Gender & Italian Archaeology
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the context of evidence from other spheres. This evidence of manipulation may correspond to increasing concern with the production of corporate descent groups, lineages or other communities or sub-groups as suggested by Robb (1994a: 49ff) for southern Italy and by others dealing with the Neolithic elsewhere (e.g. Chapman 1981 ; Thomas & Whittle 1986). This suggests different spatialities to those described for the earlier Epipalaeolithic burials, as does the evidence in much of Neolithic southern Italy for separation of activities such as not only the procurement but also the consumption of wild animals. Remains of these are extremely rare at most settlement sites, but evidenced at other locations whether associated with 'cults' e.g. the later Neoltihic (Serra d'Alto) hypogeum at Santa Barbara, (PUG: Geniola 1987; Whitehouse 1985; 1992; 1996; Geniola 1987), or at apparently more utilitarian hunting sites e.g. Riparo della Sperlinga di S. Basilio (SIC: Biduttu 1971; Cavalier 1971). One interpretation may wish to link these to newly or differently gendered zones or landscapes (see below). ART, GENDER AND TEMPORALITIES In southern Italy there is a rich corpus of earlier prehistoric cave art, parietal and mobiliary, ranging from LUP incised representations on cave walls and engraved designs on stones and bones; probable Mesolithic incised lines and painted pebbles; and Neolithic wall paintings in caves (Pluciennik 1996). Here I shall concentrate on two caves in northwest Sicilia; a place where there is both LUP (i.e. from c. 18000-9000 cal. BC) and later prehistoric art, including paintings in caves from the Neolithic, perhaps at around 6000 or 7000 years ago. These are the Grotta Addaura II, a relatively open location near Palermo, and the more hidden inner chamber of the Grotta del Genovese on the island of Levanzo off north west Sicilia. These are isolated, though not unique examples, but we cannot talk about an integrated corpus of work, or easily compare and contrast within a widespread genre, even if we could assign rough contemporaneity. Grotta dell'Addaura II Despite poor dating evidence for the representations at this cave, material from the excavations perhaps suggests they are 10-12000 years old (Bovio Marconi 1953a). Many parts of the surface show evidence of repeated incision, perhaps also erasure as well as erosion, producing a palimpsest of humans and animals and other lines, without apparent syntax. Most of the interpretations of this cave art have centred on a unique 'scene' (fig. 3) in which various masked or beaked vertical figures surround two horizontal ones, one (H5) above the other (H6), with beak-like penes or penis-sheaths, and cords or straps between their buttocks and backs. These central figures could be flying or floating, and have been described as 'acrobats'. Bovio Marconi (1953a: 12) first suggested that the central figures were engaged in an act of homosexual copulation, but later preferred to emphasise her suggestion of acrobatic feats, though still connected with a virility ritual (1953b). The act of hanging also leads to penile erection and ejaculation; and in the 1950s Chiapella (1954) and Blanc (1954; 1955) linked this with human sacrifice, death and fertility rites. All of these interpretations of this scene are generally ethnographically plausible. Rituals of masturbation (sometimes of berdaches, men who lived as women) are recorded from North America, where the consequent dispersal of semen on ground symbolised natural fertility (Fulton & Anderson 1992: 609, note 19). In modern Papua New Guinea ritual fellatio was used in initiation ceremonies as a way of giving male-associated sexual power to boys becoming men (Herdt 1984) and this ethnographic analogy has been used by Tim Yates (1993) in his interpretation of rock art in Scandinavia, which has figures with penes, and figures without: he argues in a very unFreudian manner that to be penis-less is not necessarily a female prerogative.
