In Which the Worlds of Canada, the UK, the US, and China Collide – Eileen Wang

Every year, the Penn Museum provides support to Penn undergraduates and graduate students as they deepen their understanding of the human experience outside the Museum’s walls. Follow these blog posts from our intrepid young scholars as they report on the sights and sites that they encounter throughout their travels in the field.


Jining, Shandong, China
July 11, 2015

One of the most exciting things about having a topic I am passionate about researching is that I get to network with academics and professionals who are interested in the same issues. Before coming to China, I read up on all the literature possible on cesarean deliveries and C-sections on maternal request, and had contacted both Chinese and American researchers, who responded and gave me further contacts and resources to pursue while in China. It was through these efforts I was connected with Mavis, the founder of a Chinese doula-training and post-partum recovery company, through an international organization called Midwifery Today. (Note: doulas are trained personnel who support women before, during, and after delivery). One thing led to another and Mavis later invited me to come to Jining, a (relatively) small city in Shandong province for a “forum”/”discussion” with doctors, midwives, and nurses. I had presumed, from what she had told me, that it would be an informal meeting of Canadian and Chinese doctors and midwives, but little did I know that it was actually quite a well-organized affair involving a hotel conference room, name tags, and lots of photographers. Furthermore, the group of expert “Canadian doctors” turned out to be just one Scottish-Canadian professor of midwifery, Professor Edith Hillan, who is currently the Vice Provost of the University of Toronto and previously a professor of midwifery at the University of Glasgow in Scotland. It just so happened that she was in China vacationing and accompanying her husband for his own conference keynote in electrical engineering. As she was interested in the issue of childbirth in China, she also connected with Mavis, hoping to perhaps visit a hospital and talk with doctors or midwives while her husband was doing his own academic work. However, also to her surprise, that “casual” visit turned out to be a formal symposium with many doctors and midwives from provincial hospitals in attendance.

Professor Edith Hillan and me at the symposium

Professor Edith Hillan and me at the symposium. Photo by the author.

I think what was exciting for me was that I had, in fact, come across Professor Hillan’s name in the literature on post-operative morbidity for cesarean deliveries—and it was just by pure chance we were brought together for the same purpose. Therefore, it was quite exciting to hear her speak in a Chinese context, especially because it is so different from that of the UK (or the US). It was also lovely to be able to converse in English with her about these issues. The big takeaway from her lecture, which was about the need for midwifery care all over the world as well as the rising rates of cesarean sections, was that particularly in the UK, maternity care serves the woman, putting her needs and that of her infant at the center both in and out of the hospital. From my point of view, this is not the case in China. “Midwives” in China are simply nurses who develop skills to work in the delivery room only after interning there for a year or two. Maternal-child care revolves entirely around the hospital’s and doctors’ authorities—a biomedical hegemony, perhaps. This means that women experience labor and deliver lying down, and are subject to more cesarean deliveries and episiotomies—unlike in the UK where midwives lead low-risk births usually without much intervention. Moreover, women in the UK are educated about the care they receive and have the ability to make choices about their childbirth experience, unlike in China where many women do not receive childbirth education, have no birth plan, and follow doctor’s orders. I think that this, in turn, leads to a fear of pain and childbirth, and eventually perhaps to the refuge of a surgeon’s knife during their labor. It is clear that while China’s maternal-child health indicators have improved dramatically by moving birth into the medical realm, there is still a large deficit in trying to make that childbirth experience humanized and empowering for women. Now, Mavis and her company are trying to change that culture, particularly by working to increase partnerships with hospitals to increase the number of doulas—but a lot remains to be done, especially in getting women much-needed community care outside of the hospital, for which I think the UK can serve as a model.

Edith, Mavis, and local nurses

Edith, Mavis, and local nurses posing for a picture. Photo by author.

Overall, this conference was quite a wonderful experience, complementing my fieldwork and interviews, and I loved being able to learn from other perspectives as well as share my own. After all, this is the power of cross-cultural research and exchange, where we cross-pollinate ideas and values to continually improve society. The moral of the story is, don’t be afraid to network and reach out to other people—the world of academia actually gets quite small, especially within a discipline or field of practice and even more so in foreign countries. It definitely proved fruitful for me.

Posted in Museum, Students in the Field | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Excavating the Stories behind the Numbers – Eileen Wang

Every year, the Penn Museum provides support to Penn undergraduates and graduate students as they deepen their understanding of the human experience outside the Museum’s walls. Follow these blog posts from our intrepid young scholars as they report on the sights and sites that they encounter throughout their travels in the field.


 

June 26, 2015
Jiading, Shanghai, China

Ethnographic research is all about going into your fieldwork expecting one thing from your background research, and then in the midst of it, encountering an entirely different set of circumstances. As I prepared for my “on the ground” research in China with the literature from previous years, I was thinking that the cesarean section rate would be sky high, that women perhaps would be requesting them left and right, and doctors would be wielding their surgical tools very liberally. Perhaps I was hoping to encounter all of this to confirm my expectations and then parse out the details from there.

Of course, the reality is quite different, and quite a bit more nuanced than the picture my imagination painted. In fact, at a secondary hospital in the outskirts of the city, I find myself surrounded by women who overwhelmingly prefer natural, vaginal delivery, and by doctors and nurses who encourage it. In fact, everywhere I look—on the walls, on brochures, even on the little pouches given to pregnant women to place their medical slips—the hospital clearly broadcasts: “Natural delivery is good.” Apparently, in the past few years, the government has been vigorously trying to lower cesarean section rates with more education, brochures, and TV ads, as well as new penalties for hospitals who have unacceptably high rates. Therefore, rather than having a cesarean section rate of 50%, as I was expecting, the hospital has since dramatically decreased it to around 30%—still high, but comparable to the US.

Nevertheless, confronting the differences between my expectations and reality allows me to keep an open mind, and to adapt and build off of this unexpectedness. It gives me the opportunity to attempt to understand how that change has occurred, how women’s experiences have evolved, and what hasn’t changed at all. Indeed, many of these women have given birth and the doctors have attended births through this change, and from their narratives, I have noted that while rates of cesarean have decreased, the general birthing culture and experience remains largely the same.

