his mother, Julia Mamaea – an attractive, brilliant woman of the elite Patrician class  – served as his principal advisor.  While the boy was the de jure ruler of the vast empire, his mother was the de facto real power behind the scenes.  Playing the role of a “regent” (something unique in the chronicles of the Caesars), she largely influenced the most important issues and decisions. Under the guidance of Julia Mamaea, Alexander governed moderately and effectively.  As he matured, he grew into the job, steadily assuming a more dominant hand in running things.

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Marble Bust of Severus Alexander, ca. 222-235 AD. Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

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Julia Avita Mamaea. Cast in Pushkin Museum after original in British museum. shakko, CC BY 3.0, Wikimedia Commons

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Alexander – and Julia – began by purging the government of the roguish, inept, and corrupt cronies of his oppressive cousin, and by assembling an administration made up of the best and brightest men that Rome had to offer.  Persuaded by the political astuteness and instincts of his regent, Alexander gave back to the senate the authority to legislate.  He  – and she  –  formed a cabinet of sixteen of the most prominent senators with whom they would consult on all public affairs of any consequence.

Mother and son streamlined the bloated bureaucracy, restored the treasury, improved the economy, and rehabilitated the sordid image of the principate.  Totally dedicated to the duties of his supreme office, Alexander tended to official matters even before dawn and kept at it far into the evening, never complaining but always displaying calm, reason, and optimism.

Early on in his reign he launched a comprehensive facelift of the neglected capital, giving much time, energy and resources to the restoration and maintenance of the city’s aging monuments and historic sites, such as the Colosseum, which was beginning to show considerable wear and tear of the century and a half of its existence; the Circus Maximus, whose seating sections had partially collapsed; the Baths of Caracalla, the Baths of Nero located just behind the glorious Pantheon; countless temples, such as that of Serapis, of Saturn, of Antoninus and Faustina; libraries, shrines, basilicas, and triumphal arches, especially the enormous, white marble one of Emperor Septimius Severus (193-203), which still anchors, practically in mint condition, thanks to the restorative efforts of Alexander – the northwestern corner of the Roman Forum.  And aqueducts, too.  The last of these waterworks of Republican and Imperial Rome, by the way, was built by his order in A.D. 226 and bore his name, the Aqua Alexandrina, the ruins of which remain in a remarkable state of preservation.

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The Aqua Alexandrina. Saverio.G, CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons

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He appointed a special commission to see to the meticulous upkeep of all these architectural gems and particularly to a plethora of fountains and other monuments that featured bronze and marble statues.  Surely the impressive condition and state of preservation of some of Rome’s ruins in our time could be plausibly credited to Alexander’s vast urban renewal projects.

His long range planning called for a new grand basilica which would have been more than a thousand feet in length and adorned with great works of art.  Though Alexander by now was completely in charge, he was still benefiting from his mother’s wise counsel and her ambitious activism which entailed many domestic entitlement programs to aid the needy, the sick, the elderly, the marginalized, along with various programs aimed at improving the education of children.  The people, quick to recognize and appreciate all these changes for the better in their government, outwardly showed their affection and gratitude to him, and to her.

As commander-in-chief of the military, Alexander Severus lifted the morale of the troops by making it a regular practice to visit the front lines and to visit the sick and the wounded among the ranks.  In every speech to the legions he never failed to express his personal sense of indebtedness and admiration for the fighting men of Rome.  The elite Praetorian Guards also were fond of Alexander, finding him always amiable, sincere, and wholeheartedly committed to his duties.  They considered him “a truly nice kid.”  Alexander also greatly improved conditions and benefits to the veterans.

Convinced that the best way to lead was by example, he comported himself impeccably.  He was dignified, yet approachable; just, yet compassionate.  Having been educated by the finest private tutors, among whom was the renowned Ulpian, the leading authority on Roman law, Alexander was interested in art, architecture, music, and philosophy and was also extremely well read.  Fluent in Greek, he often found himself curled up with a volume of “Plato’s Republic.”  In Latin he favored the essays of Cicero, especially “De Officiis” (On Duties) and De Republica (On the State).

He enjoyed the letters of Cicero too and loved corresponding himself, often spending what little free time he had, reading and responding to personal letters from a large circle of friends and acquaintances.  Unspoiled by power and fame, he often invited boyhood chums to his evening meals.  Dispensing with formalities, Alexander insisted that they still call him by his given name.

Physical fitness was also important to him. His daily routine included an hour of swimming in a cold pool, combined with a simple diet.

Here let us pause to learn more about Julia Mamaea, who had a lifelong interest in and respect for all forms of divine worship.  As a younger woman she had heard of the famous Christian theologian, Origen, and traveled to Antioch to hear his orations and sermons.  Inspired by what he had to say, she sought private instruction from him in the Christian message.  Awed by that religion’s promise of eternal life, she returned home to investigate all the forms of divine worship coursing through the Roman world at that point in history.

As they were religious by nature, and her son by upbringing, they brought to their official duties a tolerant, perhaps one could say, an ecumenical approach to the issue of freedom of worship.  As a result, they often bestowed favors on the various cults and creeds being practiced in Rome and throughout the realm.  For example, Alexander exempted the Jewish community from the statute prohibiting circumcision.  He issued a decree emphasizing that this dispensation represented…”Iudais privilegia reservata,”  (Privileges reserved for the Jewish people.).

Another passage in that same proclamation states that it is permissible for Christians to exist. (“Christianos esse passus est”), this despite the fact that Christianity was still officially banned by the laws of the land.

To make certain that the Jews could practice their faith in peace, Alexander took upon himself the role of protector of synagogues.  As a sign of their gratitude, his Jewish subjects named one of their houses of worship after him.  Epitaphs in their ancient catacombs hint that even some Jewish children were being named for the compassionate emperor.  The gravestone of one little girl, who had been born during his benevolent reign, bore the inscription:  Alexandria Severus.

He was also the first emperor publicly to show respect and compassion for Christianity and its adherents.  (Pope Urban I – 220-230 AD – presided over his spiritual flock during what some historians view as a sort of “golden age” in the pre-Constantinian church.)

One example of Alexander’s friendly disposition toward the Christians involved a dispute over property rights.  In the teeming Transtiberim quarter of Rome a congregation of believers had established a place of worship in a row of abandoned shops.  Christian ownership of the site, however, was contested by a group of tavern keepers who wanted to set up businesses there.  The issue eventually landed on the desk of the emperor who quickly ruled in favor of the Church.  “I would rather have God honored on those premises than to put up with the noise and rowdiness that taverns would bring,” he later told confidants.

During his tranquil tenure, the Christians were also allowed to erect above-ground sanctuaries over the subterranean resting places of their celebrated martyrs.  There are some indications that the dowager empress may have secured from her son considerably more favors for the Church and may even have secretly been a Christian herself.  (Origen thought so.)  Eusebius, bishop of Caesarea in Palestine in the early fourth century and author of the book Ecclesial History, chronicling the growth of the Church up to his time, singles her out for high praise:

“The emperor’s mother Mamaea was one of the most religious and

pious of women, and sought instructions in the Christian rite from

the renowned theologian Origen, who revealed to her many things

pertaining to the glory of the Lord and the virtue of His divine

message.”

Before appointing anyone to an important government or military post, Alexander would publicly circulate the name of the appointee and invite the citizenry to challenge the nomination if they wished.  In doing so, he was using a procedure used by both Jews and Christians who would announce far in advance the names of those who were proposed to be ordained rabbis or priests.

Alexander Severus was so fond of the Judeo-Christan tenet, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” (“Prout vultis ut faciant vobis homines, et vos facite illis similiter” – Luke 6.31), that he had it engraved on the walls of his palace and other state buildings.  Early each morning he would perform religious rituals in his lararium (private chapel) which was adorned with small statues, not only of the main pagan divinities and deified emperors, but also of Abraham and Jesus.  He held in respect other religions thriving in Rome such as Mithraism (from Persia), the Egyptian cults of Cybele, Isis, and Serapis, along with those that came from Syria and other imperial provinces.  (The Historian Lampridius wrote that “Alexander was determined to raise a temple to Christ.”)

For a dozen years or so, things went quite well for the ship of state, with Alexander at the helm and Julia Mamaea as navigator.  Late in 234, sadly, wars began to break out.  While the Emperor was personally overseeing his army’s efforts to repel a Persian invasion of Mesopotamia, German divisions were breaking through the Roman boundaries along the Rhine, which were weakened by the withdrawal of some legions to help out with the fierce fighting taking place in the territory between the Tigris and Euphrates.  Penetrating deep into Roman Gaul, the Germans terrorized and plundered as they advanced.

The imperial family  –  Alexander, Julia Mamaea and kin  –  found themselves racing across Europe, hoping to stem the Teutonic tide.  Though prepared and confident enough to confront the enemy on the battlefield, Alexander, a literal “commander-in-chief,” sought to avert the bloodbath through diplomacy and the offer of subsidies.  While this approach might have succeeded, the war-hardened Roman legionaries saw this as an act of cowardice and were outraged.  Before the negotiations could be finalized, a squad of Roman soldiers one night raided the imperial family’s tent and murdered both the Emperor and his mother, thereby plunging the Empire into a half-century of anarchy, chaos, and devastation, foreshadowing the long twilight of the glory that was Rome.

This violent turn of events spelled grave trouble for the Church.  For one of the first official acts of the new emperor, Maximinus, an army officer and a cruel brute of a man, elevated to power by his fellow warriors, was to launch a new persecution of the Christians, primarily out of loathing for his predecessor who had been their benefactor.

When news of Alexander’s death reached Rome, the Senate, and the people of all classes, mourned profoundly, remembering him for his justice, wisdom, and clemency in governing, and for the humility, simplicity, and purity of his private life.  Requiescat in pace.

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The tomb of Severus Alexander, and his mother Julia Avita Mamaea. Fabio Isman, CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons

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Cover Image, Top Left: The tomb of Severus Alexander, and his mother Julia Avita Mamaea. Fabio Isman, CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons. 

Trailblazers in the Desert: Women Egyptologists of the Gilded Age with Dr. Kathleen Sheppard

Posted on January 12, 2026 by -

Following is an interview conducted by the author of Dr. Kathleen Sheppard, Professor of History at Missouri S&T in Rolla, Missouri, and the Director of the Center for Science, Technology and Society. Her research focuses on the history of women in the professions, specifically Egyptology in the so-called Golden Age (1885-1925).

 

Where does the story of European Egyptology begin? When do women enter?

It begins pretty early, with the Greeks and Romans in 300s BCE, but in the modern era it begins with the French entering Ottoman Egypt in 1798. Women enter the picture pretty early, in terms of being consumers of Egyptian history in their home countries, but they start arriving in the 1820s and 30s with husbands, brothers, or sons. On their own in the 1860s. After that, they never leave and become experts just like the men do.

“In January 1864, Lady Duff Gordon – Lucie—woke each morning to the sunrise peeking over Luxor Temple’s ancient columns.” Your book, Women in the Valley of the Kings, takes us to another time and place; we’re brought to the adventure right away. Can you tell us about this fascinating woman and her Letters from Egypt?

Lucie Duff Gordon had tuberculosis in the mid-1850s and had to leave England by about 1860. She ended up in Egypt in 1862 and almost never left it. In order to pay for her life in Egypt—she had to leave her family in England—she published the letters she wrote home. They’re full of social and political commentary as well as detailed discussions of her life in Egypt. People, especially potential travelers and women, made the book a best-seller. She died in 1869 from tuberculosis.

