My cup of Starbucks Breakfast Blend wasn’t the only thing steaming this morning as I read today’s post over at Northwest Coast Archaeology. It seems that the folks at the Vancouver Museum, whose job it is to carefully and lovingly preserve its collections for future generations, are allowing a rare treasure from British Columbia’s Fraser River to crumble and flake into oblivion. The treasure in question is a massive 5-6 ton boulder once blanketed with petroglyphs. According to the museum, the art-inscribed boulder once lay in the bed of the Fraser River, and may have marked an ancient salmon harvesting site.
The petroglyphs are in a dire, near-death state. In sharp contrast to their striking appearance in a 1930s photograph, you can barely make them out now. Partially covered with destructive moss, the animal figures and other inscriptions are literally disappearing before our eyes–vanishing, one might add, as surely as the once bountiful runs of Fraser River salmon are. I can’t believe that a museum is allowing this to happen.
But it’s all part and parcel of a much, much larger problem. Most people, I’m sorry to say, just don’t value or respect, much less understand, ancient rock art. They feel no compunction about prying loose a painted or inscribed boulder from the spot where it was created hundreds or even thousands of years earlier and hauling it off to a museum, archaeological park or even a private garden. They think rock art is simply about the art itself–the often mysterious figures painted or inscribed on stone.
But rock art is all about place. It was created in a specific spot that had great meaning to the ancient artist–a spot, for example, that looked out on a sacred mountain, a place where fish were abundant or easy to catch, or a trail head for a mountain pass or trade route. For me, there is nothing more wonderful and exhilarating than coming across a panel of rock art while I am out hiking with friends. I love, of course, to study the inscriptions and photograph them, and think about what they might mean. But even more than that, I like to reflect and puzzle over the place itself. Why did the artists choose that mountain cliff or this boulder on the beach? Why there? What made it an important place? What was the artist honoring?
By contrast, nothing makes me sadder than to see a slab of rock art sitting in a museum foyer or archaeological park. It looks like an orphan to me, cut off and isolated from everything that once gave it meaning. It honors no place any longer, its meaning has been lost, its beauty and wonder sadly diminished.
I wonder if it isn’t time to start repatriating rock art in museum collections. Giving it back to First Nations who may still have stories about where it once stood or belonged. Certainly the First Nations would value it more and take better care of it than that Fraser River boulder at the Vancouver Museum.
Today’s photo shows Buffalo Eddy 2 Petroglyphs at Nez Perce National Historic Park. Photo courtesy of Nez Perce National Historic Park.