For example, one of the most peculiar things I discovered was that a number of the midwives, who work in the delivery room, had themselves requested cesarean deliveries. One of them did it 5 years ago during the era of very liberal use of cesareans, and one did it less than a year ago even after the changes were implemented. Wait a minute. Why are the midwives, who are supposed to promote vaginal delivery and who are perhaps the ones who most clearly know the health risks and benefits of each, asking for cesarean deliveries? Even more curiously, how were they getting around hospital regulations largely prohibiting women from requesting cesareans? Clearly something was contradictory here.

When I probed further, the midwives told me they felt like they themselves couldn’t go through the natural delivery experience. After all, they worked day in, day out in Labor and Delivery where women labored in an open room with other laboring women, without family, and mostly without anesthesia (there is very little use of epidurals in China, for reasons that require a whole other explanation). Although many of the women I talked to preferred vaginal delivery, citing the benefits to their baby and the harms of surgery, there seemed to be a universal fear of delivery magnified in an open, public space of shared pain. The midwives felt that they might as well undergo the cesarean without the long, painful process of labor; and then accept the post-surgery pain.

This contradiction signaled to me that while incentives for hospitals and education reforms are, on the surface-level, successful in lowering the “alarming rate” of cesarean deliveries, they simply do not change the generally negative experience of vaginal birth that may be driving the fear underlying requests for cesareans. Looking only at the numbers to determine what is wrong or what has been successful brushes over these deeper reasons for cesarean deliveries on maternal request.

Of course, I am not meaning to say that this is true of all women who want cesareans or of all midwives in China, as I am merely a participant observer at one local hospital. But I think the great thing about focused ethnographic research is that I am able to collect particular stories and pinpoint these slight contradictions in order to tease out their meaning in the larger context. In a world where numbers and rates are highly valued, ethnographic research and anthropology can play a powerful role in revealing cracks in those numbers.

Posted in China, Students in the Field | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

The Museum Porch: Bicentennial Wedgwood Plates, 1940

Bicentennial Wedgwood Plate, 1940: The Museum Porch by Thorton Oakley

Bicentennial Wedgwood Plate, 1940: The Museum Porch by Thornton Oakley. Photo by Michael Condiff.

I’m like the Museum in a sense that I’m a collector of things. I tend to be most interested in coins, which is why one of my favorite galleries at the museum is the Greece Gallery. There’s something interesting about currency and commerce; who and how many people held the currency, what was it used to purchase? But that’s not to say I do not have an interest in other collectibles. Above is a picture of a Wedgwood plate titled “The Museum Porch” that I recently acquired in exchange for some of my less interesting, modern electronic-currency. Of particular interest to me is that the very top portion of the Museum drawing has either cut off or intentionally left out the lion sculpture which sits atop the entrance on the roof. I have actually found it to be difficult in dealing with photos of the Kamin Entrance (Museum Porch) to get the entire scene without cutting out the top portion of the roof with the lion. It seems the same problem existed in 1940 as it does some 75 years later.

The plate I purchased is part of a set. In 1939, the University of Pennsylvania commissioned a set of a dozen plates of Wedgwood China to commemorate the University’s bicentennial, each designed by Penn alumni. The Museum Porch was drawn by Thornton Oakley, an accomplished illustrator, writer, and teacher. One of my favorite works of his is a World War I patriotic drawing of a scene at the Hog Island shipyard, titled Riveters at Hog Island.

Riveters at Work at Hog Island Shipyard (Philadelphia) by Thornton Oakley, from Harper's Monthly Magazine October 1918

Riveters at Work at Hog Island Shipyard (Philadelphia) by Thornton Oakley, from Harper’s Monthly Magazine, October 1918.

Here is the reverse side of the plate and you can notice some crazing. Lynn and Tessa in our Conservation Department gave me a crash course in what crazing is and why crazing occurs. It’s nice when you can walk down the hallway and ask experts why and how this happens.

Reverse Plate Side

Reverse Plate Side. Photo by Michael Condiff.

Above you can see that Thornton Oakley graduated from the University of Pennsylvania in ’01. That’s 1901 and not 2001, as I’m more used to seeing the latter. Imported apparently by Jones, McDuffie & Stratton (JMS). With a little digging I found an article with a little bit of the back-story of JMS.

Here is a shot of the lion that always gets cut out of photographs.

Here is a shot of the lion sculpture that often gets cut out of photographs and the 1940 Wedgwood plate. Photo by Michael Condiff.

Unfortunately for my wallet, I do have the itch to collect the remaining 11 plates in the set.

Posted in Museum | Tagged | Leave a comment

The Work Goes (Sub-Awning, Yawning) On – Jeremy Cohen

Every year, the Penn Museum provides support to Penn undergraduates and graduate students as they deepen their understanding of the human experience outside the Museum’s walls. Follow these blog posts from our intrepid young scholars as they report on the sights and sites that they encounter throughout their travels in the field.


When George Washington University Professor, Tel Kabri Excavation Co-Director, and impromptu limerick enthusiast Eric H. Cline notified me of his “just having happened to stumble upon” my first post on the Penn Museum website (there’s no shame in self-Googling, sir), I realized that I had a tangible audience for these posts. To be precise: four, counting also my parents and Dr. Tiballi, to whom the posts are sent for initial review. Less fortunately, the wireless available at our field school—otherwise a great facility, I hear, by “dig standards”—has been less reliable than my nascent fan base. Though it is hitting the web in mid-July, this post was composed on 25 June, a mere two weeks into my dig experience.

N.B. The following is a work of historical fiction; any similarity to real individuals, locations, and events is unintentional and should not be the basis for a misconceived lawsuit, tabloid, M.A. thesis, etc.

Once, while in elementary school, my parents woke me up at a quarter to four in the morning so we could see the Battle of Lexington and Concord, reenacted. It was Patriots’ Day in Massachusetts—which, I would later learn, is the only state to recognize this holiday.

In the decade since, by unofficial decree, I had never awoken prior to dawn’s rosy-fingered arrival. But starting a few weeks ago, by semi-official mandate, je me levai before l’élévation of the sun levantin. By four forty-five, I find myself planted firmly in the seat of a northern Israeli bus on the winding, wakening road to Tel Kabri.

Assaf, in his natural habitat

Assaf, in his natural habitat (Photo by the author)

Accompanying me are roughly thirty undergrads and graduate students, roughing it with hiking boots and water jugs, trowels, and pencils. Many students hailed from The George Washington University (in the eponymously named city of Washington, of the District of Columbia, definitely articulated on its bookstore-sold clothing to avoid confusion) or Brandeis University (Waltham, MA). Yet, I found myself immediately welcomed as “Jeremy, from Penn!” by Profs. Eric H. Cline (“Cline”, GAS’91) and Andrew J. Koh (“Koh-Koh”, GAS’06), leading to easy conversations centered on, if you’ll believe it, the youthful shenanigans of now-tenured Penn professors. (Career Services, feel free to cite this blog post “What a Penn education can do for you!”) For Professor Assaf Yasser-Landau, formerly of the 1980s New Wave music movement and now of the maritime and coastal archaeology program at the University of Haifa, consistent mutual reference to Kafka or Scott Pilgrim vs. the World has accomplished the same ends. As they watch us work through six-hour shifts, taking notes or photographs or turns with the pick-axe, each professor casually, smilingly sells their own graduate program (and/or personality cult).

A leader by example

A leader by example (Photo by the author)

I came well-equipped with sunscreen, patience, and an open mind. Yet, while my “un-apologetically lanky” physique may help me blend into hip Tel Aviv establishments, my muscles have been paying the piper—pick-axing, crouching, balancing, carrying, emptying, and high-fiving—at the local rate of 12 Israeli new shekel/day, or whatever an after-shift non-iced coffee (with ice) costs at the local gas station. It is rewarding work, though, worth the increased hummus appetite and penchant for falling asleep at 8:30 pm. The uneven tanning may take more getting used to, especially when any tanning is a fairly novel concept; armistice lines run along my legs, upper arms, and lower neck, separating two Euxenine shades between which only a 1028-pack Crayola could distinguish.

Trench acrobatics

Trench acrobatics (Photo by the author)

Still, the work goes on, as the self-described Clininites more deeply and widely delve into the Middle Bronze Age Canaanites’ palatial storerooms. Depending on your politics within the archaeology community and willingness to accept data collected by first-of-its-kind, on-site residue analysis, you may well nod toward Kabri’s claim of “world’s oldest known palatial wine cellar.” Indeed, even if you are skeptical of superlatives, The New York Times’ public interest journalism, and (definitely not member-edited) Wikipedia pages, there is still great merit in discovering wine residue, indicative of recipe-based mixology, in dozens of storage jars housed within several separate rooms, adjoining uniquely paired Syrian-style architecture and Aegean-style frescoes, all abandoned enigmatically some 3,700 years ago.

At least, I think there is. And it’s worth all the toe-bottom blisters and four o’clock wake-ups in the world.

Posted in Museum, Students in the Field | Tagged | Leave a comment

Two Perspectives in the Financial Crisis in Greece: Part 1: From the Field – Amanda Ball

Every year, the Penn Museum provides support to Penn undergraduates and graduate students as they deepen their understanding of the human experience outside the Museum’s walls. Follow these blog posts from our intrepid young scholars as they report on the sights and sites that they encounter throughout their travels in the field.


July 5, 2015

Pagouria and the Molyvoti Peninsula, Rhodopi, Greece

The “You are leaving Pagouria” sign. Photo by Amanda Ball.

The “You are leaving Pagouria” sign. Photo by Amanda Ball.

My mother called me this past Saturday night, as I wandered the streets of Istanbul. She and my father were worried I wouldn’t be able to make it back into Greece after my weekend off in Turkey, despite my assurances that I was fine and there was no reason to worry.

A picture from the border on July 5th, 2015. The line to leave Greece for Turkey. Photo by Amanda Ball.

A picture from the border on July 5, 2015. The line to leave Greece for Turkey. Photo by Amanda Ball.

“Don’t be a hero, Amanda,” she said. Easily the coolest thing anyone has ever said to me. “If things get bad, get out. Get over the border. We have a friend with friends in your area. Don’t be the last one out. Call us.” I laughed then, but later skimmed several articles on the possibility of violent fallout between then and when my bus back to Greece was scheduled to leave. As we headed back over the border the following day, with no trouble, the line of cars trying to get out of Greece extended absurdly far.

The Molyvoti, Thrace Archaeological Project (MTAP) inhabits a village called Pagouria. Pagouria has no bank, no ATM, and almost no one in it. There are two convenience stores, two kafeneias, a hardware store, and a gas station. Often it feels like more dogs inhabit Pagouria than people. The residents of Pagouria largely work in the farmland surrounding the village. From here, the crisis is merely something that shows up on the news programs every so often and is discussed by the locals in resigned voices. The Greek media is calling the crisis “the German problem” or “the European problem,” making the issue seem even more distant from daily life.

Pagouria from a distance. Photo by Amanda Ball.

Pagouria from a distance. Photo by Amanda Ball.

The closest city, Komotini, is a different story. From the last week of June, every ATM I’ve seen has had a line of four or more people standing outside of it. The only instance I’ve seen a vacant ATM since has been in the middle of a rainstorm. We foreigners are exempt from the 60 euro limit of ATM withdrawals from Greek bank accounts. It definitely makes one feel guilty to withdraw hundreds when the people behind you in line are withdrawing just enough to get by.

A Greek ATM line. Photo by Noah Kaye.

A Greek ATM line. Photo by Noah Kaye.

Greece’s division over whether to vote yes or no to the referendum is apparent only in the cities. Friends who went into Komotini on Wednesday, July 1, saw groups handing out fliers and waving posters labeled “Οχι”, in English, “[Vote] No.” These protestors seemed more determined than hostile and after my friends attended their lecture, they returned to quiet Pagouria.

Of course, this comes from an outside perspective. I spend most days walking cotton fields in the middle of nowhere, as part of the survey team run by Tom Tartaron, chair of the Art and Archaeology of the Mediterranean World Program at Penn. In the day-to-day, I am much more afraid of shepherd dogs than I am of Greece defaulting on its loans. The scope of the problems being discussed on every channel, on every news source, seems so abstract as to be meaningless. However, that’s not to say we have not been affected at all.

A picture of the Yes/No ballot. Picture by Noah Kaye.

A picture of the Yes/No ballot. Picture by Noah Kaye.