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Lady Duff Gordon. Bain News Service, publisher, Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

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Was Amelia Edwards inspired by Lady Duff Gordon’s book? Can you tell us why she’s called the Godmother of Egyptology? 

Amelia Edwards went to Egypt in 1873, partly to see where Lucie Duff Gordon had lived in Luxor, at the French House. Edwards was a traveler anyway, but reading Duff Gordon’s letters had inspired her to go to Egypt herself. And she fell in love with it. She is called Godmother of Egyptology because she founded—and funded—some of the first academic Egyptology happening in Britain. Her work founded the Egypt Exploration Fund (now Society) and her money founded the first chair of Egyptology at a UK university—the Edwards Chair of Egyptology at UCL.

Can you give us some of the highlights of Marianne Brocklehurst — and what was her connection to Amelia Edwards? 

Brocklehurst was a wealthy woman, partnered with Mary Booth, and the two of them traveled up the Nile in 1873-74 with Amelia Edwards. When Brocklehurst and Booth came home to Bolton, with hundreds of artifacts they purchased, they began to work on a museum in Macclesfield, UK. Booth and Brocklehurst went to Egypt a few more times together as well.

You wrote about Brocklehurst’s Temple of Mut in Asher (1899). Can you tell us a little about Amun and Mut and the temple? 

It was Maggie Benson who wrote the Temple of Mut in Asher with her partner Janet Gourlay. Amun and Mut were the chief god and goddess of the region near Luxor in the New Kingdom, so their temple complex at Karnak is important as a worship site. Mut was a cat-headed goddess, sometimes appearing as a lion or a woman in a red dress.

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Relief from Temple of Mut. LBM1948, CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons

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To continue our journey: in 1894, Maggie Benson headed up the Nile for the first time. Was she searching for the cure — and searching for ancient Egypt as well? Can you tell us some of the highlights?

Benson was looking to ease her breathing and her rheumatism. She had not been searching for anything other than that. But her time in Egypt made her think she wanted to learn more, and her brother Fred encouraged her to excavate. So she found the Temple of Mut, wanting to dig up the cat-headed statues she could sort of see.

Can you add Janet Gourlay (Nettie), who was close to Maggie Benson?

Nettie had trained with Flinders Petrie at University College, London, so when she met Maggie in 1895, they were a perfect pair. The two worked together for two seasons and were partners until Nettie died in 1912.

If I recall — Emma Andrews and her partner Theodore Davis (who lived in a mansion with a garden designed by Olmsted) funded major excavations of Percy Newberry? And did Emma and Theodore also work on excavations and other aspects of the study of Egypt? 

They first were tourists in Egypt, from 1889-1900. In 1900 they started funding Newberry, who already had permission to excavate. They began working with Howard Carter in 1901/02. But in 1902, they became private sponsors for archaeologists working in the Valley of the Kings. They did this until 1915, when they gave up their concession.

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Pathway to Valley of the Kings. CC0 1.0 Universal, Wikimedia Commons

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Ah, Howard Carter – didn’t he work for one of the famous Egyptologists just mentioned?

When Carter arrived in Egypt at the age of 17, he worked for Flinders Petrie as a draftsman/artist.

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Theodore Montgomery Davis. Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

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Speaking of towering figures, Margaret Murray. What did she do and teach? Why is she so important?

Margaret Murray was the first university-trained woman in British Egyptology. She was trained at University College London, by Flinders Petrie. She in turn trained many of the women who came after her, in this book. Her career, lasting from 1894 until her death in 1963, was long and distinguished. She published dozens of books and articles. She developed the first 2-year university training program for Egyptologists, and ran it for 2 decades, training dozens of famous Egyptologists.

She was instrumental in deciding what Egyptologists in Britain should know, and then teaching them that. I would argue she is the foundation of 20th century British Egyptology.

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Margaret Murray, Public Domain, Wikimeda Commons

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An incredible life. Can you also tell us about “Building the Dream Team?” Did Kate Griffith and Emily Paterson administrate the Egypt Excavation Fund and what were their accomplishments?   

Emily Paterson was the first secretary of the Egypt Exploration Fund under Amelia Edwards. She worked closely with Kate Bradbury in the earliest days of the fund, and after Edwards’ death made most of the administrative decisions. They kept up correspondence with archaeologists in the field, made sure bills were paid, distributed artifacts to museums, and so much more.

Are these women and others often overlooked since they’re not men and they’re not out in the field making big headlines? 

Even though their names are on almost every piece of correspondence at the Fund for over 20 years, they are overlooked in favor of field work.

Didn’t Kate Griffith accompany Amelia Edwards on that incredibly influential and exhausting tour?

She did. It was because of Kate, I argue, that Amelia could go on the trip at all. Amelia Edwards gave over 100 lectures between November 4, 1889 and March 30, 1890 throughout the United States. She spoke to audiences that numbered in the thousands, keeping them all rapt with attention about the study of ancient Egypt.

She left behind her a legacy of interest and, most of all, funding throughout the areas she visited. Many of the Egypt Exploration Fund US branches were in existence until the middle of the 20th century, expanding the reach of the interested general public in Egyptology in the US.

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Amelia Edwards. B.O. Flower (ed.), Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

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From A Thousand Miles Up the Nile by Amelia Edwards. Pearson, G., CC BY-SA 2.5, Wikimedia Commons

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There are of course still in-person conferences and lectures. But with Zoom and other digital technologies, some of the living power of lectures has drained away. Do you mourn this process, this change?

There are still plenty of opportunities for live lectures in towns and cities across the US and Europe, likely all over the place. People just need to take advantage of them. Sometimes I think people are spoiled for choice, but that can also be exhausting. We live in a world where there is just a bit too much.

In Women in the Valley of the Kings, you beautifully describe how Myrtle Broome wrote to her parents from Egypt. What were some of the things she did and wrote about?

Broome wrote about everything. She wrote about work, and growing carrots, and making gloves, and their servants, and driving their car across the desert. And thank goodness she did! Her letters are better than many diaries I’ve read, in terms of the useful historical content. She was very close to her parents.

Was Myrtle connected to UCL and also Flinders Petrie? Can you comment on the last two?

Broome was in the first group of students that joined Margaret Murray’s 2-year training program. So, I would say she was more trained by Murray than Petrie. And Murray helped her hone her art skills to be better at copying art on tomb and temple walls. Murray had perfected that skill herself in her two years in the field (1902-04). She worked in the field with Petrie at one or two sites, but most of her time was with Calverley at Abydos.

There are others in that chapter who knew and worked with Myrtle Broome, such as Olga Tufnell, Amice Calverley and others. I recall that they were involved in very important excavations in Abydos and other places – can you highlight some of that?

Olga Tufnell and Broome worked together at Tell el Ajjul, copying art that was rapidly deteriorating in the tombs there. She became a very well-known archaeologist working in Palestine. Broome worked primarily with Calverley at Abydos from 1929-1937 where they copied the art in the Temple of Seti I at Abydos. They were extremely talented artists. John D. Rockefeller Jr gave the equivalent of over $1 million in today’s money to the project, but only if Calverley stayed as director.

I fondly recall the beautiful way you describe Caroline Ransom Williams walking into the youngish Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1910 – as well as the picture of her on a ladder at Medinet Habut. Can you tell us about her?  And can you tell us about her connection to James Breasted?   

Ransom was from Toledo, and given an above average education for a girl at the time. She attended the University of Chicago, beginning in 1898, finishing her Master’s degree in 1900, and her PhD under James Breasted and Frank Tarbell in 1905. She immediately went to Bryn Mawr but got tired of administrative duties keeping her from her research work, so she moved to New York in 1910 to work at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Albert Lythgoe brought her on as Assistant Curator. She was there until 1916, when she left, got married, but continued working in several positions for the rest of her life. I like to think if she were a man, we would know a whole lot more about her. About all of these women.

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Great Hall – Metropolitan Museum of Art. Daderot, CC0 1.0 Universal, Wikimedia Commons

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Mastaba Tomb of Perneb at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. CC0 1.0 Universal, Wikimedia Commons

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In the Epilogue, you wrote that “they deserve a reckoning, these women in the Valley of the Kings.” They were amazing and courageous trail blazers, weren’t they?

Yes! I think so. The reckoning they deserve is that they existed at all and were able to do the things they did do in the situations they were put in. They inspire me all of the time.

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Kathleen Sheppard is currently Professor of History at Missouri S&T in Rolla, Missouri, and the Director of the Center for Science, Technology and Society. Her research focuses on the history of women in the professions, specifically Egyptology in the so-called Golden Age (1885-1925). She has written several journal and magazine articles, book chapters, and books about these issues. Her most recent work, Women in the Valley of the Kings: The Untold Story of Women Egyptologists in the Gilded Age (2024), is a story that brings all of the themes of women in Egyptology at the turn of the century together in one carefully woven narrative. Following the lives and careers of over a dozen women, Sheppard tells the story of Egyptology in a whole new light: the work that women did in the field. They got dirty, they dug, they had adventures. They also formed the foundations of institutions in Western Egyptology: the very institutions that allowed the discipline to survive and thrive.

Among other positions in professional societies, Sheppard is a Trustee of the Egypt Exploration Society. She sits on the board of the Missouri Chapter of the American Research Center in Egypt (ARCE), is the ARCE Chapter Council VP. 

Why Preserving Ancient History Now Depends on Invisible Digital Defenses

Posted on January 9, 2026 by -

Ancient history is no longer preserved solely through physical artifacts such as stone monuments, manuscripts, or excavation sites. Increasingly, it exists as structured digital records stored within databases, archival systems, and distributed infrastructures. As cultural heritage migrates into digital form, preservation strategies must expand beyond traditional conservation methods to include robust digital protections that operate largely out of view.

As archivists and historians frequently note, “Digitization preserves access, not permanence.” Long term survival now depends on how securely historical data is stored, validated, and maintained over time.

The Digital Transformation of Historical Records

Museums, libraries, and research institutions worldwide are undertaking large scale digitization initiatives. These efforts include high resolution imaging of manuscripts, three dimensional scans of artifacts, linguistic recordings, geospatial excavation data, and metadata documenting provenance and context.

Digitization reduces physical handling of fragile materials and expands access for researchers. However, it also introduces new dependencies. Once history becomes data, it is subject to the same risks as modern information systems, including system failures, unauthorized access, and technological obsolescence.

Preservation frameworks consistently emphasize that access without durability is not preservation, reinforcing the need for resilient digital infrastructure alongside digitization.

Digital Vulnerabilities in Cultural Heritage Preservation

Digital records face risks that differ significantly from physical decay. File corruption can occur silently, storage media degrades over time, and software platforms evolve in ways that leave older formats unsupported. Human error remains one of the most common causes of data loss.

Cyber threats further complicate preservation. Digital archives may be compromised directly or indirectly through vulnerabilities in connected systems. Unlike physical artifacts, digital collections can be erased or altered entirely in a short period of time.

For ancient history, the implications are severe. In many cases, digital archives represent the most complete or final record of a culture, language, or site.

Centralized Storage as a Structural Risk

Many cultural institutions rely on centralized storage models, including internal servers and cloud based platforms. While efficient, these systems introduce single points of failure.

If centralized infrastructure becomes inaccessible due to technical failure, funding disruptions, or external interference, entire collections may be lost or rendered unreachable. This risk is heightened in regions affected by political instability or limited institutional continuity.

Heritage researchers often caution that cultural memory should not rely on institutional permanence alone, underscoring the need for resilient storage architectures.

Invisible Digital Defenses and Their Role in Preservation

Effective preservation increasingly depends on protections embedded at the system level rather than visible user interfaces. These defenses operate continuously and quietly, without disrupting scholarly workflows.

Core components typically include:

  • Distributed storage architectures that reduce reliance on a single location
  • Cryptographic verification to ensure records remain unchanged
  • Redundancy protocols that preserve access during partial system failures
  • Automated integrity checks that detect corruption early

Together, these measures strengthen digital security while maintaining accessibility and trust.

Decentralized Systems and Preservation Resilience

Decentralized storage distributes archival data across multiple independent nodes rather than concentrating it in one location. Each node contributes to overall system reliability by maintaining validated copies of the data.

This model reduces dependency on individual institutions and lowers the likelihood of catastrophic loss. If one node fails, others continue to provide access, supporting continuity over time.

Digital archivists frequently describe redundancy not as duplication, but as a deliberate strategy for long term survival.

Ensuring Data Integrity and Authenticity

Preservation requires more than keeping files online. It also requires protecting authenticity. Data integrity mechanisms such as hashing, validation logs, and immutable records help ensure that historical materials cannot be altered without detection.

These safeguards are essential for maintaining scholarly trust. Researchers depend on accurate primary sources, and institutions must be able to verify that digital records reflect original materials faithfully.

Without integrity controls, digital archives risk becoming unreliable representations of the past.

The Role of Modern Cybersecurity in Archives

As digital collections grow, archival institutions increasingly rely on modern cybersecurity tools to protect against unauthorized access, malware, and systemic vulnerabilities. In practice, this often includes layered safeguards such as advanced threat detection for archival systems, which help monitor and contain malicious activity at the device level without interfering with preservation workflows. These protections are particularly important for systems that manage, process, or provide access to sensitive archival data, where compromise could affect both availability and historical authenticity.

Designing for Long Term Accessibility

Ancient history preservation operates on timescales that extend far beyond typical technology cycles. Digital systems must therefore prioritize interoperability, adaptability, and longevity.

Architectures built on open standards reduce reliance on proprietary platforms and limit the need for repeated data migrations, each of which introduces risk. Preservation specialists consistently stress that future access must be intentionally designed rather than assumed.

Infrastructure as Cultural Stewardship

Modern preservation increasingly involves system architects and data engineers alongside curators and conservators. Their responsibility is to ensure that digital representations of ancient history remain accurate, secure, and accessible despite evolving technological conditions.

Invisible digital defenses form the foundation of this stewardship. They protect content without altering it, supporting continuity across institutional, technological, and generational change.

Conclusion

Preserving ancient history in the digital age requires more than digitization alone. It demands resilient, verifiable, and carefully designed digital defenses that operate continuously in the background.

As historical records increasingly exist as data, their survival depends on infrastructure choices made today. Systems built to withstand failure, resist unauthorized modification, and adapt over time will determine whether humanity’s earliest stories remain accessible to future generations.

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Cover Image, Top Left: Photo by Jason Leung on Unsplash

Researchers discover traces of poison on stone arrows dated to 60,000 years ago in southern Africa

Posted on January 7, 2026 by -

American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS)—Hunter-gatherers in southern Africa laced their stone arrow tips with poison roughly 60,000 years ago, a new study finds. The discovery pushes back the timeline for poison weapon use – a cognitively complex hunting strategy – from the mid-Holocene to the Late Pleistocene. Hunting with poison was a gamechanger for hunter-gatherers, making it easier to kill prey animals. The emergence of the practice also represents a defining moment in the human journey; People had to keep a mental encyclopedia of poisonous plants they could use, and they also had to anticipate animals’ behavior as they slowly weakened. Until now, the earliest evidence for poison weapons dated to the mid-Holocene. Here, Sven Isaksson and colleagues have uncovered traces of plant-based poison on 5 of 10 quartz arrow tips in Umhlatuzana Rock Shelter in KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa. The tips came from a stratigraphic layer dated to 60,000 years ago. Analysis revealed alkaloid residue (buphandrine and epibuphanisine) from indigenous members of the Amaryllidaceae family of flowering plants. Hunter-gatherers most likely made this poison from the milky bulb extract of Boophone disticha (locally called poison bulb), Isaksson et al. suggest, because records from the 1700s refer to the plant’s use in historic arrow poisons. Notably, this poison does not work immediately; Late Pleistocene hunter-gatherers must have understood its delayed effects and used that knowledge to enhance their persistence hunting. “Because poison is not a physical force, but functions chemically, the hunters must also have relied on advanced planning, abstraction and causal reasoning,” the authors write.

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Umhlatuzana Rock Shelter backed microlith. Credit Isaksson et al., Sci. Adv. 12, eadz3281

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Closeup of the five quartz backed microliths from Umhlatuzana Rock Shelter with buphandrin, epibuphanisine alkaloid toxins (001-005 [artefact numbers = sample numbers] scale = 5 mm). The inset shows all ten archaeological artefacts analysed, all curated at the KwaZulu-Natal Museum in Pietermaritzburg. Credit Isaksson et al., Sci. Adv. 12, eadz3281

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Article Source: AAAS news release.

*Direct Evidence for Poison Use on Microlithic Arrowheads in Southern Africa at 60 000 years ago, Science Advances, 7-Jan-2026. www.science.org/doi/10.1126/sciadv.adz3281

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Early hominins from Morocco reveal an African lineage near the root of Homo sapiens

Posted on January 7, 2026 by -

Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology—An international research team led by Jean-Jacques Hublin (Collège de France & Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology), David Lefèvre (Université de Montpellier Paul Valéry), Giovanni Muttoni (Università degli Studi di Milano) and Abderrahim Mohib (Moroccan Institut National des Sciences de l’Archéologie et du Patrimoine, INSAP) reports* the analysis of new hominin fossils from the site of Thomas Quarry I (Casablanca, Morocco). The fossils are very securely dated to 773,000 plus/minus 4,000 years ago, thanks to a high-resolution magnetostratigraphic record capturing in detail the Brunhes/Matuyama boundary, the last main geomagnetic polarity reversal and precise temporal markers of the Quaternary. Published in Nature, this work highlights African populations near the base of the lineage that eventually gave rise to Homo sapiens, providing new insights into the shared ancestry of H. sapiens, Neandertals, and Denisovans.

Decades of Moroccan-French fieldwork lead to major new discoveries

The results presented here stem from over three decades of continuous archaeological and geological research conducted in the framework of the Moroccan-French Program “Préhistoire de Casablanca”. This program conducts extensive excavations, systematic stratigraphic studies, and large-scale geoarchaeological analyses in the southwest part of the city of Casablanca.

This patient and rigorous fieldwork progressively revealed the exceptional stratigraphic, palaeoenvironmental and archaeological setting of Thomas Quarry I, ultimately leading to the discovery of the hominin remains and geological sequences that underpin the present study.

As Abderrahim Mohib explains: “The success of this long-term research reflects a strong institutional collaboration involving the Ministère de la Jeunesse, de la Culture et de la Communication Département de la Culture of the Kingdom of Morocco (through INSAP) and the Ministère de l’Europe et des Affaires Étrangères of France (through the French Archaeological Mission Casablanca)”. The present study was also supported by the Università degli Studi di Milano (Italy), the Max-Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology (Germany), the LabEx Archimède – University of Montpellier Paul Valéry, the University of Bordeaux and the Muséum National d’Histoire Naturelle (France).

A unique geological setting: Moroccan Atlantic coast as Pleistocene treasure house

Jean-Paul Raynal, co-director of the program throughout the excavation that led to the discovery of fossil remains, emphasizes that “Thomas Quarry I lies within the raised coastal formations of the Rabat–Casablanca littoral, a region internationally renowned for its exceptional succession of Plio-Pleistocene palaeoshorelines, coastal dunes and cave systems. These geological formations, resulting from repeated sea-level oscillations, aeolian phases, and rapid early cementation of coastal sands, offer ideal conditions for fossil and archaeological preservation”. As a result, the Casablanca region has become one of Africa’s richest repositories of Pleistocene palaeontology and archaeology, documenting the early Acheulean and its developments, diverse faunas reflecting environmental change, and several phases of hominin occupation.

Thomas Quarry I, excavated into the Oulad Hamida Formation, is particularly well known for containing the oldest Acheulean industries of north-western Africa dated to around 1.3 million years ago and lies close to other celebrated sites such as Sidi Abderrahmane, a classic reference for Middle Pleistocene prehistory in the Northwest Africa. Within this wider complex, the “Grotte à Hominidés” constitutes “a unique cave system carved by a marine highstand into earlier coastal formations and later filled with sediments that preserved hominin fossils in a secure, undisturbed and indisputable stratigraphic context,” explains  David Lefèvre.

A uniquely well-dated hominin assemblage in Africa

Dating Early and Middle Pleistocene fossils is notoriously difficult, due to discontinuous stratigraphies or methods affected by considerable uncertainty. The Grotte à Hominidés is exceptional because rapid sedimentation and continuous deposition allowed capture of a high-resolution magnetic signal recorded within sediments with remarkable detail.

Earth’s magnetic field reverses polarity episodically over geological time. These paleomagnetic reversals occur worldwide and almost instantaneously on geological timescales, leaving in sediments a sharp, globally synchronous signal. The Matuyama–Brunhes transition (MBT), which occurred around 773,000 years ago, is the most recent of these major reversals and constitutes one of the most precise markers available to geologists and archaeologists. As Serena Perini explains: “Seeing the Matuyama–Brunhes transition recorded with such resolution in the ThI-GH deposits allows us to anchor the presence of these hominins within an exceptionally precise chronological framework for the African Pleistocene.”

The Grotte à Hominidés sequence spans the end of the Matuyama Chron (reverse polarity), the MBT itself, and the onset of the Brunhes Chron (normal polarity). Using 180 magnetostratigraphic samples – an unprecedented resolution for a Pleistocene hominin site – the team established the exact position of the reverse-to-normal switch, currently dated at 773,000 years, and even captured the short duration of the transition (8,000 to 11,000 years). It is chronologically valuable that the sediments containing the hominin fossils were deposited precisely during this transition. Additional faunal evidence independently supports this age, affirming the primacy of magnetostratigraphy over other methods for establishing the chronology of this site.

Hominins close to the root of the Homo sapiens lineage

The hominin remains come from what appears to have been a carnivore den, as suggested by a hominin femur showing clear traces of gnawing and consumption. The assemblage includes a nearly complete adult mandible, a second adult half mandible, a child mandible, several vertebrae, and isolated teeth.

High-resolution micro-CT imaging, geometric morphometrics, and comparative anatomical analysis reveal a mosaic of archaic and derived traits. Several characteristics recall hominins from Gran Dolina, Atapuerca, of comparable age – the so-called Homo antecessor – suggesting that very ancient population contacts between north-west Africa and southern Europe may once have existed. However, by the time of the Matuyama–Brunhes transition, these populations appear to have been already clearly separated, implying that any such exchanges must have occurred earlier.

Matthew Skinner notes: “Using microCT imaging we were able to study a hidden internal structure of the teeth, referred to as the enamel-dentine junction, which is known to be taxonomically informative and which is preserved in teeth where the enamel surface is worn away. Analysis of this structure consistently shows the Grotte à Hominidés hominins to be distinct from both Homo erectus and Homo antecessor, identifying them as representative of populations that could be basal to Homo sapiens and archaic Eurasian lineages.”

Shara Bailey confirms the generalized shape and traits of the Grotte à Hominidés teeth, noting that “In their shapes and non-metric traits, the teeth from Grotte à Hominidés retain many primitive features and lack the traits that are characteristic of Neanderthals. In this sense, they differ from Homo antecessor, which – in some features – are beginning to resemble Neanderthals. The dental morphological analyses indicate that regional differences in human populations may have been already present by the end of the Early Pleistocene”.

A new window on the last common ancestor of humans and Neanderthals

This discovery highlights that Northwest Africa played a major role in the early evolutionary history of the genus Homo, at a time when climatic oscillations periodically opened ecological corridors across what is now the Sahara. As Denis Geraads notes: “The idea that the Sahara was a permanent biogeographic barrier does not hold for this period. The palaeontological evidence shows repeated connections between Northwest Africa and the savannas of the East and South.”

The hominins from the Grotte à Hominidés are almost contemporaneous with the hominins from Gran Dolina, older than Middle Pleistocene fossils ancestral to Neanderthals and Denisovans, and roughly 500,000 years earlier than the earliest Homo sapiens remains from Jebel Irhoud. In their combination of archaic African traits with traits that approach later Eurasian and African Middle Pleistocene morphologies, the hominins from the Grotte à Hominidés provide essential clues about the last common ancestor of Homo sapiens, Neanderthals, and Denisovans—estimated from genetic evidence to have lived between 765,000 and 550,000 years ago. Paleontological evidence from the Grotte à Hominidés aligns most closely with the older part of this interval.  

Jean-Jacques Hublin concludes that “the fossils from the Grotte à Hominidés may be the best candidates we currently have for African populations lying near the root of this shared ancestry, thus reinforcing the view of a deep African origin for our species.“

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ean-Paul Raynal and Fatima Zohra Sihi-Alaoui, co-directors of the program “Préhistoire de Casablanca” throughout the excavation that led to the discovery of the mandible ThI-GH-10717, in May 2008. Credit © R. Gallotti, Programme Préhistoire de Casablanca

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Serena Perini and Giovanni Muttoni during the sampling for magnetostratigraphy in the Grotte à Hominidés deposits at the Thomas Quarry I. Credit © D. Lefèvre, Programme Préhistoire de Casablanca

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Thomas Quarry I, Grotte à Hominidés: Mandible ThI-GH-10717 during the excavation. Credit © J.P. Raynal, Programme Préhistoire de Casablanca

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773,000-year-old mandible ThI-GH-10717 from Thomas Quarry in Morocco. Credit © Hamza Mehimdate, Programme Préhistoire de Casablanca

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773,000-year-old mandible ThI-GH-1 from Thomas Quarry in Morocco. Credit © Hamza Mehimdate, Programme Préhistoire de Casablanca

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Lower jaws (mandibles) from North Africa, illustrating variation among fossil hominins and modern humans. The fossils shown are Tighennif 3 from Algeria (upper left), ThI-GH-10717 from Thomas Quarry in Morocco (upper right), and Jebel Irhoud 11 from Morocco (lower left), compared with a mandible from a recent modern human (lower right). All specimens are shown at the same scale, allowing direct comparison of their size and shape. Credit © Philipp Gunz, MPI for Evolutionary Anthropology

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Article Source: Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology news release.

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*10.1038/s41586-025-09914-y 

Roman industrial hub discovered in North East England

Posted on January 7, 2026 by -

Experts have found evidence of a Roman industrial hub on the banks of the River Wear in North East England.

The Offerton site, near Sunderland, has so far yielded more than 800 whetstones (stone bars used to sharpen bladed tools and weapons), and eleven stone anchors.

Analysis of the sediment layer containing the whetstones, undertaken by Durham University’s Department of Archaeology, has confirmed the site dates to the Roman period.

The site was discovered and excavated by volunteer enthusiasts from the Vedra Hylton Community Association and supported by Durham University’s Department of Archaeology.

The excavations will be featured on the new series of Digging for Britain on BBC Two and available on iPlayer from today [Wednesday 7 January 2026].

The find represents the largest known whetstone discovery of the period in North West Europe, and places North East England firmly within Roman Britain’s sophisticated manufacturing and trade network.

Whetstones, used to sharpen blades, were vital tools in every aspect of Roman life – from the domestic and commercial to the agricultural, industrial, medical, and military.

The abundance and condition of the whetstones discovered, along with a corresponding sandstone outcrop on the opposite side of the river, indicate Offerton was likely a major production hub in Roman Britain.

The site has been dated using Optically Stimulated Luminescence (OSL) testing on the sediment layers surrounding the whetstones.

OSL measures when minerals such as quartz were last exposed to sunlight. Over time, these minerals build up a tiny store of energy while buried. When stimulated with light or heat in the laboratory, the minerals release this energy as a faint glow, which tells experts how long they have been underground.

The results showed that sediment samples taken directly below the whetstone discovery were dated to 42-184AD, whilst the sediment sample taken from the whetstone layer was dated to 104-238AD – during the Roman period in Britain.

The results suggest Offerton is the first Roman site found in Britain where stone was deliberately quarried for whetstone production.

Alongside the 800 whetstones excavated, the team believe that there are hundreds, possibly thousands, more that remain buried within the riverbank.

The project was led by Gary Bankhead, President of the Vedra Hylton Community Association and Honorary Fellow of Durham University’s Department of Archaeology.

It has been supported by staff and students from Durham University’s Department of Archaeology including Bronze Age and Roman experts Dr Benjamin Roberts and Dr Eleri Cousins. The OSL dating was led by Dr Eric Andrieux.

The project team undertook excavation works along the riverbanks and foreshore at Offerton, with support from The Crown Estate.

The Crown Estate manages around half the foreshore around England, Wales and Northern Ireland, including some estuary and tidal riverbeds, and the seabed out to 12 nautical miles.

Over the course of six months in 2025, the team found the vast haul of whetstones in various stages of production, from roughly worked pieces still bearing tool marks to finely finished examples with smooth surfaces and chamfered edges.

The team also found 65 ‘doubles’ – whetstones still conjoined prior to splitting –, along with a rare ‘treble’.

The recorded whetstones are all damaged and were likely discarded during production as they no longer met the required length. The Roman army were particular about the uniformity of their equipment so any whetstones that were not exactly 12 inches would have been discarded.

Five stone anchors were also unearthed by the fieldwork team during 2025.

Six stone anchors had been recovered in the adjacent stretch of river in 2022. This brings the total to eleven — the largest number of stone anchors ever found at any northern European river site to date.

The team believe the anchors could have been used by river going vessels that were transporting slabs of sandstone across the river for whetstone preparation.

As well as whetstones and stone anchors, the team also discovered:

  • A post-medieval wooden jetty structure, and earlier stone-built jetty
  • Tools including chisels and stone splitters
  • A leather shoe from Tudor times
  • Iron and stone cannonballs, and lead shot dating to the English Civil Wars

While a clash at Offerton was already known, discoveries of ammunition extend the mapped area of conflict and suggest the riverside site held greater strategic importance than previously understood.

The wooden jetty and associated small finds may relate to the women known as “hailers,” who once hauled keel boats upriver. Skippers would literally “hail” for their help as vessels headed upstream to collect coal, often struggling against the tide and wind. With ropes looped over their heads and sticks for leverage, the hailers towed the boats toward the staithes—sometimes several at once. Their labour, rarely recorded in written history, was vital to Sunderland’s early river economy, and the Offerton jetty may mark one of the places where this demanding work took place.

Collectively, these discoveries could extend the known timeline of human activity along this part of the River Wear by over 1,800 years.

Further geophysical survey work would be needed to determine the full scale and extent of the site.

Gary Bankhead, President of the Vedra Hylton Community Association and Honorary Fellow, Department of Archaeology, Durham University said: “This isn’t just a Roman site—it’s Sunderland’s story, revealed through the dedication of local volunteers and researchers working side by side. The River Wear has once again offered us a remarkable discovery, and we are only beginning to understand its full legacy.

“At Offerton, the recovery of Roman coins, along with firm OSL dating, now confirms the site’s Roman origins. Here, we see compelling evidence of one of Sunderland’s earliest known industries. The manufacture of whetstones at this location closely matches examples from securely dated Roman contexts, demonstrating that whetstones were being produced—and very likely distributed—from this riverside workshop.

“It is another extraordinary chapter from a river that continues to rewrite history.”

Dr Eleri Cousins, Assistant Professor in Roman Archaeology, Durham University said: “With the confirmation that these whetstones are Roman, this site has the potential to make a significant addition to our understanding of manufacturing and industry in Roman Britain, particularly in the militarised north of the province.

“This is an exciting discovery that tells a fascinating story about how ordinary objects like whetstones could be produced on an industrial scale.”

Cllr Michael Mordey, Leader of Sunderland City Council, said: “Ships, coal, pottery, glass and cars have all been made on the banks of the River Wear over the years by generations of Sunderland families and, thanks to the results of research and analysis carried out by experts at Durham University, this work has revealed yet another generation of makers who have shaped the industrious city we are today.

 “This shines a whole new light on the role Sunderland may have played in the Roman Empire, presenting an exciting opportunity to learn new things from our rich historical past.  This has been a remarkable effort by all involved and I’m sure I speak for the entire city when I say we can’t wait to find out more about what this research reveals.”

Emily Swift, Senior Asset Manager for Coastal at The Crown Estate, said: “We were so excited to hear of a Roman archaeological discovery in the River Wear and it’s been fantastic to work collaboratively with partners to bring this to life.  Mapping out the historical significance of the River Wear also helps our team to work closely with Sunderland City Council to sensitively maintain and preserve the river and riverbanks for future generations to enjoy.”

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VHCA Members in trench 3 revealing multiple whetstones. CREDIT DURHAM UNIVERSITY AND KUMAR UJJWAL SINGH

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11 bar-shaped whetstones found/recorded on the north foreshore. Credit Durham University and Gary Bankhead

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A single bar-shaped whetstone showing tool mark. Credit Durham University and Gary Bankhead

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About Durham University

Durham University is a globally outstanding centre of teaching and research based in historic Durham City in the UK. 

We are a collegiate university committed to inspiring our people to do outstanding things at Durham and in the world. 

We conduct research that improves lives globally and we are ranked as a world top 100 university with an international reputation in research and education (QS World University Rankings 2026). 

We are a member of the Russell Group of leading research-intensive UK universities, The Times and Sunday Times UK University of the Year 2026, and ranked in the top five in all three major UK university rankings (The Times and The Sunday Times Good University Guide, the Guardian University Guide, and the Complete University Guide). 

For more information about Durham University visit: www.durham.ac.uk/about/ 

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Article Source: Durham University news release.

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Preserving the Past: Creating Photo Books to Document Archaeological Expeditions

Posted on January 6, 2026 by -

Photographs capture details that written descriptions often miss. Soil color variation. Tool marks. Spatial relationships. Lighting conditions. These details help researchers interpret context long after excavation.

Images also support transparency. They allow other researchers to review interpretations and methods. Clear visual documentation strengthens credibility and reproducibility.

According to the Society for American Archaeology, more than 80% of archaeological data comes from contextual information, not individual artifacts. Photographs play a critical role in preserving that context.

The Limits of Digital Storage Alone

Digital photography improved field documentation, but it introduced new risks. Files can be lost. Metadata can be stripped. Software becomes obsolete.

Digital archives often lack narrative structure. Thousands of images sit in folders without clear sequencing or explanation. Over time, context erodes.

Physical photo books provide structure. They force selection, organization, and explanation. This process mirrors traditional field reporting, but with stronger visual emphasis.

Photo Books as Extended Field Notes

Photo books function as curated visual field journals. They combine images, captions, maps, and notes into a single reference.

A well-designed photo book documents the excavation process from start to finish. Site overview. Trench opening. Stratigraphic changes. Feature exposure. Artifact recovery. Final interpretation.

Each image supports a moment in the story. Captions explain what changed and why it mattered. The result is a coherent visual narrative that complements formal reports.

Supporting Teaching and Public Outreach

Photo books are not just for researchers. They are powerful tools for teaching and public engagement.

Students benefit from visual walkthroughs of real excavations. Seeing progression helps them understand methodology. It also prepares them for fieldwork.

Museums and outreach programs use photo books to share discoveries with non-specialist audiences. Clear visuals make complex processes accessible without oversimplifying them.

Printed materials also work well in settings where screens are impractical or distracting.

Designing Effective Archaeological Photo Books

Good photo books are selective, not exhaustive. Quality matters more than quantity.

Images should be sharp, well-lit, and relevant. Each photo should serve a purpose. Redundant or unclear images weaken the narrative.

Captions are essential. They should identify location, context, date, and significance. Maps and section drawings help orient the reader.

Many archaeologists choose quality photo books because durable binding and print clarity matter when books are used repeatedly for reference, teaching, or archival storage.

Preservation and Longevity

Printed photo books provide a stable backup to digital archives. They do not rely on software updates or file compatibility. They can be stored, cataloged, and accessed decades later.

Libraries and research institutions often prefer physical documentation for long-term preservation. Photo books meet archival needs while remaining easy to use.

They also protect against selective loss. If a digital archive becomes corrupted, a curated photo book preserves the most important visual data.

Ethical and Professional Considerations

Visual documentation carries responsibility. Images should respect site integrity and cultural sensitivity. Human remains and sacred objects require careful consideration.

Photo books offer controlled presentation. Images are contextualized rather than circulated freely online. This helps maintain ethical standards while still sharing knowledge.

Professional presentation also reflects on the discipline. Clear, well-organized documentation builds trust with stakeholders, communities, and funding bodies.

When to Create Photo Books During a Project

Some teams compile photo books after excavation. Others create interim versions during long-term projects.

Ongoing documentation allows teams to review progress, identify gaps, and refine methods. Final versions then serve as complete project records.

The process itself improves documentation habits.

Final Thoughts

Archaeology depends on careful recording. Once a site is excavated, its original state cannot be recovered. Photographs help preserve that information, but only when they are organized and contextualized.

Photo books transform digital images into lasting records. They support research, teaching, outreach, and preservation. They bridge the gap between raw data and meaningful interpretation.

In a field defined by responsibility to the past, thoughtful documentation remains one of the most important tools archaeologists have.

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Cover Image, Top Left: Pexels, Pixabay

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Field Clothing That Works: A Guide for Archaeologists

Posted on January 6, 2026 by -

Archaeological fieldwork demands more than knowledge and patience. It demands physical endurance. Long hours in the sun. Sudden weather changes. Rough terrain. Clothing plays a major role in how well archaeologists perform under those conditions.

The right gear keeps you cool, dry, and protected. The wrong choices lead to fatigue, distraction, and even injury. Field clothing is not about style. It is about function.

This guide breaks down practical clothing strategies that help archaeologists stay comfortable and focused in the field.

Why Clothing Matters in Archaeology

Fieldwork places constant stress on the body. Digging, walking, lifting, and kneeling repeat for hours. Clothing that traps heat or moisture makes that stress worse.

Overheating reduces concentration. Damp clothing causes chafing and skin irritation. Poor protection leads to sunburn, insect bites, and scrapes.

According to the Occupational Safety and Health Administration, heat stress is one of the leading causes of work-related illness in outdoor occupations, and proper clothing is a key prevention factor.

Comfort directly affects performance and safety.

Choosing Fabrics That Regulate Temperature

Fabric choice matters more than most people expect. Cotton feels comfortable at first, but it holds moisture. Once wet, it dries slowly and pulls heat from the body.

Synthetic blends and merino wool perform better. These fabrics wick sweat away from the skin and dry quickly. They help regulate body temperature during long days in the sun.

Lightweight, breathable materials reduce heat buildup. Stretch fabrics improve mobility when kneeling or reaching.

Look for clothing designed for active use, not casual wear.

Layering for Changing Conditions

Field conditions change quickly. Cool mornings turn into hot afternoons. Wind picks up. Rain appears without warning.

Layering allows flexibility. A lightweight base layer manages moisture. A long-sleeve overshirt protects against sun and insects. A packable outer layer blocks wind or rain.

Layers should be easy to remove and store. Bulky clothing slows movement and adds fatigue.

The goal is adaptability, not warmth alone.

Sun Protection Without Overheating

Sun exposure is unavoidable on most sites. Protection matters, especially during extended seasons.

Long sleeves often protect better than sunscreen alone. Wide-brim hats shield the face and neck. Light-colored fabrics reflect heat.

UPF-rated clothing adds another layer of defense. It reduces UV exposure without relying on constant reapplication of sunscreen.

Consistent sun protection supports long-term health.

Pants Built for Movement and Durability

Field pants take the most abuse. They scrape against soil, rocks, and tools. They stretch with every movement.

Durable pants with reinforced knees and flexible fabric perform best. Secure pockets keep small tools and notebooks accessible.

Some teams use standardized clothing for cohesion and identification. Items like track uniforms or coordinated athletic wear can offer lightweight comfort while supporting team visibility during surveys, field schools, or public-facing projects.

Function should always come before appearance.

Footwear That Supports Long Days

Footwear choices affect energy levels. Uneven ground stresses ankles and knees. Poor support leads to soreness and injury.

Sturdy boots with ankle support work well for excavation. Trail shoes may suit survey work on lighter terrain. Breathability matters as much as grip.

Footwear should be broken in before fieldwork begins. New boots cause blisters. Blisters slow teams down.

Comfortable feet support longer, safer days.

Staying Dry in Wet or Humid Environments

Moisture management is critical. Sweat, rain, and humidity all affect comfort.

Quick-drying clothing reduces irritation. Ventilated designs improve airflow. Waterproof layers should still allow breathability.

Avoid heavy rain gear unless conditions demand it. Overheating inside waterproof clothing creates new problems.

Balance protection with airflow.

Insect and Abrasion Protection

Field sites often include tall grass, brush, and insects. Long pants and sleeves protect against cuts and bites.

Tightly woven fabrics resist abrasion better than thin knits. Light colors make ticks easier to spot.

Some clothing includes insect-repellent treatments. These can be useful in high-risk environments.

Protection reduces distractions and health risks.

Professional Appearance in the Field

Archaeologists often work near the public, landowners, or construction crews. Clothing contributes to professionalism and trust.

Clean, coordinated gear helps teams look organized. It signals responsibility and respect for the site.

Practical clothing can still present a professional image.

Final Thoughts

Field clothing is equipment. It supports safety, efficiency, and endurance. The right choices reduce fatigue and help archaeologists focus on the work that matters.

Breathable fabrics, smart layering, durable pants, supportive footwear, and proper sun protection all contribute to better field performance. Comfort is not a luxury in archaeology. It is a tool.

When clothing works with you instead of against you, fieldwork becomes more productive and sustainable.

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Cover Image: mozlase_, Pixabay

Field Archaeology Essentials: Gear That Gets You Through a Dig

Posted on January 6, 2026 by -

Every archaeological dig begins long before the first trench is opened. Preparation determines whether fieldwork runs smoothly or turns into daily frustration. Conditions are rarely ideal. Weather shifts. Terrain varies. Days are long. Mistakes cost time and data.

Field archaeologists rely on equipment that supports precision, endurance, and safety. Some tools are obvious. Others are often overlooked. All play a role in protecting both the site and the people working on it.

This guide breaks down essential equipment for field archaeologists and explains why each piece matters.

Clothing That Works as Hard as You Do

Fieldwork is physical. You kneel, crouch, lift, walk long distances, and repeat those motions for hours. Clothing needs to handle abrasion, dirt, heat, and sudden weather changes.

Durable pants are especially important. Many archaeologists choose tactical pants because they offer reinforced seams, flexible fabric, and secure pockets. These features help when carrying small tools, notebooks, or GPS devices while moving across uneven ground.

Layering matters as well. Lightweight base layers help regulate temperature. Long sleeves protect against sun, insects, and brush. Hats shield your face and improve visibility in bright conditions.

Comfort is not a luxury in the field. It directly affects focus and productivity.

Footwear Designed for Uneven Terrain

Dig sites rarely offer flat ground. You walk over rocks, loose soil, and exposed roots. Proper footwear prevents injury and fatigue.

Look for boots with ankle support, strong tread, and breathable materials. Waterproofing helps in damp environments, but breathability matters more in hot climates.

Blisters and ankle strain slow teams down. Good boots keep you moving.

Hand Tools That Protect Context

Archaeology is about control. Tools must remove soil without damaging artifacts or stratigraphy.

Trowels remain the most iconic tool in the field. Square-ended trowels allow clean edges and controlled scraping. Brushes remove loose soil from delicate surfaces. Dental picks and bamboo tools help around fragile materials.

Each tool serves a purpose. Switching tools at the right moment protects context and preserves information.

Measuring and Recording Equipment

Data collection is as important as excavation. Without accurate records, discoveries lose meaning.

Essential measuring tools include measuring tapes, line levels, plumb bobs, and folding rulers. These help maintain straight trench walls and consistent depths.

Surveying tools like total stations and GPS units provide precise location data. Even small sites benefit from accurate spatial recording.

According to the Society for American Archaeology, over 90% of archaeological information comes from context rather than artifacts themselves, making careful measurement and documentation critical.

Notebooks, Forms, and Digital Devices

Field notes are permanent records. They capture observations that photos cannot.

Many archaeologists still prefer waterproof notebooks and pencils because they work in all conditions. Standardized forms help ensure consistency across team members.

Digital tools now complement traditional methods. Tablets and smartphones support GIS apps, photo logs, and real-time data syncing. However, battery life and weather resistance remain concerns. Paper backups are still essential.

Redundancy protects data.

Protective Gear for Safety and Compliance

Safety is non-negotiable. Field sites involve sharp tools, heavy lifting, and environmental hazards.

Gloves protect hands during excavation and screening. Eye protection helps in dusty conditions. Sunscreen and insect repellent prevent long-term health issues. First aid kits should always be accessible.

Hard hats and high-visibility vests may be required on construction-linked projects. Compliance with safety standards protects both workers and research permits.

Storage and Transport Solutions

Artifacts and samples need protection from the moment they are uncovered.

Plastic bags, acid-free labels, and sample containers keep materials organized. Permanent markers and pre-printed tags reduce labeling errors.

Backpacks and field bags help transport tools and finds without damage. Compartments prevent cross-contamination.

Clear organization saves time and prevents loss.

Identification and Team Visibility

Large field projects involve multiple teams. Clear identification improves coordination and security.

Many projects use labeled clothing or badges to identify staff roles. Some teams choose woven patches for durability and clarity. These patches hold up well in dusty, wet conditions and help distinguish teams without relying on disposable materials.

Visibility supports professionalism and site management.

Environmental Protection Equipment

Weather can disrupt even the best-planned dig.

Tarps protect open trenches from rain and sun. Shade structures reduce heat stress. Water containers support hydration in remote areas.

Monitoring weather forecasts and preparing accordingly prevents damage to exposed features and reduces health risks.

Prepared teams adapt faster.

Screening and Sampling Tools

Screens separate artifacts from soil efficiently. Different mesh sizes capture different materials.

Buckets, sample bags, and flotation equipment support environmental sampling. These tools help recover botanical remains, small bones, and micro-artifacts that inform site interpretation.

Sampling expands what a site can tell us beyond visible objects.

Final Thoughts

Field archaeology depends on preparation. The right equipment supports accuracy, safety, and endurance. It also protects the archaeological record, which cannot be replaced once disturbed.

From durable clothing and reliable tools to recording systems and safety gear, every item plays a role. Thoughtful preparation allows archaeologists to focus on discovery rather than discomfort or damage.

A successful dig is rarely about luck. It is about readiness.

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Cover Image, Top Left: JamesDeMers, Pixabay

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A Workplace Time Capsule: Archaeology in the Office Setting

Posted on January 5, 2026 by -

Sujain Thomas is a passionate freelance writer with a deep love for uncovering the past. Fascinated by archaeology, history, and the hidden stories of ancient civilizations, she enjoys bringing timeless knowledge to life through her writing. When she isn’t exploring historical topics, Sujain is often reading, traveling to heritage sites, or researching the cultural roots of modern life. She also contributes to resources like Plomberie 5 Étoiles that highlight expertise in modern plumbing and water systems.

Archaeology is widely associated with ancient ruins, lost civilizations, buried temples, and forgotten artifacts. However, archaeology is not limited to dusty landscapes or long-abandoned settlements. At its core, archaeology is the study of material culture—the physical objects people leave behind and what those objects reveal about society, behavior, and time.
When viewed through this lens, even the modern workplace becomes a rich archaeological landscape. From office layouts to discarded documents, from technology to coffee mugs, today’s offices silently document the patterns, values, and routines of contemporary human life.

This article explores how archaeologists interpret workplaces as cultural sites, what future researchers might uncover about our work habits, and how modern office environments—from open floor plans to the classic Office Cubicle—function as meaningful time capsules of the 21st-century professional world.

The Concept of Modern Archaeology

Modern archaeology has expanded far beyond excavations of antiquity. It now includes:

  • Contemporary archaeology
  • Industrial archaeology
  • Digital archaeology
  • Urban archaeology
  • Workplace and organizational archaeology

These branches examine how people live today—and how future generations might interpret our lifestyles based on the objects, structures, and digital traces we leave behind.

The idea that an everyday environment like an office could hold archaeological significance is rooted in a core principle: humans express culture through material things. Whether it is a clay pot or a laptop charger, objects reveal human habits, values, and relationships.

Why Offices Matter as Archaeological Sites

For centuries, workplaces have shaped human society—factories, farms, workshops, trading centers, and later, corporate offices. Today’s office is a social ecosystem defined by:

  • Roles and hierarchy
  • Technology
  • Rituals and routines
  • Spatial organization
  • Cultural and behavioral norms

Archaeologists study workplaces the same way they study villages or ancient settlements: by examining spaces, objects, and interactions.

Key Archaeological Questions Apply to Offices Too

  1. How is space used?
    Just as archaeologists study room layouts in ancient houses, they examine modern office design to understand work culture.
  2. What objects dominate the environment?
    Stone tools once revealed hunting patterns; today, keyboards, sticky notes, and ergonomic chairs reveal patterns of digital labor.
  3. What does the “debris” say about daily life?
    Trash bins, old documents, expired ID cards, coffee cups — these items tell an intimate story of how workers navigate their routine.
  4. How do people interact with their surroundings?
    Placement of personal objects, choice of workspace, and decoration style reflect individuality and cultural norms.

The Office as a Micro-Society

A workplace mirrors society on a smaller scale. Each office contains:

1. Social Hierarchies

Archaeologists studying ancient palaces and villages look for signs of power.
In offices, hierarchy appears through:

  • Private cabins for managers
  • Larger desks for senior staff
  • Assigned vs. hot-desking spaces
  • Access to technology or restricted areas

Spatial patterns reflect authority, decision-making power, and organizational values.

2. Rituals and Routines

Like religious or cultural rituals in ancient societies, modern offices have their own routines:

  • Morning coffee gathering
  • Weekly team meetings
  • End-of-month reporting cycles
  • Workplace celebrations and events

Archaeologists interpret these repetitive behaviors as cultural practices that shape identity and community.

3. Material Culture

Workplaces contain a vast collection of objects:

  • Stationery
  • Laptops, tablets, cables
  • Whiteboards with erased or partial notes
  • Coffee mugs with messages
  • Keycards, tags, access badges
  • Waste paper
  • Old manuals and training booklets

Each object holds clues about technology, habits, and social norms in the workplace.

What Future Archaeologists Might Discover About Us

Imagine a future researcher discovering a preserved office from 2024. What would they interpret about our society?

1. Digital Dependency

The presence of multiple screens, chargers, docking stations, headsets, and webcams would suggest a society heavily dependent on digital communication.

2. Pandemic Adaptation

Masks, sanitizer bottles, safety posters, and remote-work equipment would indicate a major global event that reshaped work culture.

3. Work-Life Balance Struggles

Objects such as stress balls, motivational posters, ergonomic chairs, and wellness reminder notes may suggest high-stress environments and a desire for mental balance.

4. Hybrid Work Culture

Sign-in logs, meeting rooms equipped for video calls, and hotel-style desks would show evidence of a shift between remote and in-person work.

5. Organizational Identity

Brand merch, lanyards, and internal communication documents provide insights into corporate culture and identity.

Office Layouts as Archaeological Landscapes

Archaeologists interpret office layouts much like they analyze ancient settlements. Spatial design reveals cultural patterns, productivity priorities, and beliefs about social interaction.

Open Office Layouts

Open spaces reflect a cultural shift toward collaboration, transparency, and multi-directional communication. However, cluttered desks or improvised partitions might suggest workers carving out personal boundaries.

Private Offices

Like chambers in ancient palaces, private rooms indicate authority, privacy needs, and organizational hierarchy.

Break Rooms and Social Zones

These are the “communal spaces” of the modern workplace—much like shared courtyards in ancient homes.

The Office Cubicle as Material Culture

The cubicle designs represents a major phase in workplace history, symbolizing:

  • The rise of corporate structures
  • The need for semi-private but controlled workspace
  • Efficiency-driven design trends
  • Standardized office environments

Archaeologists might interpret cubicles as artifacts of productivity culture, reflecting how modern workers balanced personal identity with corporate expectations.

Objects and Artifacts in the Modern Office

Archaeology thrives on the study of artifacts. In a modern office, the following categories are deeply meaningful:

1. Personal Items

  • Family photos
  • Plants
  • Decor
  • Inspirational quotes
    These objects reveal emotional needs, identity expressions, and personalization habits in the workplace.

2. Technological Artifacts

  • Old computers
  • USB drives
  • Office telephones
  • Printers and fax machines
    They document technological evolution and communication practices.

3. Ephemeral Materials

Notes, drafts, printed emails, sticky reminders, timelines, and calendars—though often temporary—are rich sources of information about workflow and cognitive processes.

4. Consumables

Coffee wrappers, snack packets, water bottles—these may seem trivial but reveal dietary habits, stress levels, time pressure, and cultural preferences.

The Office as a Living Excavation Site

Unlike ancient ruins, modern offices are active sites. Archaeologists can perform ethnographic observation, watching people interact with their spaces in real time.

This allows them to study:

Behavioral Patterns

  • How people navigate between desks
  • How teams use meeting rooms
  • How breaks are structured
  • How workers personalize space

Interaction with Technology

  • Frequency of device use
  • Collaboration tools
  • Digital storage vs. physical storage choices

The Flow of Materials

  • Document lifecycle (printing, marking, discarding)
  • Movement of supplies
  • Office maintenance patterns

Noise, Light, and Movement

These environmental factors influence how people behave—and leave material traces over time.

Office Waste as an Archaeological Goldmine

In archaeology, garbage tells powerful stories. Office waste bins reveal:

  • Productivity cycles
  • Stress periods
  • Consumption habits
  • Communication patterns
  • Document revision processes

A sudden spike in printed drafts may indicate important deadlines.
High coffee cup counts may reflect long working hours.
Discarded manuals may point to organizational restructuring.

Corporate Culture Through an Archaeological Lens

Like ancient civilizations, companies have:

  • Rituals
  • Symbols
  • Language
  • Belief systems
  • Hierarchies
  • Shared identity

Archaeologists can trace these cultural elements through:

Artifacts

Branded notebooks, employee badges, merchandise, recognition awards.

Writings

Internal newsletters, memos, manuals, and posters.

Architecture

Work zones, meeting pods, cubicles, and layout choices.

Behavioral Traces

Seating patterns, rearranged furniture, personalized decorations.

Corporate culture becomes a tapestry woven from all these material clues.

How Archaeology Can Improve Modern Workplaces

Archaeology doesn’t just analyze the past—it can improve the present.

1. Better Office Design

Understanding how people use space helps architects design more comfortable, culturally aligned workplaces.

2. Improved Workflow

Archaeological analysis of object placement, movement patterns, and material use can identify inefficiencies.

3. Employee Well-Being

Studying stress markers, personalization trends, and comfort needs helps companies build healthier environments.

4. Cultural Preservation

Companies can treat old documents, awards, or floor plans as heritage—preserving their history for future generations.

The Office as a Future Archaeological Treasure

Centuries from now, if archaeologists excavate modern office buildings, they might uncover:

  • Laptops as digital artifacts
  • Meeting rooms as ritual gathering spaces
  • Desks arranged like ancient workstations
  • Corporate identity materials interpreted as cultural symbols
  • Technology that becomes obsolete yet historically significant

Just as we uncover the daily life of ancient people through cooking pots and tools, future generations will uncover our work lives through keyboards, printers, and office layouts.

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The idea of archaeology in the office setting may seem unusual at first, but when examined closely, the workplace becomes a fascinating landscape filled with cultural, social, and historical meaning. Every object, ritual, layout, and behavior contributes to a modern-day time capsule—one that reflects how we work, communicate, socialize, and define ourselves in the 21st century.

The office is not just a place of labor; it is a cultural ecosystem that future archaeologists will study to understand our values, technologies, and way of life. Each desk tells a story, each document holds context, and each space preserves the memory of how we lived our professional lives.

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Cover Image, Top Left: MagicDesk, Pixabay

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Limb bones confirm the earliest discovered hominin walked on two legs

Posted on January 2, 2026 by -

American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS)—A re-examination of the femur and ulna of Sahelanthropus tchadensis, commonly regarded as the earliest known hominin, confirms that this species walked on two legs. The new study identifies 3 bone features associated with bipedal hominin hip and knee function that corroborate earlier findings. Classifying the features of suspected early bipeds – such as S. tchadensis, which lived roughly 7 million years ago – can help scientists understand the morphological phases of hominin evolution. Previously, analysis of a S. tchadensis cranium suggested this species carried its head like other bipeds do. Subsequent studies based on its partial ulnae and femur shafts also hinted at bipedalism. However, debate remained, because the species’ leg bones share some similarity with chimpanzee morphology. Here, Scott Williams and colleagues have re-examined those ulna and femur bones, examining their proportionality, size, and 3D morphology as compared with hominins and apes. Sizes were most similar to Pan genus apes, such as chimpanzees. However, proportions were more hominin-like. The bones further contained two features that are essential for bipedal knee and hip motion: strong femoral antetorsion and proxies for a gluteal complex. The femur had a tubercle, suggesting the existence of a ligament for bipedal gait stabilization. “Together, these features […] may represent some of the earliest adaptations to bipedalism in the hominin lineage,” Williams et al. write, noting that the species probably could still navigate arboreal landscapes with ease.

