The Use of Ethnoarchaeology for the Archaeological Study of Ceramic Production

Author(s): Cathy Lynne Costin

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Source: Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory, Vol. 7, No. 4 (Dec., 2000), pp. 377-403
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Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory, Vol. 7, No. 4, 2000

The Use of Ethnoarchaeology for the Archaeological

Study of Ceramic Production
Cathy Lynne Costin1

Ethnoarchaeological studies have longed served as a critical source of hypothe

ses, comparative data, and explanatory frameworks for archaeologists interested
in describing and explaining ceramic production. In this paper, I lay out the cen
tral questions addressed by archaeologists studying craft production, discuss how
ethnoarchaeology has contributed to our understanding of ancient production
systems, and suggest avenues of further research that can benefit archaeological
investigation of the organization of ceramic production.
KEY WORDS: production; specialization; ceramics; potters; crafts.

INTRODUCTION

The explicitly stated goal of ethnoarchaeology is to provide ethnographic

data and explications of those data that are of direct relevance to the interpretation
of archaeological materials and tomodel-building in archaeological practice (cf.
Donnan and Clewlow, 1974; Kramer, 1979, p. 4, 1985; Schiffer, 1987, pp. 229,
230; Schwarz, 1978, p. vii). In this paper, I will comment on some of the areas
where the papers in this issue and select other recent ethnoarchaeological studies
have contributed to studies of ceramic production, and suggest some direction for
future ethnoarchaeological research on pottery manufacture.
In suggesting how ethnoarchaeological data and the conclusions drawn from
them might be most usefully applied in studies of ancient ceramic production, I
structure the discussion around the three basic objectives of archaeological research
on ceramic production. The first is to completely describe
specific production sys
tems. Production can be characterized as a system comprising six interconnected
components: artisans, means of production (raw materials and technology), princi
ples of spatial and social organization, finished goods, principles and mechanisms

'
Department of Anthropology, California State University, California 91330.
Northridge,

377

1072-5369/00/1200-0377$)8.00/0? 2000 PlenumPublishingCorporation

378 Costin

of distribution, and consumers (see Costin, in press, for a full discussion). The
second objective is to explain why those historically specific systems have'devel
oped (technologically and organizationally) and changed as they have. The third
objective is to identify and explain cross-cultural regularities and variability in
production systems.
To meet these objectives, archaeological studies of craft production address
a set of explicit or implicit questions about the character and organizing principles
of the production system. These are as follows:

Was production "specialized"? The definition of specialization has re

cently been much debated (e.g., Clark, 1995), but an over-riding concern
among archaeologists studying production iswhether all households made
a particular item for their own use, or whether a subset of producers man
ufactured a particular category of goods for transfer to and use by a larger
group of nonproducers. Changes in the division of labor have long been
tied to the rise of political and social complexity (e.g., Brumfiel and Earle,
1987; Childe, 1950). More recently, the relationship between the division
of labor and the nature of social relations relations has come to the fore
(e.g., Costin, 1998b).
What was the constitution of the production units? Archaeologists are in
terested in distinguishing between household and nonhousehold based pro
duction; differentiating "workshops" (however defined and identified) from
other kinds of production units; and approximating the basic size and com
position of work groups. Such differences are of interest because they re
flect the organization of labor, the social relations of production, economic
networks, and social complexity.
How intensive was production? Linked to the first question, this one is
directed at gauging whether production was part-time or full-time. Now
recognized as a continuum rather than a dichotomy, the distinction is tied to
broader issues of work scheduling and the expansion of societal complexity.
Where did the locus of control lie? Increasingly, archaeologists are inter
ested in determining who was empowered tomake decisions about resource
procurement and use, technology, visual content, and the distribution of fin
ished goods. The answers to these questions tie studies of craft production
into broader issues of political economy and social control, among other
things.
What was the social identity of the artisans ?Fundamentally, archaeologists
interested in this principle of organization seek to identify artisans by gen
der and class. This question relates directly to issues of social organization,
social power, artistic point of view, and communication.

To answer these questions, archaeologists have three basic types of archaeo

logical data available: the objects themselves (and theirmaterial, technological, and
stylistic attributes); the debris from production activities; and the physical contexts
The Study of Ceramic Production 379

Descriptive OrganizingPrinciple
Inferences -
description
-
explanation

ObjectAttributes Specializationof labor

ForaiaJ/stylistii

> Constitutionof Production

Technological. Units

Intensityof Production

Locus of Control
In situ debrisand production
features
Identitiesof Artisans
Context of Production*

Fig. 1. Chart illustrating the flow of inference in reconstructing ancient production systems, from
data to organizing principles.

from which the objects and debris were recovered. From these three types of data,
archaeologists make descriptive inferences about certain qualities of the artifact
assemblages and the location of production, and from these inferences reconstruct
the organizing principles of the production system (Fig. 1). Arnold (2000) points
out thatmany of the links between organizational characteristics (principles) and
archaeological "index criteria" (descriptive inferences) remain speculative. Eth
noarchaeological examination of many assumptions about the links between be
havior and material patterning is necessary to strengthen these ties.
As should be apparent from the way inferences progress (as outlined inFig. 1),
before the organizing principles are inferred from key descriptive inferences, there
is also a more fundamental set of questions that ought to be addressed in studies
of production systems:

Why is production located where it is?

Why were particular means of production (resources, technologies) chosen
by artisans?

I now consider how the papers collected in this issue and select other ethnoar
chaeological studies have contributed to our ability to answer these seven questions
and others similar to them.

MEANS OF PRODUCTION AND TECHNOLOGICAL CHOICE

The means of production comprises raw materials and the technology (knowl
edge and tools) used to transform raw materials into usable, culturally meaningful
goods. Also to be considered here are intangibles such as principles of resource
procurement, and principles of access to tools and knowledge (e.g., the sociopoli
tics of the learning environment).
 380 Costin

Archaeologists regularly use analyses of the means of production?

particularly raw materials and technology?to infer characteristics of production
such as labor investment, skill, and standardization (Fig. 1). These descriptive
inferences are then used to reconstruct organizing principles such as the special
ization of labor, the constitution of production units, and locus of control within
the production system. Thus, it is essential to understand why potters make the
production choices they do.

Why Do People Use the Particular Resources They Do?

Many archaeological studies use analyses of raw material variation to investi

gate aspects of the organization of production such as the degree of specialization.
Yet, as Rice (1996, pp. 168, 169) has pointed out, archaeologists haven't clearly
addressed what compositional patterning really means in terms of social behav
ior:Are the groupings in the data "economic" (i.e., workshops), social, or political
units? As discussed later, the papers assembled in this issue suggest that the answer
to the question is, "all of the above."
Arnold (2000) points out that the more fundamental issues of the causes
of paste variability and the reason(s) particular resources were selected must be
dealt with before higher order organizational principles such as the control of pro
duction and the constitution of production units are inferred from compositional
data. Many archaeologists take Arnold's (Arnold, 1985) observation that potters
use resources close to where they work and assume that potters simply used the
closest resources. However, as many ethnoarchaeological studies have demon
strated, clay procurement strategies are complex. For example, Bishop et al (1982)
have proposed five strategies for selecting raw materials: (1) use equally available
clays without discriminating among them; (2) preferentially choose from among
equally available clays; (3) use more or less equally available clays of different
composition for different kinds of vessels; (4) mix clays to achieve particular
paste properties; (5) use more distant sources that are judged qualitatively su
perior for the potters' purposes. Ethnoarchaeological studies make it clear that
clays and tempers are not just picked up randomly; they are consciously pro
cured for particular reasons. Read collectively, the papers in this issue by Arnold,
Neupert, and Stark et al. enumerate a series of natural and cultural factors that
affect raw material selection and paste composition variability. These include the
natural chemical and mineralogical variation in clay and temper sources, which is
a result of local geology and topography; a variety of factors related to procure
ment, which reflect selection decisions made by potters (relating to performance
characteristics during manufacture and the use of finished vessels, as well as en
ergy expenditure on the part of the personnel who collect resources); control over
resources and restrictions on access (which range from usufruct and ownership
issues to ritual proscriptions); the organization and technology of procurement,
The Study of Ceramic Production 381

processing and preparation; and the kin and political relations between those
who control the resources and those who transform raw materials into finished
goods.
Stark and her colleagues (2000) clearly state that the social (i.e., kin) relations
between Kalinga potters and the owners of fields where clays are found are just
as important as resource quality (determined by workability and performance
characteristics inmanufacturing and use) in the decisions about which clays potters
use. Similarly, Neupert (2000) notes that although Paradijon potters qualitatively
rank clays, sociopolitical factors "dictate" which clays they use. In this instance,
clay "choice" is complicated by the fact that the female Paradijon potters do not
collect their own clays, but rely on male relatives to bring them processed raw
materials. Although different kinds of clays are preferred for different kinds of
vessels, potters usually must make do with the clays they receive. This should
be a caveat?but not a deterrent?to archaeologists who rely upon experimental
archaeology to determine performance qualities and explain resource selection.
Rather than being cause for concern to the archaeologist, the litany of factors
affecting resource selection summons forth the necessity of developing meth
ods for identifying these "complicating factors." In archaeological studies of
ceramic production, there is a need for a reasonable assessment of geologic
variability, processing practices, and political divisions, among other things. As
Arnold (2000) implies, before raw material characterization is used to address
questions about the spatial and social organization of production (and distribu
tion), these other factors concerning choice in resource procurement must be
considered.

What Were the Organization and Principles of Resource Procurement?

Many archaeological analyses make the assumption that preindustrial arti

sans owned or controlled the resources they used (cf. Costin, 1998a), unless, of
course, elites controlled them (Rice, 1981; but see Clark, 1997). However, ethno
graphic studies suggest that the situation was much more complex. Although most
contemporary cases are muddied by modern changes in land tenure principles and
mechanized transport, they nevertheless illustrate the complexities of resource
procurement.
The issue is important because principles of procurement are implicit inmany
models explaining the organization of production and the origins of specialization.
For example, many explanations for community specialization center on a lack
of adequate agricultural resources. Several of the studies collected in this issue
describe clays coming from relatively productive agricultural fields; many other
ethnoarchaeological accounts do the same. It appears that it is not so much the
overall productivity of the soils (i.e., a community problem) as it is individual
circumstances and access to land that will affect participation in crafting (see
 382 Costin

later). What is needed is a series of systematic

regional studies that look at the
relationships among agricultural productivity, the presence of suitable clays, and
the amount of ceramic production as well as factors such as population density,
alternative economic opportunities, and access to labor.
Also poorly understood is the nature of the relationship between those who
"control" the fields and those who lack usage of the fields for agricultural purposes
but need access to the clays lying therein in order to pot. Models for the emer
gence of some forms of specialization suggest that craft production was a means
by which individuals without adequate subsistence assistance (e.g., widows) could
support themselves. Yet it is this same lack of ties to resource-allocating networks
that becomes a barrier to crafting, because these individuals may lack access to
the resources or to the personnel who collect those resources (e.g., Deal, 1998).
I would strongly encourage ethnoarchaeologists to suggest methods by which
archaeologists might detect the organization and principles of resource procure
ment. This issue is critically important, because to the extent resource variability
is used to reconstruct the organization of production (see later), there is a danger
of confounding the organization of fabrication with the organization of procure
ment.

Why Do People Use the Particular Technologies They Do?

Technological attributes are frequently used to reconstruct the organizing

principles of a production system. From technological attributes the amount of
standardization is gauged and the amount of skill and labor investment are in
ferred. These three measures are thought to reflect the amount of specialization,
the locus of control, and to a lesser extent the intensity of production and the
constitution of production units (see Fig. 1). Until recently, technological choices
were thought to be governed primarily by "economic" factors such as competition
and efficiency. Recent studies, such as Arnold's (Arnold, 1999) analysis of choice
of firing facilities, demonstrate the complexity of explaining technological choice,
taking into account material and environmental factors such as space and fuel
availability, time constraints and scheduling, and microenvironmental conditions.
and have on the so
Increasingly, archaeologists anthropologists placed emphasis
cial dimensions of technology (e.g., see the papers inDobres and Hoffman, 1999;
Stark, 1999). Here too is an area where ethnoarchaeology can be of significant
utility to archaeological studies. Recent work on technological choice?much of
it based on the work of ethnographers and ethnoarchaeologists?underscores the
complexity of the political, social, and economic contexts within which technology
is chosen and deployed.
Longacre (2000) demonstrates that not all technological choices are dictated
by the need for "efficiency" in the production process. Rather, in his case the potters
of San Juan Bautista add an extra step that requires both extra materials and time
The Study of Ceramic Production 383

in the production process. This step makes their products distinctive and ensures
a more active market for their wares. Experimental studies of pots with similar
attributes suggest that the most labor and material intensive vessels?those that
were both slipped and smudged?were more effective in heating their contents
than were vessels with only one of these treatments, or none at all. This may be
the underlying reason for the higher demand for the San Juan Bautista pots.
Gosselain (2000) suggests thatmany African potters were almost nonchalant
about the specific form and material of their rouletting tools, so long as they were
cheap, easy tomake, easy to use, and allowed them to achieve the desired regular,
all-over designs. Gosselain sees tools and processes as having a "style," which
in his formulation is a conscious operation that can be chosen and manipulated.
Yet, he argues that technical systems do not have internal coherence. This stands
in contrast with the observations of Lechtman (1984, 1993), who suggests that
technicalsystems are meaningful and can even cross material boundaries. She
argues that in both their metallurgical and textile technologies, Andean peoples
were concerned with internal structures (created through
complex weaves and
elaborate processes for alloying and gilding metals) whose complexity could not
necessarily be perceived or appreciated from the surface appearance alone. This
technological system is tied into the broader Andean world view and an ideology
of the essence of things and how surfaces related to inner structures. Thus, in the
Andean case, technologies might be adopted or rejected primarily based on the
degree to which they conformed to this world view.
Ethnoarchaeological studies of technological choice have been instrumental
in pointing out that variation in different kinds of attributes can reflect different as
pects of social and economic behavior (see also Costin and Hagstrum, 1995). This
theme is evident inGosselain's (2000) classification of manufacturing steps into
three categories that differ from one another in terms of the perceptual salience
of the techniques involved; the nature of the social interactions among
produc
ers and consumers; their learning and performance environments; and the
degree
of technical malleability. Gosselain differentiates between production steps that
are amenable to conscious manipulation and modification and those that are not;
those that are visible to consumers and/or other potters; those that are
performed
individually or in groups; and between those characteristics that are likely to be
influenced by consumers or other potters and those that are not. He argues that
these groupings are in turn related to different aspects of social
identity and social
relationships. In theory, technological steps could be arranged in a sequence that
proceeds from those that reflect the most "situational" or incidental contexts and
expressions of identity to those likely to reflect more stable groups and identi
ties. To the extent that such relationships between technology and social context
are consistent cross-culturally, distinguishing among different types of techno
logical characteristics will be valuable for archaeologists trying to sort out what
"types" of affiliation underlie the variability in their data. Some of these affili
ations will clearly relate to the organizing principles of the production system.
 384 Costin

One possible obstacle to generalizing from this observation is that the aspects
of identity which are ascribed (stable, durable) and those which are achieved
(more likely to be situational or changeable) varies somewhat from society to
society.

LOCATION

The location of production activities must be identified before archaeologists

can adequately reconstruct the social organization of production, largely because
the spatial context of production is used as primary data for inferring the social con
text of production. Archaeologists regularly turn to ethnoarchaeological accounts
of ceramic production to develop their understanding of the material correlates of
productive behavior such as facilities and debris (e.g., Deal, 1998; Stark, 1985),
the use of space in domestic production (e.g., Arnold, 1991; Hagstrum, 1989), and
community-wide distribution of work locations (Neupert, 2000).
Additionally, more indirect approaches to the identification of production lo
cations used by archaeologists are also grounded in the results of ethnoarchaeolog
ical studies. The use of compositional analysis to identify production communities
by matching raw materials with finished pottery is particularly salient. Generally,
the assumption ismade by archaeologists that pottery used in a number of com
munities would have been made at the community closest to the raw materials.
Although this mainstay of archaeological inference makes logical sense, a more
rigourous test of the hypothesis, using cross-cultural ethnoarchaeological data,
would greatly strengthen the argument.
In yet another application of compositional analysis, Stark and her colleagues
(2000) tested the composition of rawmaterials and finished products to demonstrate
that individual production communities can be distinguished from one another,
even when they are geographically close. For archaeologists, this might prove
more difficult, given the long list of factors that affect the final composition of clay
pastes. Ethnoarchaeological studies demonstrate that in order to plausibly use raw
materials to identify (different) production communities and link specific vessels
to specific clay sources, a detailed geological survey is needed to identify potential
sources; reconstruction of the organization of procurement is highly desirable; and
processing should be reconstructed.
In addition to identifying production locales, it is desirable to know why pro
ducers are located in particular tend to use a materialist
places. Archaeologists
paradigm, focusing primarily on resource distribution and secondarily on consid
erations such as population density and transportation. The ethnoarchaeologists
suggest there is a significant element of historicity and idiosyncracity in the lo
cation of production. Stark and her colleagues (2000) note that differences in the
scale of production among Kalinga villages are related to historical factors such as
alternative opportunities for wage labor. A similar point ismade by Deal ( 1998) for
The Study of Ceramic Production 385

the location of ceramic production in parts of highland Guatemala. Kalenditzou

(2000) implies that some Evros villagers took up the craft when they were cut off
from their former supplies after the political upheavals at the turn of the twenti
eth century. These ethnoarchaeological cases serve as a reminder that "economic"
models?resource allocation, and so forth?alone are insufficient to account for
the spatial organization of production. It would be useful if ethnoarchaeologists
might suggest ways that archaeologists can identify the likelihood that historical
factors generally made a strong contribution to determining production locales,
even if they cannot effectively identify the specific historical factors at work.

SPECIALIZATION

Implicitly or explicitly, most archaeological studies of craft production center

on the issue of whether production was "specialized" or not; indeed, this is what
is usually meant by the phrase "organization of production." However, as Clark
and Parry (1990) and others (Costin, 1991; Santley et al., 1989; Sinopoli, 1988)
have pointed out, there is no one kind of "specialist" or "specialization." This
observation is based largely on the ethnographic record.
A key objective inmost archaeological studies of craft production is to identify
the "organization of production" or the degree of specialization. This entails deter
mining the relative number of "production units" that served a specified consuming
population. Because these units?architectural or human?are rarely recovered in
the archaeological record, archaeologists regularly turn to indirect data such as ma
terial and technological variability, skill, and labor investment as proxy measures
for the organizing principles of production systems. At the core of these analyses
is a presumption that there is a correlation between patterns in raw material use
and/or technology, and the structure/composition of the groups of people making
the pottery. A key contribution of ethnoarchaeological studies can be to illustrate
how material compositional patterns relate to human organizational structures.
Many of the papers in this issue deal with ceramic materials, particularly us
ing compositional analysis to consider the assumption archaeologists make about
the correlation between observed patterns of homogeneity/heterogeneity in clay
resources and the organization of production. Arnold (2000) points out how rarely
the "speculative" propositions that link human organization and thematerial record
have been tested with ethnographic data. What Stark and her collaborators (2000)
refer to as an "analytic luxury"?the ability to actually observe the social groups
that correlate with an if ethnoarchae
compositional groups?is analytic necessity
ology is tomake a lasting contribution to this element of archaeological inference.
The body of ethnoarchaeological work demonstrates that compositional groups
may not always correlate with the "economic" production units archaeologists
variously refer to as workshops, production loci, production groups, or produc
tion centers. Arnold (2000) asserts that the correlation is highly imperfect, and he
 386 Costin

counsels that compositional variability may reveal little about the organization of
production beyond the general region. I suggest that if ethnoarchaeology were to
demonstrate that there were rarely or ever a correlation between ceramic com
positional groups and human production units, archaeologists would be forced to
abandon a key presumption and analytic tool, something Arnold comes close to
advocating. However, several ethnoarchaeological studies reported in this issue
(particularly those of Stark et al, Neupert, and Arnold) and elsewhere do show
that compositional groups correspond to human groups, which interact economi
cally, socially, or politically, although these groups may not be the "workshops"
(production groups) for which archaeologists are looking.
The studies reported by Neupert in this issue and Bowser elsewhere (1996,
1998) demonstrate that material analyses may identify social groups or political
factions. Neupert (2000) documents how political factionalism leads to strongly
patterned use of specific resources in Paradijon. Bowser (1996, 1998) demon
strates that the same correlation between style groups and political alliances
among Conambo villagers reported in this issue holds for political alliances and
clay sources as well, with members of one political faction primarily collecting
their clays from one main source and the members of the other political faction
primarily using another clay source (see Table I). If one were to perform a com
positional analysis on the village ceramics, it is likely that two clusters would
emerge. Of course, in neither the Paradijon nor the Conambo case are the clay
source-using groups "production groups" in the way archaeologists think about
them. An archaeologist looking only at the Conambo material record, for example,
might be inclined to suggest that in the village there were two (social) divisions,
each served by its own (specialist) potter. This is not, however, the organization
of production in Conambo. In fact, all adult women in all households make their
own pottery; but certain potters share clay sources based on their social and po
litical alliances. The good news is that the archaeologist would have identified
two groups that are economically (and politically) distinct from one another. Im
portantly, this case allows observation of how economic networks relate to social
and political networks and obligations, something of interest in recent studies of
production.

Table I. Correlation Between Household Political Affiliation

and Clay Source Utilization in Conambo, Ecuador

Political affiliation

Clay source Achuar Quichua

? 8
Gloria
Yauna ? 13
Yulanda ? 3

Other 2 2

Note. Data taken from Bowser (1998).

The Study of Ceramic Production 387

Thereis similar cause for cheer in Neupert's (2000) seemingly cautionary

study. Neupert argues that, in the case of the Paradijon potters, resource selection
is based largely on social and political factors, rather than principally on economic
considerations (i.e., distance to resource) or on the technical (i.e., mechanical or

chemical) properties of the clays, factors which are usually foremost in archaeo
logical models of resource procurement. This study does not negate conventional
models, rather, it adds nuances to them. Others (e.g., DeBoer, 1985) have shown
that factors such as distance and clay quality often do account for a large propor
tion of resource variation. Rather than seeing Neupert's results as a blow to the
models long used by archaeologists, those for whom the "economic" models have
not fit the data should find inspiration. Van der Leeuw (1991) has argued that no
one model (technological, economic, functional, or social) should take precedence
over another. Rather than accepting his view thatwe cannot choose among them, I
suggest that patterns identified through comparisons of many ethnoarchaeological
studies may make it possible to develop means for distinguishing those which are
more satisfactory from those which are less so in each particular case. More im
portant, Neupert's compositional analysis does identify two groups of potters. As
in Bowser's Conambo case, the compositional groups identified in the Paradijon
data do not represent "workshops" or production units; in fact, the organizational
criterion is not economic, but based on political alliance. Nevertheless, there is
a "reality" to the groups the compositional analysis identified. It is just not the
conclusion to which traditional interpretive frameworks would have led. In both
cases, there are meaningful social units consistently associated with compositional
groups. What is needed by archaeologists is a framework of contextual analyses
to aid in distinguishing the criteria that define those groups.
Even with added insight from ethnoarchaeology, in the absence of comple
mentary and contextual data, the specific organizing principles of the groups iden
tified through materials analysis may not be known fully by archaeologists. Rather
than label them with misleading titles, theymight best be neutrally called "resource
sharing" or "resource use" groups (Arnold calls them community signature units).
If there are many resource use groups within a defined region, it is likely that
there are many units?economic entities?as well. However, a
production single
resource use group might comprise one or many production units. In the later case,
other data would be necessary to test the internal homogeneity and structure of the
group.

Many archaeological analyses assume a correlation between specific potters

and particular rawmaterial sources. Several of the papers collected herein illustrate
how potters often sources within the span of these rela
change frequently?even
tively short studies. Although archaeologists might be concerned that this would
obscure patterning related to the organization of production, Arnold (2000) points
out that only resource shifts "of the greatest magnitude" are evident in chemical
analyses, demonstrating the robustness of such measures. Moreover, because the
data are a palimpsest of decades or centuries of resource selection,
archaeological
 388 Costin

the patterning that does emerge will reflect social divisions that have strength,
consistency, and meaning over a relatively long period of time.
There remains a fundamental disagreement as to the level of resolution pos
siblein chemical, mineralogical, and technological analyses. Arnold (2000) is
cautious about using technology (specifically, characterization studies of paste
composition) to reconstruct human behavior and the organization of production.
He argues that paste variability is more closely tied to environmental and tech
nological factors than to the organization of production. In contrast, Gosselain
(2000) and Stark et al (2000) are significantly more sanguine. Gosselain's per
spective differs from Arnold's for two key reasons. First, Gosselain works at a
much larger geographic scale than does Arnold; Arnold does admit to the possibil
ity of using compositional data to determine the organization of production at the
regional level. Second, Arnold works primarily with the chemical characterization
of pastes, whereas Gosselain works with a much broader suite of technological
characteristics in his analysis. Stark and her colleagues use data sets similar to
Arnold's, but they support the position that "characterization studies of archaeo
logical ceramics can reach higher degrees of spatial resolution than archaeologists
generally attempt." The implication is that individual production units (households
or workshops) might be recoverable through paste analysis. Ethnoarchaeologists
could make a significant contribution toward sorting this out if someone would
take a far-reaching, comparative perspective inwhich a clear test of the assumption
about the relationship between variability and the number of distinct production
units at different levels of analysis was developed and carried out.
Although ethnoarchaeological studies do show that paste composition is use
ful for distinguishing groups of some sort or another, future ethnoarchaeological
research might focus profitably on one of the central uses of material variability
in archaeology, which is to characterize the relative number of production units in
two or more assemblages. I would encourage a multicase comparative study that
characterizes the relationships between the amount of compositional variability
and the specifics of the organization of production (i.e., the number of production
units, the degree of specialization). For example, using the marvelous data from
Arnold's (2000) cases, would it be possible to quantify variability and relate this
to the number of different potters, production units, or workshops in the different
communities? Arnold's work hints at the likelihood that the amount of ceramic
variability does [crudely] reflect the number of production units. As the number
of potters and the number of production units in Ticul, Guatemala, has risen, the
number of ceramic sources has indeed expanded (Arnold, 2000). Similarly, Stark
and her colleagues (2000) imply a correlation between the number of potting units
and the number of clay sources used, because there appear to be both more active
potters and more clay sources in the village of Dalupa than there are in the village
of Dangtalan.
Indeed, there aremany "hints" in these papers that Stark and her colleagues are
correct when they argue that it is possible to get atmuch finer differentiation than
The Study of Ceramic Production 389

that currently attempted. Arnold (2000) notes that potters perceive less variability
in their materials than chemical and mineralogical analyses can measure. He also
implies that mineralogical composition reflects more intentional technological
choice than does chemical composition, because mineralogical properties reflect
the physical and performance characteristics more likely to be chosen consciously
by potters and/or consumers. Arnold's work suggests that different kinds of behav
ior are reflected inmineralogical and chemical variation. Thus, there often might
be an element of unconscious variability in the compositional data that relates to
individual work groups. Arnold also provides anecdotal evidence that the specific,
distinct behavior of individual potters contributes to the overall variation in the
data. For example, inMixco, Guatemala, potters process their clays differently
from one another. Similarly, new processing techniques were adopted in Ticul
without the loss of the old ways. Itwould be interesting to examine this or similar
data to see if there are distinctions in "micro-technology" that can help differentiate
among different work groups.
In using measures of variation to characterize the organization of production,
there are two issues that require more input from ethnoarchaeologists and more
measured discussion from archaeologists. The first of these, mentioned already,
is the relationship between standardization and the relative number of production
units. Stark and her colleagues (2000) list examination of relative standardization
as one of the overall objects of their compositional research; the full results will be
of great interest and utility for archaeologists. Itwould be extraordinarily useful if
ethnoarchaeologists would pursue analyses of cases where several households or
communities used the same raw material source, to see if there are other ways be
sides general composition (e.g., the details of preparation, formation, morphology)
to distinguish among the products of different potters or work groups. These issues
are of significance to archaeologists interested in reconstructing the organization of
production. Archaeologists today are not likely to use a single variable?whether
it is composition, technology, skill, or morphological variation?in isolation to
characterize the organization of production. Rather, the trend is to combine differ
ent types of evidence for the organization of production, looking for overlapping
patterns of material, technological, and morphological variability. Stark and her
collaborators refer to the value of using complementary studies of style and form
in their paper on clay use in this issue. Gosselain (2000) demonstrates how tech
nology and style can have different distributions, albeit on amuch larger scale than
that with which the other papers deal. Clearly, ethnoarchaeology has the potential
to make a strong contribution toward a fuller understanding of the meaning of
differential spatial patterning among attributes.

CONSTITUTION AND ORGANIZATION OF PRODUCTION UNITS

Archaeologists are interested in determining the social relations of production,

consisting of relations within production units and the relations between producers
 390 Costin

and consumers. They are also interested in the internal dynamics of production
units, including task allocation, power, and control.

Household, Kin-Based, and Workshop Production

Although some of the more theoretically based literature takes care to dis
tinguish among different relations of production and uses terms like "domestic
production" and "workshop" in explicitly defined ways, many substantive studies
do not rigorously distinguish among different modes of production. Ethnoarchae
ological data have the power to demonstrate for archaeologists the relationship
among the spatial contexts of production and the social relations among producers.
Arnold's (2000) paper demonstrates the resilience of household- and kin
based organization. InTicul, Guatemala, Arnold documents a fairly radical change
in the "demand" for pottery, from local, indigenous consumers acquiring utilitar
ian vessels to extra-regional tourists and hotel designers. In response, there was
an expansion in the number of potters and the number of production units. Al
though still centered on the nuclear family, production units were expanded by
hiring kin and using specialized space outside household living quarters. A similar
process in which nonresident kin are recruited to expand ceramic production is
documented by Kleinberg (1979). This work serves as a reminder that even radical
changes in the types of goods produced, the nature of consumers, and themecha
nisms through which goods are distributed need not necessarily be accompanied
by significant changes in the organization and constitution of work groups. The
Ticul example contrasts with another of Arnold's cases, the potters of Quinua,
Peru (see also Arnold, 1993). The Quinua potters established large pottery work
shops when they relocated to Lima. Itwould be interesting to understand why the
Quinoa artisans formed large workshops when they relocated. There is a broad
need to identify the other factors thatmight induce a change in the organization of
production, such as changes in access to resources, to distribution channels, and in
control over the "content" of the goods (control that cannot be exercised through
a patron-client/commissioned relationship). To some extent this is being done by
ethnographers and art historians who are studying change in the traditional arts.
This is documented in a literature of potential value to ethnoarchaeologists and
archaeologists (e.g., Errington, 1998; Graburn, 1976; Nash, 1993; Tice, 1995).

How is Labor Organized Within the Production Units?

Ethnoarchaeological studies make it apparent that some archaeologists have

rather simplistic notions about how tasks are allocated and production steps co
ordinated. Several of the papers in this issue?particularly those of Longacre and
Stark and her colleagues?provide a rich description of the production sequence
The Study of Ceramic Production 391

and the division of labor. Indeed, this careful description, often provided as back
ground, is an invaluable contribution to craft studies made by ethnoarchaeologists.
Often, archaeological studies of craft production would benefit from a deeper un
derstanding of how crafts are made, in terms of the tools and procedures involved,
the base knowledge required, and the amount of time expended, and how these are
operationalized by artisans and their helpers. This is a point that has been made
most adamantly by Clark (1996). Taken together, the papers in this issue under
score how "complex" the organization of production can be. Neupert points out
that even a "simple" organization is complex, and this is also evident in the rich
descriptions of division of labor in the papers by Stark et al and Longacre. As a
point of detail, ethnoarchaeological studies also demonstrate that the sequencing
of steps will vary by material, even with a single craft type. For example, in their
study of contemporary Indian stone beadmakers, Kenoyer etal (1991) document a
different sequence of steps (e.g., drilling, polishing) depending on the specific raw
materials. They note that some materials allow greater flexibility in the order of
the production sequence, which strongly affects how labor ismanaged within the
workshop. Sometimes, archaeologists give insufficient attention to the full range
of tasks necessary to make a pot (or a piece of cloth), the specific sequence in
which those tasks might occur, and all the people who participate in getting those
tasks completed. With the increased interest in division of labor, ethnoarchaeol
ogy can provide examples of how task allocations are negotiated, scheduled, and
publicly acknowledged. Careful analysis might indicate whether these allocations
have visible correlates in the material record.
Another area where ethnoarchaeology has added value is in the recognition
of the general importance of "hidden" labor (cf. Mills, in press; Wright, 1991)?
the tasks performed by individuals other than the identified "potter." However,
examination of the ethnoarchaeological literature suggests that there are no hard
and fast rules about the identities or contributions of these "invisible" laborers.
London ( 1991 ) presents a case from the Philippines inwhich helpers do everything
except form pots. She suggests that this invisible labor?used for many of the
finishing tasks after the vessels are formed?adds a significant amount of variation
visible to the eye. For the archaeologist, such a system would affect measures of
variation, inflating estimates of the number of production units based on the amount
of variation in the assemblage. In contrast with the organization of labor that
London details, Kramer's study of potters in Rajastan, India, documents that one
category of helpers often form the vessels whereas another (women and children)
perform such tasks as attaching handles, modifying rims, and scraping (Kramer,
1991, 1998). Interestingly, in both cases, it is the person who forms the body of
the pot who is emically identified as the "potter," an observation also made by
Longacre (2000) and Neupert (2000).
Task allocation is clearly a complex issue, one perhaps not always amenable to
attribution through analogy, even in relatively narrowly defined areas. Comparing
the data on task allocation in the papers by Neupert and Stark et al in this issue
392 Costin

make this caution clear: Among the potters of the Philippines, in one region clay
is collected by men, whereas in another, clay is collected by women.
Task allocation is important because it affects broader conclusions drawn
about the nature of economic networks and social relations. For example, Neupert
(2000) documents that for the female potters of Paradijon, work is autonomous and
household-based, although women might occasionally help one another fill large
orders. In contrast, the male relatives who collect and prepare clay and later fire
finished vessels for thewomen do so in groups, making use of shared activity areas.
Thus, the contexts for work and the social relations that work entails are different
for women and men. Although Neupert ismore interested in the effects on material
patterning, there are also strong implications for social and political participation.
Longacre mentions similar gendered work patterns, as do Stark and her colleagues
(2000). Gosselain (2000) also demonstrates that different production stages entail
different processes of social interaction.
Several of the papers in this issue illustrate a degree of fluidity inwork group
organization, as well as different social contexts for different stages of produc
tion, especially resource procurement, formation, and firing. For example, several
of these papers document collective firing, although vessel formation takes place
individually. Thus, archaeological studies should try to reconstruct the "organiza
tion" of production based on evidence from several stages of production.

INTENSITYOF PRODUCTION

Archaeologists are very interested in the intensity of production, particularly

because of the perceived relevance of part- as opposed to full-time production to the
issue of "specialization." There is a need for more systematic work by ethnoarchae
ologists on thematerial correlates of work intensity. A cross-cultural, comparative
study of ethnoarchaeological data might indicate what full-time production looks
like when compared with the remains of part-time production. Location, spatial
arrangement of activities, and disposition of debris might all be investigated and
the results applied archaeologically. I (Costin, 1991, in press) have argued that
intensity should not be confounded with scale (as measured by the size of work
unit and amount of material produced) analytically. Comparative ethnographic
analysis might provide useful insights into the ways inwhich these factors covary,
if at all.

CONTROL OF THE PRODUCTION SYSTEM

When archaeologists discuss the sociopolitical context of production, they

often use the terms attached and independent production. In somewhat simplistic
terms, in systems of attached production, elites or political institutions have the
The Study of Ceramic Production 393

authority to directly control some or all components of the production system,

including raw materials and technology, the location of production activities, labor
deployment and organization, object appearance, and/or the distribution of finished
goods. In systems of independent production, artisans are unconstrained by such
direct institutional or elite control.
It has been suggested that ethnoarchaeological studies might have limited
utility inmodeling and explaining attached production because the vast majority
of contemporary artisans produce utilitarian goods for general markets. Partially,
this is a function of the types of cases most ethnoarchaeologists have chosen for
study. However, there are some ethnographies of craft/art production that provide
valuable insight into production in socially stratified traditional contexts (e.g.,
Ben-Amos, 1971). Ethnoarchaeologists should be encourage to seek out those
situations where traditional crafts are produced and used in stratified societies.
Neupert's work (Neupert, 2000) lends voice to the many studies that under
score the point that using attached-independent as a dichotomous variable is far
too simplistic. Indeed, I have argued that the sociopolitical context of production
be viewed as a continuum characterizing the degree of elite involvement in the
components of production (Costin, 1991, in press). Neupert's paper demonstrates
how, almost inadvertently, elites can become mixed up in an "independent system"
with far-reaching effects on thematerial patterning in the products. It is important
to note that in the Paradijon case described by Neupert, elites facilitate access to
resources but exert no influence or control over the production or distribution of
goods. In this example, the elites want political support, and facilitating access
to clays is part of their repertoire of patronage behaviors. Clearly, this would not
constitute a form of attached production.
Ethnoarchaeologists need to consider how their data might help archaeologists
recognize control. Currently, the most reliable material indicators of direct elite
control are written records, the recovery of evidence for crafting activities within
clearly elite or institutional structures, or the recovery of administrative items in
production locales. Indirect data such as standardization, labor investment, and
skill have been proposed by archaeologists as criteria for determining the locus of
control. Iwould encourage systematic examination of ethnoarchaeological data to
provide evidence to support or challenge these assumptions.
Arnold (2000) challenges Rice's (Rice, 1981) suggestion that paste homo
geneity is a consequence of elite control, primarily by arguing against elite monopo
ly control of clay resources in the first place. The work of Arnold (2000) and
Neupert (2000) demonstrates that elites really can't or don't "control" ceramic
resources in the way by Rice for two reasons. First, clays are generally
postulated
ubiquitous. The ethnoarchaeological literature indicates that potters are adept at
finding other sources when denied access. Therefore, at least in the cases described
by Arnold and Neupert, elite "control" over clay resources (through their more
generalized control over access to agricultural fields) does not result in control of
394 Costin

production. Second, there is little reason for elites to exert tight control over pottery
production. There is ample opportunity for ethnoarchaeologists to contribute to the
discussion on the relationship among resource distribution, resource control, and
control over other components of the production system and over the appearance
of the objects themselves. In particular, ethnoarchaeologists might want to look at
new forms of patronage, the effects of tourism, globalization, and commodifica
tion, and consider parallels between these processes and more ancient processes
that resulted in diminished artisan autonomy. Returning toRice's proposal, Iwould
suggest that homogeneity in elite-sponsored ceramics is likely the result of elites'
providing raw materials to potters.

THE SOCIAL IDENTITY OF ARTISANS

The identity of the artisans is of central importance in studies that focus

on power, economic organization, and on the role of material culture in social
relations. Artisans play a central role inmaterializing ideology and social meaning
through the creation and transformation of material objects. To the extent that
craft objects are central to studies of social and political relations, it is important to
understand the social identities (class, gender, ethnicity, legal status, and the like)
of those who made them, so as to understand the perspective from which material
meaning and communication is fabricated. As Gosselain (2000 ) points out, social
distinctions, and social relationships, are expressed and discerned in the making
and using of material culture (see also Hodder, 1982).
Increasingly, archaeological studies do address the identities of the workers
(Costin, 1996; Costin andWright, 1998). Unlike in ethnographic studies, in archae
ological research the artisans themselves are rarely directly visible or observable.
There are many methodological and substantive issues in artisan identification that
remain, and ethnoarchaeology may provide insight, particularly because ethno
graphic analogy has traditionally been a primary means of identifying artisans.
a
Ethnographic analogy has been much maligned as method for speculating about
the social identities of prehistoric artisans (e.g., Gero, 1991; Wright, 1991); it is
only with more thoughtful analysis of extant divisions of labor and their material
and sociopolitical correlates that greater confidence can be built in this method.

Who Crafts, and Why?

Few studies have paid attention to the principles of recruitment and con
ditions under which certain individuals or classes of individuals come to craft,
although diffuse assertions are made about access to other productive resources,
broadly defined ideologies of work, and generalized divisions of labor. Although
ethnoarchaeological studies usually characterize the social identities of potters by
The Study of Ceramic Production 395

gender, age, and marital status, they rarely systematically investigate the underly
ing principles of recruitment and task allocation.
Ideally, future ethnoarchaeological studies will identify who crafts, and ex
plain why particular individuals or categories of persons become artisans. It is
rarely the case that participation in crafting activities is not shaped to some degree
by elements of social identity such as age, gender, social status, ethnicity, ritual
status, legal status, and the like.
Archaeologists often assume that economic circumstances are the most im
portant criteria in determining who will take up crafting (in lieu of subsistence
food production), particularly where pottery production is specialized. Stark (2000;
also 1991, 1995) has long dealt with the issue of why certain categories of per
sons become craft specialists. Her ethnographic work supports the often repeated
assumption that specialized pottery production is a strategy turned to out of eco
nomic necessity (see also Arnold, 1985; David and Hennig, 1972; Deal, 1998;
Hodder, 1982). Kalentzidou (2000) also mentions that the potters of many Evros
villages took up the craft out of economic necessity. Given that the adoption of
potting in the village of Metaxades is documented for the early part of the twen
tieth century, there is an opportunity to investigate more fully the process of craft
adoption in at least one case. The conclusion that crafting is considered an "infe
rior" choice is supported by the observation that theMetaxades and Soufli potters
abandoned their craft when presented with the opportunity to pursue wage labor
inGermany.
Although much of the ethnographic information suggests an association be
tween crafting and economic marginalization, some anecdotal ethnographic evi
dence suggests that potters are not universally disadvantaged in terms of access
to agricultural land or other, alternative economic strategies. For example, Arnold
mentions a "wealthy" potter among the potters of Ticul, aman with sufficient cap
ital to purchase a clay source and truck. Importantly, some ethnographic studies
suggest that the observed marginalization of peasant artisans is a result of their
incorporation into the capitalist global economy (e.g., Byrne, 1994; Cook and
Binford, 1991). Thus, care must be taken as recent ethnography might not provide
the most unambiguous models for this topic.
Gender is the second aspect of social identity that is tied closely to the division
of labor. Elsewhere, Mills ( 1995, inpress), her students and colleagues (e.g., Senior,
in press), and others (e.g., Byrne, 1994; Hosier, 1996; O'Brien, 1999; Rice, 1991;
Skibo and Shiffer, 1995) have grappled with the issue of the contexts in which
potting and other types of craft production are undertaken by one particular gender
or another. some cross-cultural regularities have been noted, there is
Although
likely insufficient uniformity to consistently identify the gender of potters; some
plausible speculation might be warranted because, particularly on a regional level,
for potting there is a high correlation between gender and crafting (see Murdock
and Provost, 1973, Table 3; also Byrne, 1994; Rice, 1991).
 396 Costin

OTHER CONSIDERATIONS:DEMAND AND DISTRIBUTION

Demand

Archaeologists often refer to the "demand" for particular classes of goods,

thereby making consumers and consumption contexts active participants in the
production system. "Demand" is an abstract concept that can be characterized by
archaeologists in part by the quantities and functions of objects and in part by the
social characteristics of the people who used them.
Demand includes the amount of the objects used. The studies of ceramic use
lives and household inventories conducted by ethnoarchaeologists are important
because they provide descriptive data against which archaeologists can model the
quantitative demand for ancient ceramics. The conditions discussed by Nelson
(1985, 1991), Deal (1998), and others underscore the complexity of assessing
demand in general and particularly in a world where household inventories are
changing. These complicating factors include introduction of new materials and
factory made goods along with changes in diet and food processing practices.
Nevertheless, careful studies reveal that it is possible tomodel premodern vessel
usage. This is ably demonstrated by the work of Hagstrum ( 1989) in highland Peru.
Hagstrum inventoried the vessels used in contemporary farming households and,
after considering how modern materials had replaced some older ceramic forms,
extrapolated the modern data into the past to reconstruct likely household pottery
assemblages during the late prehispanic era. These data then proved invaluable in
her model of the organization of ceramic production.
Perhaps most importantly, studies of contemporary assemblages collectively
suggest that there are cross-cultural regularities in the use-lives of particular func
tional classes of pottery, with cooking vessels being the most short-lived and rit
ual/feasting vessels being the longest lived, with the exception of vessels used in
(ritual) alcohol consumption (see Hardin and Mills, 2000; also Deal, 1998, p. 92;
DeBoer, 1985, Varien and Mills, 1997). Thus, even in the absence of regionally
and historically specific data, archaeologists can use these observations to make
reasonable assumptions about relative replacement rates, combining this general
finding with the quantities of material recovered from specific sites or regions.
This conclusion underscores how valuable the contribution of a eth
comparative
noarchaeology could be to archaeology.
The paper by Kalentzidou (2000) demonstrates how political change can rad
ically affect the demand for objects and the organization of production. In her case,
the collapse of the Ottoman empire led to a change in the demand for certain kinds
of wares. This political collapse also led to the collapse of the structured guild sys
tem (a form of more "attached" production), which had controlled production and
distribution, and its replacement with a more "independent" form of production.
The political changes cut artisans off from the urban elite, and the agricultural
The Study of Ceramic Production 397

peasants who became the potters' main consumers had little need for fine wares.
Also, ethnic Greek potters were forced to relocate because of the complex politi
cal settlement of national boundaries. Kalentzidou's paper is important because it
describes two different industries with two different types of products and differ
ent demands and demonstrates how changing conditions affect them differently.
Kalentzidou reminds us that "cost" is not a meaningless factor. Cost affects de
mand, which affects what will be made. As she states in her paper, "Poverty...
prompted them to buy the undecorated variety."

Principles and Mechanisms of Transfer

Exchange is a major focus of archaeological research and the organization

of production cannot be fully expressed without a discussion of how products
get from producers to consumers (Costin, in press; compare Pool, 1992). In
deed, "exchange" (or transfer) is an implicit part of all "specialization" because
in "specialized" systems producer and consumer are not the same individual.
Few ethnoarchaeological studies have addressed this relationship between pro
duction and exchange in any detail, but narrative discussions contain interesting
and important observations that will affect interpretations. For example, several
studies (e.g., Deal, 1998; Kramer, 1991; Longacre, 1991) indicate that even in
situations where most/all households make their own pottery, significant quanti
ties of pottery may circulate among members of a defined social group through
gift-giving or ad hoc exchange. Thus, "potting" households are likely to have
pottery made by others, and this form of circulation will surely affect assem
blage variability and how the degree of variation within and among households is
measured.

Neupert's paper in this issue also presents interesting issues regarding the
effects of distribution mechanisms on the patterning visible in the pattern of dis
tribution. Although his compositional data clearly reflect social groups at the lo
cus of production, the products of both groups are transferred through the same
networks?indeed the same shops and markets?to a single consuming population.
As a result, he states, the "compositional signals" of these two production groups
are largely eliminated. But this isn't really the case. The conclusion that there are
several compositional sources for the pottery distributed through the major mar
kets remains valid. What would appear archaeologically is that "all" consumers
are served by "both" of these sources, which is, in fact, the case. Figure 2 schemat
ically contrasts what household assemblages would look like under two different
scenarios. In both hypothetical cases there are two production sources, but they
have different distribution channels. What is needed from ethnoarchaeologists is
further cross-cultural investigation to describe and model socioeconomic systems
in which there is no unitary relationship between production "source" and market,
 398 Costin

Consurning Households Consuming Households

Production Households Production Households

(a) (b)
Fig. 2. Hypothetical results of chemical characterization from production locales and consuming
communities with different distribution mechanisms: (a) Two production groups, each serving differ
ent consuming communities; (b) Two production groups, both serving both consuming communities.
Note that in the later case, households will yield products of both production groups.

but rather broader regions including more than one distribution network are served
more or less similarly by multiple production sources (see Feinman, 1985). A
second way in which ethnoarchaeologists can make a contribution in this area is
to investigate more loci of consumption?houses?in addition to production loci,
because archaeological data are much more likely to be derived from the places
where pottery was used, not made, so studies of production and distribution work
"back" from loci of consumption.