At a meeting on June 30, MTAP’s director, Nathan Arrington, outlined the changes that were being made in the general running of the project. Shopping would now be limited to what could be bought with credit cards. The project’s account at the local hardware store had been closed, as had the account at the copy shop in Komotini. Supplies were stockpiled and further shopping trips would be limited. Everyone was instructed to take out Euros from the ATMs, in case of emergency. Otherwise, the project would continue as normal. “It will take much more than this to stop this project,” Nathan said. The words had the ring of a coach’s motivational speech in a sports movie. The whole staff applauded, as he stepped outside to speak with a workman who seemed concerned about his pay.

Following this speech, two staff members drove to a larger village nearby that did have ATMs in order to withdraw cash. The ATMs were closed upon arrival. The locals seemed to be having a party at the restaurant next door. When they saw our friends, they yelled, “Haven’t you heard, there’s no money in Greece?” while drinking and listening to music. The Americans replied with the obligatory, “Well, at least you’re happy!” The situation seemed and seems farcical. The ATMs are empty. Why not have a beer?

Financial crises seem faraway when this is your everyday. Photo by Amanda Ball.

Financial crises seem faraway when this is your everyday.
Photo by Amanda Ball.

On Sunday, the day of the vote on the referendum, the Muslim school has voters trickling in and out and more old men than usual are sitting outside the two convenience stores and kafeneias. These are the only signs anything is different from normal. Several voters showed up to our dighouse because they believed this is where the voting would happen. These local voters were dressed to the nines, clearly seeing a vote on a major issue as a significant event. There are no riots, no one shouting, no anger. The farming village seems almost indifferent. International politics seem far away, merely a new topic for the ever-present grumblings over a Vergina at the local bar.

Though to our families back home the financial crisis seems like a terrifying thing, we in the boonies of Greece remain almost unaffected. If the banks do not open on Monday the 6th, they may open later this week, or in the next one. We do not know how the vote will go. The crisis is currently unresolved and, no matter the results, will remain unresolved for a bit longer. Our dig is scheduled to end July 28. All we in Pagouria can do is hope the crisis is resolved before then in some manner or another. ‘Til then, we work.

 

Posted in Museum, Students in the Field | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Sawadee ka from Bangkok! – Enika Selby

Every year, the Penn Museum provides support to Penn undergraduates and graduate students as they deepen their understanding of the human experience outside the Museum’s walls. Follow these blog posts from our intrepid young scholars as they report on the sights and sites that they encounter throughout their travels in the field.


May 31, 2015

During my past three years at Penn I have heard many of my anthropology professors recall their glory years of research when they traveled to far away places to tackle questions from anthropological perspectives. Although I’m not an anthropologist just yet, my own questions soon began to form, and this summer I find myself in Bangkok, Thailand, conducting research on Burmese migrant workers.

1.1

The author in Bangkok, Thailand.

 

Soon after arriving in Bangkok, I began my work with my main contact and translator—a woman named Mai who runs her own home care business. She mainly recruits migrants from Myanmar, in order to provide them with job opportunities that may otherwise be difficult to find. Her office is where I began interviewing the diverse array of Burmese people who have come to Bangkok for better employment or education. In the upcoming weeks, I also plan to observe church services attended by migrant workers and explore neighborhoods where Burmese people have started their own businesses.

Through interviews and observations, I am looking to explore the social transition migrants make when they move from one environment to another. For many of the people I have talked with so far, this means going from either a rural village, small town, or a refugee camp to the rather international city of Bangkok. The particular focus of my research is how Burmese migrant workers’ identities are shaped under the influence of globalization. This entails understanding what kinds of communities, ideas, and social patterns emerge within the migrant population after moving to the big city.

As I slowly begin to discover these processes, I am also learning more about migrant people’s personal histories and opinions. Many describe the difficulties they had to endure just to arrive in Thailand. Some people tell of the constant discrimination that they face due to what they believe are ethnic and national differences between themselves and Thais. Meanwhile, others I have spoken with describe no such trouble, and even view Bangkok as their home. This dichotomy is just one of the many interesting details that I have learned on my trip so far.

I am only a few weeks into my research, and fascinating information has already emerged. As I conduct more interviews I will continue to work to understand what is happening with the Burmese migrant workers in Bangkok!

 

 

Posted in Museum, Students in the Field | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Start Somewhere – Janelle Sadarananda

Every year, the Penn Museum provides support to Penn undergraduates and graduate students as they deepen their understanding of the human experience outside the Museum’s walls. Follow these blog posts from our intrepid young scholars as they report on the sights and sites that they encounter throughout their travels in the field.


2 July 2015
Gordion Excavation House, Yassihöyük, Turkey

I’ll start with an introduction: my name is Janelle Sadarananda, and I am a rising second-year PhD student in Penn’s Art and Archaeology of the Mediterranean World (AAMW) program. Thanks to a generous grant from the Penn Museum, I have embarked on a summer of archaeological fieldwork in Greece and Turkey.

My summer began when I arrived in Athens at the end of May to participate in the Eastern Boeotia Archaeological Project (EBAP), an excavation that I have been a part of since 2013. Last week, I started over at a different site when I left Greece for central Turkey, to join the Penn Museum’s Dr. Brian Rose and the rest of the team at Gordion. EBAP excavates at the site of anient Eleon, a settlement that is allowing researchers to better understand the Mycenaean world in the post-palatial period (1450–1100 BCE). Gordion is most well known as the capital of the Phrygian civilization in in the 13th through 6th centuries BCE, but the site also has significant Bronze Age, Achaemenid, Hellenistic, Roman, and Ottoman levels. Both sites are fascinating and exciting places to work.

The start of a new day in Dilesi, Boeotia, home of the EBAP team.

The start of a new day in Dilesi, Boeotia, home of the EBAP team. (Photo by the author)

This is my sixth summer of fieldwork, but it is also a summer of fresh starts and new experiences. During my three weeks at EBAP, I supervised my own trench for the first time. My position as trench supervisor came with new responsibilities. I documented and recorded each day’s activities and finds in my trench, and I played a role in making decisions about the excavation process, consulting with directors Dr. Brendan Burke and Dr. Bryan Burns. Acting as a supervisor allowed me to further my understanding of the principles of archaeology and to contribute to answering EBAP’s research questions, shedding more light on life at ancient Eleon.

My trusty notebook and me in the field at Eleon (photo by Max MacDonald).

My trusty notebook and me in the field at Eleon (Photo by Max MacDonald).

Another one of my responsibilities as a trench supervisor was to direct and oversee students in the excavation of my trench. As I was learning about the ins and outs of supervising, students from the University of Victoria and Wellesley College were learning the ins and outs of archaeology in the field for the first time. Their fresh perspective helped me appreciate archaeology in new ways. It’s difficult to become jaded about “boring” potsherds when students in your trench have never unearthed or touched any kind of ancient pottery before, and are full of questions and opinions about every find. Even mundane tasks, like weeding, are infused with a sense of newness and excitement – after all, as some students remarked, how often do most people clear weeds from the base of an exquisitely engineered polygonal wall?

Eleon’s polygonal wall, being inspected by University of Pennsylvania graduate student Jake Morton and EBAP director Brendan Burke (University of Victoria).

Eleon’s polygonal wall, being inspected by University of Pennsylvania graduate student Jake Morton and EBAP director Brendan Burke (University of Victoria). (Photo by the author)

The learning curve in my trench was steep: as I was figuring out the best ways to stay on top of documentation paperwork, Ashley was learning how to identify different soil textures and to define the edges of a pit, and Arianna was solidifying her understanding of the locus and lot system. Each day was as rewarding as it was exhausting (but an afternoon swim at the beach always made us feel like new). For fresh perspectives and accounts of new experiences in the students’ own words, you can visit http://ebapexcavation.blogspot.com. The excavations at Eleon continue until July 11th, so follow the blog to see how the season is unfolding!

Newby Ashley Hopper and returning student Arianna Nagle (both University of Victoria) were my first-ever trench workers.

Newby Ashley Hopper and returning student Arianna Nagle (both from the University of Victoria) were my first-ever trench workers. (Photo by the author)

When I said goodbye to the EBAP team, I started another new adventure here at Gordion. This is my first time working on this project, though I’ve studied the site. New trenches have been opened and new features are being unearthed every day, which means the discovery of exciting material is imminent. I am also observing and participating in an outreach program for local high schoolers, run by the Gordion excavation. So far we’ve gone on two great field trips, with more coming up over the next month. I am looking forward to the next several weeks in the field and with the local students!

Posted in Museum, Students in the Field | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Of Words and Matter: Glass Wampum

Every year, the Penn Museum provides support to Penn undergraduates and graduate students as they deepen their understanding of the human experience outside the Museum’s walls. Follow these blog posts from our intrepid young scholars as they report on the sights and sites that they encounter throughout their travels in the field.


Student Report from the Wampum Trail
by Sarah Parkinson

Since leaving for the “wampum trail” I have been thinking a lot about words and the weight that they carry, especially in relation to glass bead wampum. First, I am interested in the written word and its productive effect—how words produce real change, and why this matters. The way we write about glass wampum (or any substance) changes the way we think about it, and this affects our interpretations. Second, I am interested in spoken words as they intersect with written words in wampum belts.

Penn students Sarah Parkinson (left) and Stephanie Mach (right) meet with Richard W. Hill Jr. (Tuscarora), Coordinator of the Indigenous Knowledge Centre at Six Nations Polytechnic, Ohsweken, Ontario.

Penn students Sarah Parkinson (left) and Stephanie Mach (right) meet with Richard W. Hill Jr. (Tuscarora), Coordinator of the Indigenous Knowledge Centre in Ohsweken, Ontario. Photograph by Margaret Bruchac.

Although wampum is traditionally made from shell beads, we have found belts in museum collections that include glass beads mixed with shell, as well as many belts that are entirely made of glass beads. Given the time and effort that goes into constructing a belt, the careful designs and contexts in which glass bead belts have been found, I find it unlikely that these belts are insignificant. However, before considering what glass beads may signify, it is important to consider how they are talked about—the discourse surrounding them.

It is important to understand the productive power of speech. Although it seems natural that words are connected to any given idea or thing, language is heavily influenced by culture. Words do not necessarily flow from our mouths as neutral, apolitical, disinterested speech. Any given term comes with a long history of literature and discourse, and the associations that people have with that term. What happens when fraught terms are used indiscriminately?

For example, there are two basic terms for wampum beads: shell and glass. These are routinely attached to different values: traditional/real and fake/imitation. In relation to glass bead wampum, what is the difference between imitation and fake? In museum collections, I have seen curators refer to glass bead wampum in a variety of ways. Some museums categorize it in a group of its own, distinct from traditional shell bead wampum. This includes storing it separately and requiring that researchers make a separate request if they wish to examine it. Other museums include glass bead wampum in with their shell bead collections. Most museums label it as imitation or fake. Although these categories may seem inconsequential, I would suggest that the nuances of how we categorize and talk about glass bead wampum have profound effects in terms of its perceived significance.

Stephanie Mach shining a light through the glass belt at the Archives of Nicolet Seminary. Photo by Lise Puyo.

Examining a glass belt at the Archives of Nicolet Seminary. Photograph by Lise Puyo.

Some scholars speak about glass wampum based on the assumption that it is insignificant; that it was never used in ceremonies and that it is simply a fake version of the real thing. In our research, however, we have found evidence that suggests otherwise. There are many glass bead belts that have been found in burials, which in itself indicates its significance. In ethnographic belts, glass wampum beads were sometimes used as a stand in for shell beads, and imbued with the same meaning as “the real thing.” By speaking about glass wampum as fake and insignificant, scholars degrade it to a lesser category, one that negates the possibility of it being culturally significant. The more that these scholars cross-reference themselves, and the more that museum categories fail to address the significance of glass wampum, the more this assertion is perceived as true. I suggest that this perceived truth is based on a fraught assumption that persists despite historical and cultural realities that suggest the possible significance of glass beads. As a result, glass wampum is deprived of the attention that it may deserve. In order to undo this, we must write and speak about glass wampum more accurately, avoiding fraught terms such as “real” and “fake” and “insignificant” and “authentic” until we can back them up.

As I thought about the discourse surrounding wampum, I increasingly realized the relevance of the intersection between written and spoken words. Words are spoken into wampum belts so that messages can be recorded and transmitted across time and space. After their messages are communicated and used for a time, some wampum belts are re-purposed, their messages altered in order to adapt to changing situations. Belts are meant to signal ongoing relationships amongst individuals in Native groups, and between Native nations and colonial entities. Like all functional relationships, these require the ongoing presence of living people who can negotiate and interact with one another. Written agreements are intended to be permanent and constrained by strictly defined words. They can function in the absence of living people. Therefore, their words can be “spoken” without any real ongoing relationship, and these dead voices can begin to speak louder than the living, often to the detriment of the people they speak about. In contrast, wampum belts remain relevant to communities because of their ability to adapt meaning to fit the needs of a living relationship. I suggest that wampum belts can be understood as a crossroads between written and spoken words. Like written documents, wampum belts can be fixed records of history (in some instances), but they are also dependent on oral communication in order to adapt to changing situations.

Detail of mid-18th century wampum belt showing the inclusion of a single blue glass bead in the original weave of shell wampum beads. Photograph by Lise Puyo.

Detail of mid-18th century wampum belt showing a single blue glass bead in the original weave of shell wampum beads. Photograph by Lise Puyo.

Collectors put objects in museums so that they will stay put; so they are saved from the shifting times and all of the messiness that might imply. It seems that this also applies to the knowledge that museums hold; once objects are labeled as “real” or “imitation,” museums are reluctant to change their thinking. Academic discourse surrounding wampum functions in much the same way—the more that scholars build a discourse surrounding glass wampum based on the assumption that it is insignificant, the more ingrained this idea becomes, producing the illusion of truth. Wampum, as ritual complex, is meant to sustain ongoing relationships between living people. These relationships require more words to be spoken. Yet, in their current state, museums and academic discourse tend to operate in ways that run contrary to the essence of wampum.

The way we write and speak about wampum matters. As we all play a part in shaping the discourse surrounding glass wampum, it is absolutely critical to avoid charged terms that might contribute to a pejorative understanding of it without closely considering their consequences. What are the implications of “imitation?” “Fake?” “Insignificant?” Because museums and academia are perceived as authoritative sources, they strongly influence the discourse surrounding glass wampum. This influence can overshadow Native voices in speaking about wampum and its continued relevance. There is a profound difference between speaking for and speaking about a Native group, and the conversation about wampum should not turn into a contest over whose voice is louder. Perhaps most importantly, we should listen to Native people as they continue the conversation surrounding wampum in a way that makes sense for their current needs, as the essence of wampum discourse seems to encourage.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

For more information on this project, see the Wampum Trail Research Blog and Wampum Trail Facebook page

Posted in Americas, Community Engagement, Museum, Students in the Field | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Field Trips

The Smith Creek Archaeological Project is a new Penn Museum research project, conducting its first season in the field during the late spring of 2015. The Penn Museum’s Social Media Coordinator, Tom Stanley, is blogging about the project.


Our excavation team has wrapped up its fieldwork for the summer after four weeks of working hard every weekday on the site. But there was more to their time in Mississippi than just excavating. In their spare time, they were able to go on some pretty terrific little road trips to a variety of nearby museums and sites of historical (or sometimes prehistoric) significance—as a nice opportunity to expand on the cultural relevance of their fieldwork, and to explore different approaches to presenting stories and artifacts of the past in public settings.

Antebellum home atop the Natchez Bluffs.

Antebellum home atop the Natchez Bluffs.

During the team’s first weekend in Mississippi, they took a ride up to highway 61 to the beautiful city of Natchez. These were old stomping grounds for Meg, our project director, and David, one of our project supervisors, who stayed in Natchez in the past during field seasons at the Feltus site, which is located about 25 miles north of here.

The team takes a stroll along the bluff. Photo by David Cranford.

The team takes a stroll along the bluff in Natchez. Photo by David Cranford.

Natchez is an old city with a very long history, named for the Natchez Indians who inhabited this land at the point of European contact; that tribe was massacred by colonists from France during the mid-18th century, with some of its few survivors abandoning the land and joining with other tribes like the Creek and the Chickasaw. Leading up to the Civil War (1861-1865), it was a wealthy American port city, making fortunes in the cotton trade. While many Southern cities were partially or completely destroyed during the war, Natchez was left largely unscathed. As such, it’s home to many magnificent examples of antebellum architecture. The town proper sits atop the 150-foot-tall Natchez Bluffs, overlooking the Mississippi River.

A view from Natchez of the Mississippi River.

A view from Natchez of the Mississippi River.

Natchez is located at the southwestern end of the Natchez Trace—once a trail used by Native people for centuries as a trade route and then by European settlers traveling back north after selling their wares down river. The Trace stretches as far as Nashville, Tennessee, and is now home to the Natchez Trace Parkway, a 444-mile drive maintained by the National Park Service. On the Trace, near the town of Stanton (still very close to Natchez), awaits the Emerald Mound Site. Emerald Mound was created and used between 1300 and 1600 CE by the Plaquemine Culture, predecessors of the Natchez Indians and the group that immediately follows the Coles Creek Culture that we’re investigating at Smith Creek.

The SCAP team visits Emerald Mound. Photo taken by a friendly passer-by.

The SCAP team visits Emerald Mound.

This tremendous temple mound is the second largest in the United States, outsized only by Monk’s Mound at Cahokia in Illinois. It has been excavated numerous times, and is known to have once supported temples, ceremonial structures, and elite burials—as well as eight smaller mounds that were built on the mound’s surface. The site is a National Historic Landmark, open to the public with no fee for visitors.

Looking across Emerald Mound.

Looking across Emerald Mound.

The following weekend (by which time I’d arrived with the team), the group spent a Saturday piling into the van and taking a trip west to Louisiana State University’s campus, stopping first at the Rural Life Museum. This museum focuses largely on elements of everyday life in 18th- and 19th-century Louisiana, addressing issues like slavery, industrialization, medicine, transportation, and much more.

Exploring inside the Rural Life Museum.

Exploring inside the Rural Life Museum.

The main hall of the museum was tall and spacious, while various corners of the building were packed with thousands of items of interesting and curious origin. Hearses, spinning wheels, mounted game animals, old cameras, frightening dental tools… I felt like I was in a Southern version of the Mercer Museum.

Getting our (decoy) ducks in a row.

Getting our (decoy) ducks in a row.

Then I got to the back of the main building and realized I’d just gotten started. The back door opened into essentially a small ghost town—a sprawling site dotted with buildings of various uses that would have been fairly commonplace in eras past, all of which were open for exploration. We could have spent a whole day wandering this place.

As long as we were already at LSU, it made sense to pay their mounds a visit, too. LSU is home to two of the oldest known earthen mounds in the country; sitting side by side, these two mounds were built roughly 5,000 years ago—close to 4,000 years older than the Smith Creek Mounds. These mounds are testaments to the longevity of the practice of moundbuilding in the Lower Mississippi Valley.