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S. tchadensis fossils (TM 266) compared to a chimpanzee and a human. Wiliams et al., Sci. Adv. 12, eadv0130

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The femoral tubercle, the insertion site of the superior band of the iliofemoral ligament. Wiliams et al., Sci. Adv. 12, eadv0130

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Article Source: AAAS news release.

*Earliest evidence of hominin bipedalism in Sahelanthropus tchadensis, Science Advances, 2-Jan-2026. www.science.org/doi/10.1126/sciadv.adv0130

Cover Image, Top Left: skull / casting / Sahelanthropus tchadensi, Rama, CC BY-SA 3.0 FR, Wikimedia Commons

Pigs settled Pacific islands alongside early human voyagers

Posted on January 1, 2026 by -

American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS)—Pigs across the Pacific can trace their ancestry to Southeast Asian domestic pigs that accompanied early Austronesian-speaking groups as they island-hopped across the region, according to a new genomic study*. For thousands of years, humans have moved animals far beyond their natural ranges – sometimes accidentally and sometimes deliberately, but often with profound ecological consequences, especially on islands. Pigs are a striking example; although their home ranges lie mostly west of the Wallace Line, multiple species are now widespread across the islands of Southeast Asia and throughout Oceania. Archaeological and genetic evidence suggest that pigs were brought eastward more than 4,000 years ago, predating major Austronesian migrations, with later human expansions bringing them farther across the Pacific. However, studies show that endemic pigs in these regions carry a distinctive “Pacific Clade” genetic signature, which is shared by wild and free-living pigs elsewhere across mainland Southeast Asia. This pattern raises questions about the precise nature of the origin and dispersal of pig populations across the Pacific, and humans’ role in it.

To trace the origins of pigs across Wallacea, Melanesia, Micronesia, and Polynesia, David Stanton and colleagues sequenced 117 modern, historical, and ancient pig genomes spanning the last 2,900 years, and analyzed tooth shape data from 401 modern and 313 archaeological specimens. Stanton et al. found that pigs from the Philippines to Hawaii largely descended from domestic pigs brought by Austronesian-speaking groups from Southeast China and Taiwan about 4,000 years ago. Moreover, pigs in Oceania show no genetic mixing with the wild pig species native to islands along the migration route, indicating that the earliest introduced animals remained genetically isolated from local populations. Only later did isolated feral populations interbreed with endemic wild species. According to the authors, this pattern mirrors early, successive human migrations across the region, which likewise involved limited admixture with local groups, suggesting that these pigs possessed domestic traits well suited for transport and husbandry. Repeated island-to-island movement then shaped their evolution through genetic bottlenecks, selective pressures, and later gene flow, helping explain their success in spreading across Island Southeast Asia and the western Pacific.

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Above and below: prehistoric cave paintings of Sulawesi warty pigs from Leang Tedongnge Cave, Sulawesi, Indonesia. Dated to at least 45,000 years old, making these some of the oldest known cave art in the world and demonstrate the long-standing relationship between pigs and people in the region. Adam Brumm (Griffith University) and Adhi Agus Oktaviana (BRIN, Indonesia)

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Article Source: AAAS news release.

*Genomic and morphometric evidence for Austronesian-mediated pig translocation in the Pacific, Science, 1-Jan-2026. www.science.org/doi/10.1126/science.adv4963

Researchers have discovered the earliest deliberate cremation in Africa, dating to 9,500 years ago

Posted on January 1, 2026 by -

American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS)—A new study* presents what may be the earliest known intentional cremation in Africa to date. The evidence shows that, roughly 9,500 years ago, hunter-gatherers came together to build a pyre and arrange the body of a small female for cremation. Uncovered in present-day Malawi, the event signifies that these people undertook elaborate, communal mortuary practices. Traces of deliberate cremation are rare in hunter-gatherer groups prior to the mid-Holocene. Until now, the oldest cremations – confirmed by the presence of a pyre alongside additional indicators – have dated back to roughly 3,300 years ago during the Pastoral Neolithic. Now, Jessica Cerezo-Román and colleagues have uncovered a prehistoric pyre containing a small adult female’s remains that bear osteological marks of perimortem defleshing and post-burn manipulation. The discovery portrays a meticulously planned event performed by African hunter-gatherers roughly 9,500 years ago at the Hora 1 site. Spatial reconstructions of the site further revealed that the society revisited the location afterwards and built more large fires. This suggests the group not only invested in communal burial rituals, but also maintained a longer tradition based on their shared memory of the event. “These practices emphasize complex mortuary and ritual activities with origins predating the advent of food production, and challenge traditional assumptions about community-scale cooperation and memory-making in tropical hunter-gatherer societies,” Cerezo-Román et al. write.

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Map and image of Hora. Jessica Thompson

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Hora 1 site under excavation. Jessica Thompson

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Microscopic ash layers. Flora Schilt

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Pyre points cropped. Justin Pargeter

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Article Source: AAAS news release.

*Earliest Evidence for Intentional Cremation of Human Remains in Africa, Science Advances, 1-Jan-2026.  www.science.org/doi/10.1126/sciadv.adz9554

Cover Image, Top Left: Hora Mountain from afar.  Jacob Davis

How Archaeological Discoveries Are Changing Transportation Planning in Canada

Posted on December 23, 2025 by -

Preeth Vinod Jethwani is a seasoned SEO specialist based in Dhule, India, with a Master’s degree in English Literature. Her academic background in language and communication fuels her strategic approach to digital marketing. With over 5 years of hands-on experience in Guest Posting, Niche Edits, Link Building, and Local SEO, she helps websites grow their organic reach with precision and purpose. When not optimizing content or building backlinks, she shares insights and tips at AskPreeto.com.

Canada’s transportation network—its highways, rail corridors, urban streets, and rural access roads—may look modern on the surface, but beneath it lies thousands of years of human history. As archaeological research advances and Indigenous heritage protection gains legal recognition, archaeological discoveries are increasingly influencing how transportation planning is approached across the country. From rerouting highways to redesigning urban infrastructure, archaeology now plays a vital role in shaping Canada’s mobility future.

Understanding the Link Between Archaeology and Transportation

Long before cars, trucks, or railways existed, Indigenous communities developed sophisticated transportation systems. These included seasonal trails, river routes, portage paths, and trade corridors that connected regions for commerce, migration, and cultural exchange. Archaeological findings help modern planners understand where these historic routes existed and why they were chosen—often due to terrain stability, water access, or environmental efficiency.

Many modern roads unintentionally follow these ancient pathways. Archaeologists use tools such as ground-penetrating radar, historical mapping, and artifact analysis to identify these routes, providing valuable insight before new transportation projects begin.

Legal Requirements and Cultural Preservation

In Canada, transportation projects must comply with federal, provincial, and Indigenous heritage protection laws. Environmental and cultural impact assessments now routinely include archaeological evaluations. When artifacts, burial grounds, or historic travel routes are discovered, planners are legally obligated to reassess designs.

This has led to:

  • Highway realignments to avoid sacred sites
  • Delays in construction timelines to allow excavation and documentation
  • Redesigns of bridges and tunnels to minimize land disturbance

These measures ensure that development does not erase irreplaceable cultural history while still supporting modern transportation needs.

Case Studies Across Canada

British Columbia and Indigenous Trade Routes

In British Columbia, archaeological evidence of ancient coastal and inland trade routes has influenced highway expansion projects. Some corridors were adjusted after discoveries revealed long-used Indigenous travel networks aligned with rivers and mountain passes.

Ontario’s Urban Transit Developments

Toronto’s transit expansions have uncovered artifacts dating back thousands of years. Rather than halting progress, planners collaborated with archaeologists to preserve findings while continuing development, integrating heritage interpretation into station design.

Alberta’s Transportation Planning Challenges

Alberta, particularly around Calgary, presents unique challenges due to rapid urban growth combined with historically significant land use. Archaeological discoveries related to Indigenous hunting routes and settlement patterns have required transportation planners to adopt more flexible, consultative approaches when designing new roadways and access routes.

Technology Improving Archaeological Integration

Modern technology allows archaeologists and planners to work together more efficiently than ever before. Geographic Information Systems (GIS), LiDAR scanning, and predictive modeling help identify high-risk archaeological zones before construction begins.

This proactive approach:

  • Reduces costly project delays
  • Improves community trust
  • Enables smarter land-use decisions

Transportation planning is no longer just about speed and efficiency—it’s about respecting the layered history beneath Canada’s landscapes.

Impact on Travel and Vehicle Use

As transportation routes shift or become more environmentally sensitive, travelers increasingly adapt how they explore archaeological and heritage sites. Many historic locations are in rural or semi-remote areas, requiring reliable transportation that can handle diverse terrain and long distances.

For residents and visitors in Alberta, especially those exploring heritage corridors near Calgary, a used SUV often provides the flexibility and durability needed to navigate both modern highways and heritage access roads while aligning with sustainable vehicle ownership practices.

Sustainability and Long-Term Planning

Archaeological awareness also contributes to sustainable transportation planning. By learning how ancient communities adapted to climate, terrain, and natural resources, modern planners gain insight into long-term resilience strategies.

Ancient routes often avoided flood zones, unstable soil, and environmentally sensitive areas—lessons that are increasingly relevant as Canada faces climate change challenges. Incorporating archaeological knowledge helps create transportation systems that are both durable and environmentally responsible.

Collaboration with Indigenous Communities

One of the most significant shifts in Canadian transportation planning is the growing collaboration with Indigenous communities. Archaeological findings are no longer interpreted in isolation; they are contextualized with oral histories and cultural knowledge.

This collaborative approach ensures:

  • Respect for Indigenous rights
  • More accurate historical interpretation
  • Infrastructure projects that benefit local communities

Transportation planning becomes a shared process rather than a purely technical one.

Looking Ahead: A Balanced Future

Archaeological discoveries are reshaping how Canada thinks about progress. Rather than viewing history as an obstacle, planners increasingly see it as a guide. By integrating archaeological insights into transportation design, Canada is building systems that honor the past while supporting future mobility.

As urban expansion continues and infrastructure demands grow, archaeology will remain a crucial component of responsible transportation planning—ensuring that the roads Canadians travel every day respect the stories buried beneath them.

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Cover Image, Top Left: jmj2362, Pixabay

Art, Archaeology, and the Way We Learn to Look

Posted on December 22, 2025 by -

Anastasia Adeler is a writer and contributor to Popular Archaeology Magazine on travel and museums. She is the founder and author of Living Rooms, a slow journalism magazine. 

Here he is, sitting very close to the glass case. So close that only the glass remains between him and the objects — a thin, almost conditional boundary. His back is slightly hunched, his hands lowered, his legs placed calmly, like someone who did not intend to stay, but did.

In front of him are small ancient figures, vessels, fragments of bodies, fragments of ritual — fragments of time. They are arranged as interlocutors. There are many of them, they vary in scale, and each one requires a different kind of attention. He does not rush. His gaze settles. He sits as if engaged in a long conversation that began long before this evening.

In the reflection of the glass, his figure doubles. One version of him is present inside the newly opened galleries of the Princeton University Art Museum. The other appears inside the vitrine, among the artifacts. The reflection becomes part of the scene: the human body enters the exhibition, and the exhibition enters his memory.

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A visitor contemplating the collection at the Princeton University Art Museum. Photo credit: Anastasia Adeler

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At this moment, space functions directly.

Posture, distance, light, and time align.

Time loosens its linear grip and begins to behave differently.

This is where the new Princeton University Art Museum begins.

It begins with proximity.

With stillness.

With a person encountering objects that have endured beyond individual life, beyond era, beyond language.

This photograph holds the logic of a museum that has reopened after years of reconstruction as a space for human presence. What matters here is both what is shown and how one is allowed to occupy and move through the space.

I stood there longer than I expected. Watching him. Watching the way his body leaned toward the glass, the way time gathered around that small circle of attention. And only then did I realize that this was not the beginning of my experience in the museum. It was the point where everything I had already passed through slowly converged.

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Before that moment, there was my physical approach.

The walk across campus at dusk — stone paths darkened by moisture, bicycles resting against iron railings, the Gothic silhouettes of Princeton receding into shadow. The museum revealed itself gradually. Not as an isolated object, but as part of the fabric of the place. A mural appeared first — graphic, deliberate, integrated into the exterior rather than applied to it. It signaled that this building was willing to speak visually, but without noise.

The entrance did not separate inside from outside abruptly. It eased you across that threshold. Glass, stone, wood guided the transition. The door opened into space rather than into a hall.

And then there was the floor.

Beneath glass, a Roman mosaic extended underfoot, not lifted onto a wall, not framed as a distant artifact. You walked over it, instinctively slowing down, adjusting your step. The museum established its relationship with the body immediately. History was not placed at eye level. It was placed where you stood.

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Photo credit: Anastasia Adeler

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Photo credit: Anastasia Adeler

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The interior unfolded with restraint. Clean lines, careful proportions, surfaces that absorbed sound instead of reflecting it. The warmth of wood above balanced the coolness of stone and terrazzo below. Light entered from multiple directions, filtered, angled, never overwhelming. You could feel how much attention had been given to how the space would be used at different hours of the day.

As I moved inward, I noticed how the building avoided symmetry as a principle. Corridors shifted. Views opened sideways. Galleries revealed themselves in sequence rather than alignment. You were never placed on a single axis. You were always slightly off-center — a participant rather than an observer.

This design choice echoed what I would later see again and again: people inhabiting the museum rather than passing through it.

Someone sat near a window with a sketchbook.

Someone paused at the edge of a gallery, leaning lightly against the wall.

Someone stood alone, hands in pockets, looking upward.

The space accommodated these gestures naturally.

It was only later, standing in front of that vitrine, watching the man who had become part of the scene, that I understood how deliberately this experience had been shaped. The architecture had already taught me how to be there. How to slow down. How to stay.

That photograph, taken later, holds the result of this sequence.

But the sequence began the moment I stepped inside. Details begin to surface as you move deeper inside.

The staircases do not dominate the space. They appear when they are needed, widening slightly at landings, allowing people to pause without stepping aside. Railings feel measured to the hand. Steps carry a shallow rise that slows the body without announcing the intention. You become aware of your own pace through movement rather than instruction.

Walls hold their distance. Some surfaces come close, others pull back, creating a subtle play of compression and release. The proportions shift just enough to register in the body. You sense when a gallery is meant for standing, when for sitting, when for staying longer.

Furniture is sparse and precise. Chairs and benches appear near windows, beside thresholds, at the edges of rooms. They are aligned with views-  sometimes inward toward objects, sometimes outward toward trees and stone paths beyond the glass. When someone sits, they do not disappear from the space. They become part of its composition.

Light works quietly but decisively. It falls from above in long planes, grazes walls, settles into corners. In some galleries, it sharpens contours; in others, it softens surfaces. Objects respond differently depending on where you stand. A step to the side changes everything.

Through the windows, Princeton continues. Trees move slightly. A tower catches the last light. Students pass in clusters and then thin out. These scenes remain present without pulling attention away. They form a steady backdrop, grounding the interior in lived time.

Floor surfaces guide movement almost imperceptibly. Terrazzo shifts in tone. Stone carries weight. The transition from one material to another marks a change in focus. You feel it before you recognize it.

Even the glass behaves thoughtfully. Reflections appear and fade depending on angle and light. At times, you see yourself layered over an object. At other moments, the glass disappears entirely. The museum allows these overlaps to happen without correction.

What becomes evident is how carefully the building anticipates people who arrive alone.

People who move slowly.

People who return to the same object.

People who sit without checking the time.

Nothing interrupts these behaviors. The design absorbs them.

Standing there, moving from detail to detail, you realize that the museum does not rely on scale to establish authority. It relies on consistency. On decisions repeated across rooms, floors, and thresholds. On a shared understanding of how attention works when it is respected.

It is within this accumulation of details that the larger structure begins to make sense — and it is from here that the path naturally leads toward the collections themselves, where objects carry their own weight of time.

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Photo credit: Anastasia Adeler

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Princeton Collects

Princeton Collects reads as a conversation assembled over time. The exhibition does not aim to summarize the museum’s holdings. Instead, it traces how a collection comes into being — through attention, commitment, and continuity.

The space is composed with restraint. Works appear at intervals that allow each of them to hold its own ground. Paintings, drawings, objects, fragments — each is given enough room to establish presence before entering into dialogue with the next. The gallery does not rush the eye.

People move through the gallery in varied ways. Some drift laterally, tracing visual connections. Others remain with a single piece, stepping back and forward, adjusting their distance. These movements feel unforced. The room accommodates them.

I noticed how often visitors approached a work before turning to its label. Looking happened first. Reading followed later, if at all. The design supports this order naturally. The objects set the tempo.

Scale becomes one of the guiding forces. A small drawing draws the body inward. A larger canvas pulls the gaze across the wall. Surface matters here. Pigment thickens. Lines hesitate or assert themselves. Materials respond differently to light, and the light gives each of them time.

Color plays a subtle role. The walls carry tones that hold the works steady rather than framing them theatrically. Frames sit comfortably within the architecture. Nothing calls attention to itself more than necessary.

What emerges is an understanding of collecting as an ongoing practice rather than a completed gesture. Objects acquired decades apart share space without hierarchy. The distances between them feel intentional, as if each work were placed with awareness of what it would encounter across the room.

Princeton Collects makes visible the idea that a university museum is shaped as much by patience as by vision. The exhibition does not attempt to impress. It allows relationships to surface gradually between objects, between generations of viewers, between moments of attention separated by years.

From here, the transition toward the ancient feels natural. The eye has learned how to stay. The body has learned how to wait. The next galleries deepen that experience by extending it across centuries.

Ancient Mediterranean Art

The transition into the Ancient Mediterranean Art galleries happens almost imperceptibly. The atmosphere thickens. Stone begins to register differently. Surfaces hold weight, not only visually, but physically — through texture, scale, and proximity.

Relief fragments, vessels, carved elements, architectural pieces occupy the space with a grounded confidence. Their placement allows the body to move close, then step back, then return again. The experience unfolds through distance rather than instruction.

The false door from the tomb of the Egyptian priestess Ankh-Hathor holds a central position. Its surface carries layers of intention — ritual, passage, belief shaped through stone. Carved as a threshold, it suggests movement without requiring it. The object remains still, yet its meaning is spatial. You stand before it as one would stand before an entrance.

The carving reveals itself gradually. Lines deepen. Figures emerge through shadow and light. What first appears decorative settles into structure. The stone records hands, tools, repetition. Time becomes legible through labor.

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Example of an Egyptian false door displayed at the Louvre, France. CC BY-SA 3.0, Wikimedia Commons

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Nearby objects extend this material conversation. Ceramic forms carry the memory of use. Their proportions align with the human hand. Their surfaces retain subtle irregularities, traces of making rather than perfection. These are objects shaped through familiarity, through daily contact.

Light plays an essential role here. It settles across stone and clay without flattening them. Shadows collect in incisions and folds. A slight shift in position alters the reading of a surface. You begin to understand that these works ask for patience.

People respond instinctively. They slow. They lean in. They circle back.

The gallery avoids theatrical framing. Instead, it allows material to lead. Stone remains stone. Clay remains clay. Meaning accumulates through attention rather than explanation.

In this context, archaeology feels immediate. The distance between then and now compresses. Objects cease to function as evidence alone. They regain their status as things that once existed within lived space — touched, carried, placed, returned to.

Standing there, you become aware of how the museum supports this encounter. The proportions of the room hold the body comfortably. Sightlines remain clear. The architecture does not compete with the objects. It gives them room to speak through their own weight.

This section deepens what began earlier in the building. The museum’s understanding of attention extends across centuries. The ancient is not isolated. It is integrated into a continuous field of looking, making, and preserving.

From here, the presence of conservation feels inevitable — the work that allows these objects to remain present, available, and cared for. 

Conservation Studios

The Conservation Studios extend the logic of the galleries into a different register of time. Here, attention shifts from what has endured to how endurance is sustained.

Behind glass walls, work unfolds in plain sight. Objects rest on supports shaped precisely to their contours. Paintings lie flat under measured light. Tools are arranged with economy. Hands move with familiarity and care. Nothing here feels provisional. Everything suggests continuity.

Visitors stop without prompting. Some remain longer than expected. The studios hold their gaze not through activity alone, but through concentration. Watching conservation work becomes a lesson in scale — the scale of gesture, of time invested, of responsibility carried forward.

What stands out is the absence of separation between scholarship and care. Conservation is presented as part of the museum’s public life, embedded rather than concealed. The process belongs to the same architectural rhythm as the galleries themselves.

From certain angles, reflections overlap. The conservator’s hands align with an object’s surface. The glass catches fragments of surrounding space. These moments collapse distance between observer and work, reinforcing the idea that preservation is not abstract. It is physical, sustained, human.

The studios also recalibrate how one understands the objects just seen. Stone reliefs, ceramic vessels, painted surfaces now carry an additional layer of meaning. Their continued presence is no longer assumed. It is earned through labor, knowledge, and restraint.

Students pause here. Scholars linger. Visitors return after moving on. The space accommodates repeated encounters, acknowledging that understanding deepens through revisiting rather than completion.

In this part of the museum, time stretches forward. Conservation speaks to the future as much as to the past. Objects remain active participants in an ongoing exchange — studied, maintained, prepared for encounters yet to come.

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Leaving the studios, you carry a heightened awareness of what it takes for a museum to function as a place of trust. The galleries depend on this work quietly, consistently, without display.

From here, the experience begins to fold back on itself. What you have seen gains weight. What you have noticed sharpens. The museum prepares you, gently, for departure.

The author, Anastasia Adeler

By the time I left the museum, the light outside had changed. The campus looked familiar again, but something in my pace did not. I carried with me the image of that man I noticed earlier — sitting still, slightly leaning forward, his attention fixed, his hands quiet at his sides. I never learned what he was thinking. A place he once belonged to? A person he loved? A life he lived before this one? A friendship? A loss? Or a memory that had waited patiently for the right moment to return? I only know that the museum gave him space to think at all. This, perhaps, is the museum’s most lasting gesture. It does not rush the visitor toward conclusions. It allows encounters to unfold at a human tempo — between object and memory, between form and feeling. Ancient works do not sit behind time; contemporary ones do not compete for relevance. They coexist in a shared present, not asking for any interpretation. 

As I walked away, I realized that the experience had followed me outward. The questions stayed open. The attention remained intact.

Unlike the majority of other places, The Princeton University Art Museum stays with you because of how you are taught to look.