SUMMARY AND CONCLUSIONS

Ethnoarchaeological studies have provided critical data for archaeologists in

terested in addressing a range of questions about ceramic production. This includes
questions about the location of production, the choice of particular technologies,
and the specific spatial and social organizing principles. And, as discussed in this
paper, there is a great potential for ethnoarchaeologists to go further in their stud
ies, to address specific methodological and theoretical issues that have come to the
fore in recent archaeological studies of production.
As an archaeologist looking to ethnoarchaeology for models, methods, and
inspiration in my studies of craft production, several general issues come to the
forefront. First, in building general models for the organization of production, it is
 The Study of Ceramic Production 399

advisable to look across an array of crafts, rather than building from a single ob
ject category, such as ceramics. Similar points have been raised by others, notably
Hodder (1991) and DeBoer (1991). Interestingly, almost all the ethnoarchaeo
logical studies of craft production deal with ceramic production, which tends to
reinforce this tendency in archaeological studies to build general models of produc
tion for all crafts based on ceramics. Although this journal issue deals specifically
with ceramics, I would encourage more ethnoarchaeological studies of the full
array of crafts, including baskets, textiles, beads, wood, and stone.
Second, as Arnold (1998) has pointed out, we don't want to simply make
the past look like the present. Not all the activities or modes of organization op
erating in the past are represented in the ethnographic present, and vice versa.
Things change!! For example, the papers in this issue by Longacre, Kalentzidou,
and Hardin and Mills all demonstrate how demand, for example, affects produc
tion and the wares produced. And demand has changed from the archaeological
past to the ethnoarchaeological present. Once elites demanded fine luxury wares;
now tourists demand tschotschkes to take to folks back home. Potters today do not
characteristically produce the same range of wares for the same range of uses or
users they did in the past. Technology changes, transportation changes. These are
just some of the reasons why many archaeological reconstructions of craft pro
duction only faintly resemble the observations of organization that ethnographers
make. Thus, as anthropological archaeologists, it is imperative to use judgement
of the context to know when our ethnographic analogies will be appropriate and
applicableand recognize when a specific case in the past is quite different from
anything in the present.
For ethnoarchaeology to be used as more than a collection of anecdotes or
as a source of hypotheses to be tested, there must be more explicit mechanisms
to link present and past material patterns and behaviors (compare Arnold, 1998).
Many of these studies reported in this issue do open our minds and eyes to the
realm of possibilities and implicitly provide hypotheses to be tested. I encourage
all ethnoarchaeologists to detail their relevance and applicability to studies of the
past and to suggest means for actually evaluating archaeological data.
When ethnoarchaeological studies themselves take a comparative approach,
comparing and contrasting the material correlates of two or more different orga
nizational systems, they will provide interpretive data that are of the greatest use
to scientific archaeology. I encourage large scale comparative studies where data
are taken from many cases and more general patterns and
systematic variation are
identified.
Ethnoarchaeology is "good to think." Reading this literature archae
keeps
ologists from thinking too simplistically. My advice to archaeologists is to read
ethnoarchaeology in the way we have always read ethnography: as a source for
analogies and for a finer background appreciation for technological processes, or
ganization, and social context. As intended, ethnoarchaeology is preferable to stan
dard ethnography inmany ways, because the former incorporates a more material
 400 Costin

perspective and some of the more rigorous data collection techniques of scientific
archaeology.
Archaeologists and ethnoarchaeologists can also read more broadly in the
ethnography of the arts, far beyond those works labeled "ethnoarchaeology." These
studies deal with a much broader array of goods and contexts than those typically
chosen by ethnoarchaeologists. These studies are much more "anthropological"
than they were a generation ago, and they increasingly deal with change. They
also often deal with high status objects or ritual objects, a much broader range of
goods than those at the core of many ethnoarchaeological studies. And finally, their
emphasis on the use and meaning of material objects appropriately contextualizes
the organization of production.
I remain heartened and inspired by the kinds of ethnoarchaeological work
pursued today. What is needed is a even greater dialogue between field archaeolo
gists and ethnoarchaeologists. In this paper, I have identified a number of areas and
approaches to ethnoarchaeological data, which I suggest would improve my ability
to identify and explain the organization of production in past societies. I encour
age other archaeologists to give ethnoarchaeologists their own explicit suggestions
for the data and contexts that need exploring. Ethnoarchaeologists can then better
work with archaeologists to develop a collaborative research programme that is
achievable. Both fields will be benefit from this type of dialogue.

REFERENCES CITED

Arnold, D. (1985). Ceramic Theory and Cultural Process, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.
Arnold, D. (1993). Ecology and Ceramic Production in an Andean Community, Cambridge University
Press, Cambridge.
Arnold, D. E. (2000). Does the standardization of ceramic pastes really mean specialization? Journal
of Archeological Method and Theory 7: 333-375.
Arnold, P. (1991). Domestic Ceramic Production and Spatial Organization: A Mexican Case Study in
Ethnoarchaeology. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.
Arnold, P. J., HI (1998). Ceramic ethnoarchaeology: Caught between "coming of age" and "showing
its age." Reviews in Anthropology 27: 17-32.
Arnold, P. J., Ill (1999). On typologies, selection, and ethnoarchaeology in ceramic production studies.
In Chilton, E. (ed.), Material Meanings: Critical Approaches to the Interpretation of Material
Culture, University of Utah Press, Salt Lake City, pp. 103-117.
Ben-Amos, P. (1971). Social Change in the Organization of Wood Carving in Benin City, Nigeria.
Ph.D. Dissertation, Indiana University, University Microfilms, Ann Arbor, MI.
Bishop, R. L., Rands, R. L., and Holley, G. R. (1982). Ceramic compositional analysis in archaeological
perspective. In Schiffer, M. B. (ed.), Advances in Archaeological Method and Theory, Vol. 5,
Academic Press, New York, pp. 275-330.
Bowser, B. J. (1996). Local and regional exchange of ceramic resources in the Ecuadorian Amazon.
Paper presented at the 95th annual meeting of the American Anthropological Association, San
Francisco, California.
Bowser, B. J. (1998). From pottery to politics: An ethnoarchaeological model of political factionalism
and women's domestic pottery in the Ecuadorian Amazon. Paper presented at the 63rd annual
meeting of the Society for American Archaeology, Seattle, Washington.
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