A photo of one mound from the other, with David scampering in between.

A photo of one mound from the other, with David scampering in between.

On the way back from LSU, a stop in St. Francisville, Louisiana, was not too far out of the way. This small town in West Feliciana Parish is home to Grace Church, one of the oldest Protestant churches in the state, tracing its history back to 1827; it was the site of one unusual occurrence during the Civil War known as “The Day the War Stopped,” an event that is today reenacted on an annual basis. The church itself was closed for repairs during our visit, but we spent a good portion of time wandering its vast and beautiful cemetery.

A view of the cemetery at Grace Episcopal Church.

A view of the cemetery at Grace Episcopal Church.

The following week, the team cut off work early on Thursday to make a trip back up to Natchez, to the Grand Village of the Natchez Indians, where David was scheduled to give an evening lecture about his research on the Catawba Indians of North Carolina; the Catawba were one of the Native groups who took in some refugees of the massacred Natchez tribe.

Stepping out at the Grand Village of the Natchez Indians.

Stepping out at the Grand Village of the Natchez Indians.

The Grand Village is also a National Historic Landmark, a site occupied by the Natchez during the late 17th and early 18th centuries, maintained today by the Mississippi Department of Archives and History. The site is home to three mounds across a vast plaza; some early French colonists bore witness to the site’s use by the Natchez, which included the residence of a chief called “the Great Sun” atop the centrally located Mound B. This was ultimately the stage from which the French would eventually wipe out the tribe.

Mound B at the Grand Village of the Natchez Indians, former home of the Great Sun.

Mound B at the Grand Village of the Natchez Indians, former home of the Great Sun.

After dodging raindrops and exploring the plaza, we went inside and joined a packed house to listen in on David’s lecture. You can watch his full talk in the video below.

The team took the following day as a weekend day in lieu of Sunday, and we started with a trip back into Louisiana, to the Marksville Prehistoric Indian Site. Designated a National Historic Landmark in 1964, this site was used by the Marksville Culture of Native Americans from about 100 BCE to about 400 CE. Today it’s also home to an underutilized museum, which houses artifacts from this site and others nearby—as well as some very classic signage.

The magic of Carbon-14 dating!

The magic of Carbon-14 dating!

After touring the museum, we roamed through the rest of the site, home to its mound complex consisting of seven mounds of various sizes around (you guessed it) an open plaza. The site featured a convenient “Mythic Mounds Quest” walking trail that brought us around the perimeter, with signs indicating discoveries from the mounds and marking appearances of various flora.

One of seven mounds at the Marksville Mound Site.

One of seven mounds at the Marksville Mound Site.

This was another place where we could have stayed longer, but this time the rain, not the time, chased us back to the van.

The end of our Marksville visit.

The end of our Marksville visit.

From there we continued to the Tunica-Biloxi Indian Museum, owned and operated by the Tunica-Biloxi Indian Tribe. Inside we learned about the Tunica people’s long history in the region, marred by forced movement due to conflict with European settlers, and by the unsanctioned excavation of tribal relics and grave goods known as the “Tunica treasure.” A long but eventually successful lawsuit brought the “treasure” back to the tribe in 1989, less than a decade after the tribe was recognized by the federal government; today, the treasure is housed inside this museum, as is an impressive suite of conservation labs that we were lucky enough to view through the glass.

Tunica pottery and basketry inside the Tunica-Biloxi Indian Museum.

Tunica pottery and basketry inside the Tunica-Biloxi Indian Museum.

Our next stops came in fairly rapid succession along the Louisiana Mound Trail. This driving trail of Indian Mounds of Northeast Louisiana was organized by the state of Louisiana’s Division of Archaeology as a way to inform the public of the existence of, and history behind, some of the hundreds of mound sites throughout the state. The trail is divided into four sections; the segment we toured brought us past a half dozen mound sites scattered among plots of both public and private land. The mounds are identified by prehistoric markers, very similar to the historic markers you see all over the place in memory of this founding father or that famous musician, or what have you. Some were hardly visible, while others couldn’t be missed. Meg has spent the previous two years working on developing a similar driving trail for Mississippi, on which Smith Creek will be one stop.

A quick stop off at the Troyville Earthworks.

A quick stop off at the Troyville Earthworks.

These experiences during the field season came as quite a surprise to me; I was not expecting our extra-curricular activities to be so wide-reaching, educational, and very importantly, fun. But Meg did a marvelous job this season of weaving disciplined fieldwork together with thought-provoking cultural excursions, in a way that brought the team’s fieldwork and its true meaning into much better focus.

All photos by Tom Stanley, except where otherwise attributed.

Posted in Americas, Museum, Research | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Deconstructing Knowledge; Reconstructing Meaning

Every year, the Penn Museum provides support to Penn undergraduates and graduate students as they deepen their understanding of the human experience outside the Museum’s walls. Follow these blog posts from our intrepid young scholars as they report on the sights and sites that they encounter throughout their travels in the field.


Student Report from the Wampum Trail
by Zhenia Bemko

The act of learning how to conduct the “restorative research” method used by the Wampum Trail team required, not just academic research, but a journey through time and space. To date, the trail has led me from Washington, DC, throughout much of New England. While traveling, I have learned that the practice of shutting down presupposed knowledge about an object (such as wampum) actually enhances the other senses used in observing the object. By disassociating one’s self and one’s opinions from interpretation, we allow the object to reveal more of itself, unclouded by the lenses and judgements used to infer meaning, so that a deeper object story can be recovered. The physical practice of this method can only be done in the presence of the object. You could, for example, read about the object or see photos of it; but you might only be experiencing (or creating) various levels of detachment from it. The “voice” of the object (so to speak), is best heard unfiltered, with one’s eyes and ears wide open.

Penn students Elizabeth Peng, Zhenia Bemko, and Sarah Parkinson examine wampum belts on display at the National Museum of the American Indian in Washington, DC. Photograph by Stephanie Mach.

Penn students Elizabeth Peng, Zhenia Bemko, and Sarah Parkinson examine wampum belts on display at the National Museum of the American Indian in Washington, DC. Photograph by Stephanie Mach.

This approach is especially valuable when applied to a contentious material such as wampum. As research assistants, we were asked to release ourselves from any judgements and pre-knowledge that could have shaped the parameters we used to understand each wampum object. Dr. Bruchac explains it this way: “… if you think something is always woven in a certain way, you’re looking for what matches. That’s why I hesitate about comparing objects, because you might be looking for similarities that are in your mind, but are not actually in the objects.” We found that it was all too easy to jump to conclusions when we read provenance data before examining the objects themselves. Sometimes the accession records and display texts contain, not facts, but presumptions regarding where the object originated and what meaning is attached to it. In short, my experience of learning how best to understand wampum required physical contact with the objects themselves.

My journey began in March of 2015, with a trip to the National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI) collections in the company of Sarah Parkinson, Elizabeth Peng, and Stephanie Mach. We surveyed quite an assortment of wampum. This was my first exposure to ethnographic wampum, and the objective of this trip was to see these objects through fresh, untainted eyes, both to develop a visual inventory for wampum, and to gather the visual and tactile knowledge needed to reference particular modes of construction and material.

This excursion inspired a surprising new insight about construction. During our third day at NMAI, a very odd piece was placed before us: a small woven section attached to a long string of wampum. This was collected by Walter C. Wyman in 1907, cataloged broadly as “Iroquois” (from Quebec, Ontario, and New York) and thought by the staff to have been an unfinished experiment of weaving techniques. It was identified as a “Wampum Neck Band in course of construction.” This information alone was enough to obscure the significance of this object to our project.

"Wampum Neck Band in course of construction," object number 014012.000 at the National Museum of the American Indian, Washington, DC. Collected by Walter C. Wyman in 1907. Photograph by Zhenia Bemko.

“Wampum Neck Band in course of construction.” National Museum of the American Indian, Smithsonian Institution (014012.000). Photograph by Zhenia Bemko.

We conducted a brief examination and analysis of the object. The incomplete woven section consisted of six rows and 24 columns (approx. 4.9 cm by 4 cm) and the single string of beads was 176 cm long. All of the beads were the dark purple of quahog and fairly uniform in shape (although their color varied). The weft, threads of a malleable material used to loop the beads through the warp, consisted of two strands of a light brown fiber. The warp, which is generally more sturdy to provide structure for the object, was of blue fiber. Dr. Bruchac had informed us that blue fiber is an atypical warp material in Haudenosaunee diplomatic objects (like belts, where leather is normally used), but it is common in Algonkian and Huron personal objects (cuffs and collars). Under the assumption that the object was in a stage of construction, I wondered why this apparently fragile blue material was used for warp as opposed to something more durable? At the horizontal edges, we noticed other colors of thread. Was this perhaps used in the curatorial process to reinforce and prevent damaged warp? We learned from the curator that such repairs are common in museums. This led to another question: in spite of the noble goal of preservation, do these small alterations change the original nature of the object?

Detail of woven wampum piece at NMAI, showing a section where the original twining of weft at the edges is intact. Photograph by Zhenia Bemko.

Detail of woven wampum piece, showing a section where the original twining of crossed-over weft at the edges is intact. National Museum of the American Indian, Smithsonian Institution (0014012.000). Photograph by Zhenia Bemko.

There were still more questions to be asked, and more information to be learned. So, I made further measurements. After some thought, I calculated that if finished, this item could have been approximately 14.9 cm by 4 cm: a small belt or, more likely, a collar. It was difficult to determine if the length of strung beads was a result of damage, deconstruction, or unfinished work. Wampum belts are normally constructed by laying out long warp threads and securing each individual column of beads with doubled weft threads. At first glance, it seemed like this piece was composed of a long single string of beads folded accordion-like and stitched together. After some further observation, I noticed small tufts of blue warp fibers wedged between two weft strands, and recognized the traditional crossed-over pattern of weft fibers at the undamaged edges.

Illustration showing the technique of weaving the weft threads across the warp threads in a wampum belt. In Frank G. Speck 's publication, The Penn Wampum Belts, Leaflets of the Museum of the American Indian Heye Foundation number 4, New York 1925.

Illustration showing the technique of weaving the weft threads across the warp threads in a wampum belt. In Frank G. Speck ‘s publication, The Penn Wampum Belts, Leaflets of the Museum of the American Indian Heye Foundation number 4, New York 1925, p. 18.

If you cut the weft, your beads will scatter, but if you cut the warp (as I realized had been done on this piece), you’re left with a single string of beads. It is easy to dismiss a damaged piece like this as unimportant, but even odd objects have something to communicate. In this case, we were not looking at an object in the process of being constructed; this object was being taken apart.

When I traveled into the field again in May, and watched Dr. Bruchac’s specific process of observing and analyzing wampum, I gained further insights into the practice and structure of the restorative methodology. As I began to internalize the thought process, the technique came into sharper focus. The method (which Dr. Bruchac describes as tracking skills instilled by her father) goes like this: First, you must learn the habits of your prey; then, you must learn all there is to know about the environment your prey inhabits; finally, you must equip yourself to live and flourish within your target’s environment. Once this foundation is firmly in place, only then are you able to track down your target.

Zhenia Bemko at Harvard Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnography. Photograph by Margaret Bruchac.

Zhenia Bemko at the Harvard Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnography. Photograph by Margaret Bruchac.

For me, this tracking method speaks to the preparation needed to enter into the study of wampum (or any other object in museums). Each wampum item has its own story to tell. You need to acquire as much knowledge about wampum construction as possible and learn the language. We started the process at NMAI by building a visual inventory, and then added to the experience with the great wealth of referential data that Dr. Bruchac has amassed from various sources. Additional historical background and provenance research also become part of the environment we had to acclimate ourselves to, so as to better understand wampum discourse.

Then, in the field, came the part of living in that environment, and this is where the travels on the Wampum Trail became so crucial. In every museum, we sequestered ourselves in collections and spent hours conducting careful, sensitive, non-intrusive examinations of these shell material items. We recorded our observations, and constantly checked (and re-checked) our assumptions, looking for what made each object unique. This process—meticulously examining the intricacies of cultural details woven into each piece—helps us to determine whether each wampum story we encounter is in the process of coming apart, or (as we hope our work will facilitate) coming together.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

For more information on this project, see the Wampum Trail Research Blog and Wampum Trail Facebook page

Posted in Americas, Museum, Students in the Field | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment
  • Penn Museum

Beneath the Surface at the Penn Museum