of the house, both practically and symbolically — a role which links women, not only with the traditional concept of hearth and home, but also indicates her authority and control in that sphere (Bonomi & Ruta Serafini 1994). Keys and women are further symbolised in religious iconography, as we will see later. Sex The depiction of love-making, on both beds and chairs, is very graphically represented in situla art (fig. 6). Boardman wrote that "love-making has iconographie conventions like any other . . . whether the intention is pleasure, display, procreation or cult" and indeed all these explanations have been offered as explanation for such scenes in situla art. I would concur with Boardman and Bonfante that these depictions are purely secular (Boardman 1971; Bonfante 1981), rather than ritual, as suggested by Kastelic and Eibner. The scene on the Castelvetro mirror (fig. 6, 1), which, as we have seen, is for Kastelic a hieros gamos, could, perhaps, be more plausibly can be read in the form of a strip cartoon, in which a rider arrives on horseback, a prostitute is procured, with price being negotiated between a man and a woman — with the women holding up two fingers the man one — and the act subsequently carried out after further arrangements between a woman and a seated man. In all probability this was a recognisable story, perhaps related to the one about the inn-keeper's daughter still celebrated in Italian popular song, or, if we take into account the link between this and Etruscan mirrors, perhaps even some myth or legend. Even though the bed is in the form of the Urnfield bird-headed sun-boat, since the latter is such a common decorative motif, it cannot be used to interpret this as a religious image. The fact that this 'tale' is depicted on a mirror, which one presumes was a female item, is rather surprising and suggests that, either it was intended as a gift for a high class prostitute, or can be seen a rather crude allusion to sex on a gift for a more respectable woman. Whatever the interpretation, there is surely some relationship between the mirror, as an object of self adornment, and the subject matter depicted on it, which again follows the tendency of situla art to relate decoration to the function of the object. This and other depictions of love-making, rich in the sensuous detail of vibrating mattresses and pubic hair, indeed are more redolent of an earthy Italic sense of enjoyment than any religious allusion to sacred marriage. Such sexually explicit designs are comparable with Eruscan tomb painting and may reflect the open sexuality held to be characteristic of Etruscan women, which was commented on by Theopompus in the 4th century BC (Bonfante 1994). We can conclude that women may be shown in mainly subservient roles on the situlae because these were used in the context of male entertainment and festivals, but on the rattle they appear in a more productive light. The mirror, certainly belonging to someone with wealth, if not respectability, carries a more uncertain message. On Greek red figure drinking cups, objects of male use, we sometime find a duality of the representation of the hetairai and the virtuous wife, sometimes on the same cup, with the latter, incidentally, often engaged in spinning or weaving (Beard 1991: 28- 9). Female deities The representation of a goddess with the keys, as well as animals, is found in situla art on five votive plaques probably found in a hoard near Montebelluna (Fogolari 1956) (fig. 7). The figure, accompanied by both plants and animals, is, according to Fogolari, probably a fertility goddess, Pothnia theron — a Venetic equivalent of Demeter — carrying the key to both the opening of the fertility of plants and help in the birth of animals and women (Fogolari 1956). Keys, however, as we have seen, are also found in female graves in the area, where they suggest the role of women as keepers of the household, a role which may also have been sanctioned in the supernatural world (Bonomi & Ruta Serafini 1994).
lack a penis she has the joy (Jouissence) of her own embodied knowledge. In the same move 'the masculine' is relieved of the fear of castration, he need no longer define himself in relation to a mythical order. The perpetual, fearful repetition of masculist discourse can be replaced by fluid, multiple, contextual possibilities. We need to construct new desiring subjects in the ruins of the phallogocentrically enforced dualism. (Braidotti 1994b: 56) For archaeologists the potential of these new embodied subjectivities is enormous. In subversive moves we are freed to think in completely different ways as completely different knowing subjects, we are no longer fixed as masculine or feminine, in relation to reason and emotion, active or passive. In this new pre-phallocentric conceptual framework there are no dichotomous value structures in place, multiplicity and fluidity rule. When we identify ourselves as whole, complex agents, actively engaging with the social and cultural gendered categories we deny the confines of phallocentric opposition. The starting point for the project of sexual difference is the political will to assert the specificity of the lived female bodily experience . . . the project of sexual difference engages a will to reconnect the whole debate on difference to the bodily experience of women. (Braidotti 1994b: 140) I do not naively believe that simply by wishing the dichotomous structures away that they will disappear, but that we can disrupt the taken-for-granted nature of these phallocentric erections by asserting gendered locations which express multiplicity at the same time as asserting confident embodied knowledge. In this way the feminine will no longer be that which is lacking. As Judith Butler says: The feminine marks the limit of representability which would undo the pre-suppositions of representation itself. (Butler 1993b: 19) As academic archaeologists we are of course enmeshed in the symbols and meanings of the dominant masculist discourse, and in consequence we have 'known' ourselves and the world we live in relation to androcentric, phallocentric and heterosexual norms. If we are to tell radically different stories about the material culture with which we work we must make a terrifying leap into the interpretative spaces which are as yet largely inexpressible. We will use words which are already occupied by masculist meanings, and 'describe' social engagements in terms already dominated by the central, invasive phallus. We will in short be misunderstood. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS