Startseite Ancestral Connections: Re-Evaluating Concepts of Superimpositioning and Vandalism in Rock Art Studies
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Ancestral Connections: Re-Evaluating Concepts of Superimpositioning and Vandalism in Rock Art Studies

  • Ana Paula Motta ORCID logo EMAIL logo und Jamie Hampson ORCID logo
Veröffentlicht/Copyright: 8. April 2025
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Aus der Zeitschrift Open Archaeology Band 11 Heft 1

Abstract

The aim of this article is to comprehend the significance of superimpositions as social practices and processes and to deconstruct how notions of superimpositions and vandalism have been used in rock art studies. Although attempts in the past have been made to determine why certain motifs were intentionally placed on top of other images, superimposition and vandalism/iconoclasm are often – and unhelpfully – used interchangeably in rock art literature. Interpretations have mostly lingered on the negative connotations of superimpositions, such as the “defacement” of previous motifs. Here, we argue that uncritically categorising certain practices as vandalism – often from the perspective of a Western knowledge system – has a negative influence on interpretations of traditional art systems. Instead, by recognising the active role that past depictions played – and, in some places, continue to play – within contemporary Indigenous communities, we hope to clarify and expand conceptualisations of superimpositions in rock art research. Our case study focusses on superimpositioning in the Kimberley region of Australia.

Keywords: Indigenous rock art; iconoclasm; vandalism; ethnography; Australia

1 Introduction

In this article, we (1) deconstruct how rock art researchers have categorised superimpositions and repainting practices, (2) engage critically with research that views superimpositions as vandalism, and (3) explore the consequences this might bring to the local and Indigenous communities that continue to use and interact with rock art locations. We further discuss these implications through the Ngarinyin Cultural Continuity Project, Kimberley (Australia), where a series of Wanjina motifs were repainted. Viewing certain rock art practices of superimposition and repainting as vandalism affects conservation practices, which in turn raises the question of who should decide what happens to rock art sites and their conservation/preservation. This is especially important when there are extant communities who still use the sites, and who are culturally affiliated to the artists who made earlier art in the same locations. In these instances, we ask who is the moral arbiter when it comes to the (re)use of rock art sites, and what can be done to secure the continued use of rock art localities by Indigenous and local groups?

Superimpositions have long been an important element of rock art studies. The term has been used to describe an image that is located over an existing motif, either fully or overlapping (Lewis-Williams, 1974, p. 94). Early rock art studies in Europe considered superimpositions primarily for their chronological value (Breuil, 1952) and structural symbolic properties (Leroi-Gourhan, 1965). The study of superimpositions to determine stratigraphic sequences and relative chronology in rock art sites remains popular and important (Chippindale & Taçon, 1993; Fredell et al., 2010; Gunn et al., 2010; Harris & Gunn, 2018; Leroi-Gourhan, 1967), although in recent years the social significance of superimpositions has also been considered in much greater depth (Brady et al., 2021; Gunn et al., 2022; Motta, 2019; Re, 2016; Vergara & Troncoso, 2016). Most research has been conducted on paintings (pictographs), partly due to the subtractive nature of engravings (petroglyphs); i.e. the removal of rock, which makes the process of determining sequencing particularly difficult.[1] Superimpositions have also been studied to help understand, inter alia, the evolution of traditions and styles through time, re-syntax, and rock art preservation (Brady & Gunn, 2012; Brady et al., 2021; Carden & Miotti, 2020; Keyser, 1987; Loubser, 1993; McCarthy, 1964). The re-use, modification, and replication of images within a broader social context, however, remains under-developed (but see Baracchini & Monney, 2018; Brady et al., 2021; Gunn et al., 2022; Kaiser & Keyser, 2008; Lewis-Williams, 1974; Motta, 2019, 2023; O’Sullivan, 2021; Pager, 1976; Pearce & George, 2011).

Despite the relative paucity of attention to the social properties and effects of superimpositions, there have been numerous studies that have established a series of criteria to try to determine their “intentionality,” and whether these practices can be deemed to be “positive” or “negative.” Among “positive” superimpositions are the deliberate placements of paintings to enhance magical properties or capture power inherent within the earlier motifs (Capitan, 1925; Greer & Keyser, 2008; Trezise, 1971); to enact restitution rituals (Levine, 1957); and to connect with previous populations and the landscape (Hampson, 2016; Motta, 2019; O’Sullivan, 2021; see below for more examples). Examples of “negative” superimpositions include the destruction of paintings – by extraction, or the chipping, scratching, or erasing of previous paintings – to negate (rather than capture) supernatural power contained in the underlying images, and/or demonstrate cultural dominance (Walsh, 2000; see below). In many cases where superimpositions are interpreted as negative, they are uncritically viewed as a vandalistic act. One such example is found in the Kimberley region of Australia, where early rock art styles superimposed by newer Wanjina depictions were considered to be vandalised (see below, and Motta, 2019). As we shall see, the association of superimpositions with vandalism in the Kimberley was determined by an arbitrary category created and imposed by Grahame Walsh and other non-Indigenous researchers, who considered new Wanjina depictions to be “artistically inferior” to earlier Gwion art and, therefore, a form of vandalism (Walsh, 1994).

We argue however that not all modern-day additions to rock art sites should be interpreted as vandalistic acts; although most conservators and Indigenous groups would agree that “outsiders” adding graffiti and other images to rock art sites is insulting and damaging to the particular Indigenous group’s living heritage, even categorising “graffiti” is often more complex than appears at first glance (see below, and Frederick, 2009, p. 212). Today, the kneejerk reaction – usually by the media and Western-trained conservators – to the painting of new motifs on top of existing art is usually to deem it a vandalistic act, without fully considering the context or cultural affiliation of the modern-day artists. Indeed, the interpretation of superimpositions in the present day as vandalism usually stems from Western ideas of conservation, whereby archaeological sites must at all costs be isolated from any form of “unauthorised” human action to secure their future conservation (Hampson, 2013; Motta, 2023; Ndlovu, 2009). As we demonstrate below, however, in cases where rock art sites are still being used by culturally affiliated descendants of the original rock art makers, we should strive to incorporate emic perceptions of rock art even if those perceptions do not align with a Western sense of conservation. In other words, Western conservators should strive to grasp the nuanced meanings of “Caring for Country” and sacred Indigenous heritage, to bridge the gap between Western and non-Western conservation practices (Blundell & Woolagoodja, 2012; Mowaljarlai et al., 1988).

Interactions with and superimpositioning of images in the past were likely not seen as negative acts, but rather as a form of cultural practice. Indeed, in certain regions, we know that superimpositions and engagements with older art were and are considered to have been akin to the creation of new meanings (see below). Moreover, caring for the Country entails a very particular way of engaging with ancestral art. As we outline below, in parts of Australia regular repainting was practised until modern times – caring for the ancestors was a vital duty as well as a means to replenish resources. Clearly, we must draw a distinction between the addition of superimpositions and repainting by Indigenous stakeholders to care for Country, as opposed to the addition of graffiti by “outsiders,” tourists, and other visitors (Blundell & Woolagoodja, 2012; Brady et al., 2021; Mowaljarlai et al., 1988).

Motta et al. (2020) have previously argued that the recursive properties of rock art create a series of relationships between past and present populations (see also Brady et al., 2021; Goldhahn et al., 2023; McDonald & Veth, 2013; Morphy, 2012). Similarly, and drawing from Ingold (2000), Smith and Ouzman (2004, p. 512) state that superimpositions often “form part of the essential business of people’s positioning and repositioning themselves in evolving social contexts.” Superimpositions do not follow a single logic, then, but are rather a response to diverse cultural appreciations of – and interactions with – rock art sites. As such, superimpositioning is not necessarily an act of vandalism, but rather can and should be seen as a way of connecting to past inhabitants and ancestors, at the same time as connecting existing art with new practices (Motta et al., 2020, p. 141; see also examples in Brady et al., 2021; Gunn et al., 2022).

2 Superimpositions, Vandalism, and Iconoclasm: Some General Considerations

2.1 Superimpositions

Much of the debate surrounding superimpositions is related to determining whether these can be deemed as the product of intentional actions – and then whether the intentions were negative or positive. There have been many studies that tackle the non-intentional and intentional placement of new images on top of existing depictions on rock panels (Battiss, 1939; Motta, 2019; Re, 2016). One theory for non-intentional superimposition is the supposed indifference of new artists towards previous motifs (Brentjes, 1969; Graziosi, 1960) and/or the result of a lack of a suitable painting surface (especially at small sites; Pager, 1971; Rosenthal, 1953). As mentioned above, other explanations for the intentional superimposition of motifs include the enhancement of magic or power at specific locations (Capitan, 1925; Hampson, 2016; Robinson, 2006; Trezise, 1971; Ucko & Rosenfeld, 1967), restitution rituals (Levine, 1957), scenic relations or syntaxis (Laming-Emperaire, 1959; Lewis-Williams, 1974; Pearce & George, 2011), and/or to connect with ancestors and landscape (Brady et al., 2021; Gunn et al., 2022; Morphy, 2012; Motta et al., 2020; Motta, 2019; Figures 1 and 2).

Figure 1 Post-1500 AD Apache/Athapaskan paintings (Thunderbird, “sun symbol,” riders on horseback) superimposed over earlier Native American motifs at the site of Meyers Springs in west Texas (Hampson, 2015).
Figure 1

Post-1500 AD Apache/Athapaskan paintings (Thunderbird, “sun symbol,” riders on horseback) superimposed over earlier Native American motifs at the site of Meyers Springs in west Texas (Hampson, 2015).

Figure 2 Khoe geometric paintings superimposed over San motifs in South Africa (after Smith & Ouzman, 2004, Figure 10); the scale bar is 30 mm.
Figure 2

Khoe geometric paintings superimposed over San motifs in South Africa (after Smith & Ouzman, 2004, Figure 10); the scale bar is 30 mm.

Most of these interpretations – which are of course not mutually exclusive – have been associated with “positive” superimpositioning, often done to “keep motifs healthy and alive” (Mowaljarlai et al., 1988; see also Trezise, 1971; Ucko & Rosenfeld, 1967). The placement of new depictions over existing art can also be explained by practices that intend to replicate or appropriate – not necessarily in a “negative” manner – the magic properties contained in existing images. On other occasions, the removing, obscuring, and destroying of material left by earlier artists are not necessarily a “negative” act. Hampson (2015, 2016) has argued that in the Trans-Pecos area of west Texas (USA), for instance, people actively engaged with existing rock art images by smearing, rubbing, chipping, and scratching them (Figure 3). By touching the art and physically engaging with it, people were able to connect with the spirit world; in some cases, the chipping of pigment was a way to re-activate potency contained within certain motifs (Hampson, 2016, p. 233). There are similar examples in southern Africa and Australia, with groups interacting with both paintings (Brady et al., 2021; Duval et al., 2018, p. 97; Hampson et al., 2002, p. 24; Laue, 2000) and engravings (Dowson, 2009; Ouzman, 2001; Figure 4).

Figure 3 “Ritual removal” at a site in Trans-Pecos Texas. The pecking of the human figure’s head is precise and deliberate (Hampson, 2016, p. 187).
Figure 3

“Ritual removal” at a site in Trans-Pecos Texas. The pecking of the human figure’s head is precise and deliberate (Hampson, 2016, p. 187).

Figure 4 Example of scratch marks and crayon drawings being added to Gwion paintings in the Northeast Kimberley (modified from Motta, 2019, p. 497).
Figure 4

Example of scratch marks and crayon drawings being added to Gwion paintings in the Northeast Kimberley (modified from Motta, 2019, p. 497).

In an important article, Brady et al. (2021) categorise various types of “re-marking” in Australia, including re-touching, alteration, amendment, erasure, and re-touch by scarring (see also Gunn et al., 2019; Mulvaney, 2009; Sale, 1995). Moreover, they make clear that “each modification event is a ritualized practice in itself” (Brady et al., 2021, p. 7). These are social actions at specific places to “communicate some form of message or idea” (Brady et al., 2021, p. 7).

In Argentina, Aschero (1988) argues that superimpositions are the product of three behaviours: maintenance, recycling, and destruction. The first two types (maintenance and recycling) involve an existing cultural affiliation between groups and artists – or the concept that the designs are still significant for subsequent populations in these regions – while the destruction of previous images is a means to purposefully remove existing designs. In this vein, Fiore (2007) argues that in the maintenance phase, motifs retain the original design, while recycling adds new elements to existing motifs. Nash (2012) focuses on examples of destruction, where existing motifs are obliterated because these are not considered relevant to new populations. Building on the work conducted by Aschero (1988) and Nash (2012), Re (2016) proposes the following classification for superimpositions based on the coverage percentage by new images: minimal, maintenance, recycling, obliteration, and circumstantial (where circumstantial presupposes an intentional superimposition where previous images were considered irrelevant to the new artists, and therefore not part of the new designs).[2]

Looking at re-worked engravings of feet at a rock art site in New Mexico (USA), Wilkinson (2021, p. 368) introduces a useful analogy: using a traditional migration/acculturation model, we might be tempted to think of visual cultures as synchronous and horizontal, “like water running up a beach, successive waves of culture flow[ing] over space, with each leaving a distinctive cultural trace.” In the New Mexico context, this would be Archaic groups (i.e. “Paleo-Indians”); then Puebloan groups; then Apache and Comanche groups; and finally, colonial-era Spanish and Anglo-Americans.[3] And yet, it seems that at certain sites, different groups re-created the same iconic forms again and again.

Cultures came and went, so to speak, but the iconography was primarily the product of that particular place, and its hyper-local (but historically very deep) sets of visual relations… [F]or certain palimpsests, interactions between the glyphs were diachronic and vertical, rather than synchronic and horizontal. Instead of waves on the beach, the better metaphor here might be a spring, with water constantly bubbling up from a single, deep source. (Wilkinson, 2021, pp. 368–9)

Again, and as we elucidate below, one of the key considerations here is the motivation behind the interaction with older motifs; which of the migrating (or invading) groups had the “right” to superimpose images, and who makes that politically charged decision?

Another form of engagement closely related to superimpositioning is the replication of rock art images; that is the creation of images that look similar to the original motifs at new or existing locations (but not necessarily painted directly over existing motifs; O’Sullivan, 2021). O’Sullivan (2021) argues that both repainting and replicating processes have been and often are seen as acceptable when done by direct cultural descendants of original artists, particularly in Australia, whereas replicated art is seen by other researchers (Batarda Fernandes, 2009) as a form of vandalism – in part due to the difficulty of distinguishing new forms from older ones, raising important issues of authenticity and related claims to the art and the sites (Gazda, 2002). However, as outlined above, the repainting and replication of certain images is not necessarily done simply to destroy previous depictions, but sometimes rather to connect with existing art, artists, ancestors, and the landscape (Motta, 2019; O’Sullivan, 2021), and to care for Country (Blundell & Woolagoodja, 2012; Mowaljarlai et al., 1988). Clearly and unsurprisingly, rock art is often the product of a long series of interactions among and between populations who created intricate palimpsests across rock panels for many different reasons.

2.2 Vandalism and Iconoclasm

As we have argued, “vandalism” and (negative) “superimpositioning” have often been used interchangeably in the rock art literature (Battiss, 1939; Kaiser & Keyser, 2008; Keyser, 1987; Nash, 2012; Walsh, 2000). Beyond rock art research, we can learn much about the historiography of vandalism in the Western world by looking into work done by scholars of anthropology, sociology, and criminology. It has been proposed that vandalism as a historic (and Western) concept originated with the Vandals, a specific Germanic people who characterised themselves by their invasion, destruction, and looting of several different regions during AD 455 (Zimbardo, 1970, p. 3). Other key turning points in the historiography are linked to the French Revolution and the destruction of the French monarchy’s property (Merrill, 2011, p. 60). Later, in 1933, Raphael Lemkin proposed that vandalistic acts were offences to the “law of nations” (Irvin-Erickson, 2017). Referring to vandalism, Lemkin (2013, p. 14) writes that: “An attack targeting a collectivity can also take the form of systematic and organized destruction of the art and cultural heritage in which the unique genius and achievement of a collectivity are revealed in fields of science, arts, and literature. The contribution of any particular collectivity to world culture as a whole forms the wealth of all humanity, even while exhibiting unique characteristics.” The widespread destruction of cultural property during the Second World War paved the way for further legislation aimed to reduce vandalism – this was the focus of The Hague Convention in 1954 (UNESCO, 1954).

Overall, then, vandalism in the West was originally characterised as an aimless act that had no particular intentionality, other than destruction for the sake of it (Zimbardo, 1970). In the social science literature, however, this view (of vandalism as deviance) started to change in the late 1960s, fuelled mostly by planned attacks on private property; these attacks seemingly stemmed from calculated planning and focussed on particular buildings, such as factories. While continuing to ask “why do people destroy?,” the focus of the sociological studies shifted to questions such as “why is this defined as a bad thing?” (Gamboni, 1997, p. 129). In this sense, instead of simply characterising vandalism as a byproduct of war, or aimless destruction, researchers noticed that vandalistic acts were often charged with meaning and cultural significance (Cohen, 1973, p. 51). Motivations behind vandalism were further explored by sociologist Cohen (1984), who proposed six categories of vandalistic behaviour:

  1. Acquisitive vandalism: damage incurred to property to acquire a financial gain (e.g. money or other goods);

  2. Tactical vandalism: calculated or intentional damage to property to draw attention to a situation (e.g. damage done to prisoners’ cells to highlight injustices);

  3. Ideological vandalism: defined as similar to tactical vandalism but fuelled by an ideological motivation (e.g. graffiti placed on public monuments to complain about the Government, or the more recent removal of statues in the United Kingdom associated with British Imperialism);

  4. Vindictive vandalism: damage to property that targets a specific person or organisation;

  5. Play vandalism: damage to property done as part of a game or bet (e.g. looting of a house as result of a dare); and

  6. Malicious vandalism: general damage to property to express rage or frustration, it is intentional in nature, and it is directed at certain symbols and institutions.

Looking at this classification scheme helps us to consider whether the destruction of property – or indeed cultural heritage – is the byproduct of an act directed to destroy certain symbols, property, or places for “the sake of it,” or if it was calculated and premeditated to raise attention to certain issues. For instance, on May 14, 1998, farming groups at Domboshava Cave in Zimbabwe covered rock art motifs with an oil-based brown paint so that the site would not be listed in the World Heritage List (Taruvinga, 2001; Taruvinga & Ndoro, 2003). This act was a direct response to the mismanagement of the Tsodilo Hills rock art sites in neighbouring Botswana, when local farming communities were forcibly relocated after Tsodilo Hills’s inclusion in the World Heritage List; the communities there felt that their interests and objections had been deliberately overlooked by the heritage authorities. The subsequent acts in Zimbabwe were reported as vandalism by local authorities (it is interesting to note, however, that they intersect several of Cohen’s categories).[4] This nuance in degrees when talking about vandalism is important for understanding motivations, and also avoiding potential conflicts among and between local communities, researchers, heritage managers, and tourists.

It should come as no surprise that acts of vandalism at rock art sites vary in terms of “seriousness” and that they are perceived differently by different sectors and stakeholders (Lévy-Leboyer, 1984, p. 3). Iconoclasm is one category within the spectrum of acts of vandalism in the literature, i.e., the destruction of icons, often on (putatively) religious grounds (see Taussig, 2019 for an overview of different types of iconoclasm). While developing a theory of “landscape iconoclasm” in Murujuga (the Burrup Peninsula) in Western Australia, González Zarandona (2015) argues that the iconoclastic destruction of Indigenous cultural heritage – in the form of rock engravings – was (and indeed still is) facilitated in part by outdated conservation policies that neglect Indigenous heritage and belief systems. The destruction of Murujuga heritage at the hand of mining companies goes beyond individual petroglyphs; it also includes the destruction of certain places that are of great significance for Indigenous groups (González Zarandona, 2015, p. 465; see also McDonald et al., 2021; Smith et al., 2021). One of the key differences in this example is that the iconoclastic acts were, for the most part, carried out by mining companies owned and operated by descendants of European/Western settlers/invaders, i.e. with no connection to the Indigenous artists (González Zarandona, 2015; McDonald et al., 2021).

Turning to graffiti, we acknowledge that there are important nuances when it comes to categorisation. Although graffiti by non-Indigenous visitors remains a serious issue at rock art sites,[5] Frederick (2009), reminds us that people add graffiti to rock surfaces for many different reasons. In this vein, Taçon (2024) argues that some traditional custodians add forms of graffiti to rock art sites to contribute to the social identity of the site, which may be argued to be a form of connection with ancestors, and a continuation of cultural practices. Taçon and Marshall (2014) also point out that graffiti at certain sites by non-Indigenous, but well-known, individuals provide context to certain specific historic events, such as European invaders and explorers moving across Australia.

In many parts of the world, most interventions at rock art locations are viewed as vandalistic acts, regardless of whether or not the placement of new images is done by descendants of the creators of the original art. The over-simplification has important implications for the conservation and interpretation of rock art sites, once again raising questions about access to, and ownership of, heritage. Merrill (2011) highlights the need for more nuanced theoretical approaches to concepts of vandalism that explore the links of this practice to heritage and improved preservation and conservation methods at rock art sites.

As we demonstrate with the Kimberley case study below, many rock art sites are still being used to this day (or until recently) by Indigenous communities, many of whom are descendants of the site’s creators. In other instances, where there are no direct links between the original creators of the art and people using the site today, how do we decide what types of interventions are allowed? Indeed, who decides who is entitled to access rock art sites? How much of this depends on who legally owns the site? In some cases, there might not be an apparent intent to “destroy” the art, but rather (positively) appropriate and engage with cultural values – but this is often still seen as vandalism by heritage managers. Asking these questions, and reflecting on who has a legitimate claim to heritage sites, is a good starting point to reflect on which values we apply to rock art sites, and how we relate to land custodians. A plan of action in these instances cannot simply rely on prohibiting access to secure a site’s “conservation” – a concept nearly always defined from a Western point of view (Hampson, 2013; Lowenthal, 1985; Ndlovu, 2009; Schiffer & Gumerman, 1977; Walderhaug Saetersdal, 2000). Within the literature on graffiti and vandalism, some authors call for a combination of approaches to prevent all new markings at rock art sites, e.g. better monitoring of tourist sites, better fencing (or even cages to prevent anyone touching the rock surface),[6] an increase in public awareness through campaigns and education, stronger liaisons with Indigenous communities on site management and intervention, and shifting the focus of heritage as a static concept to a living culture (Gustafsson & Karlsson, 2014; Taçon 2019, 2024; Walderhaug Saetersdal, 2000). Regardless of which of these methods are employed, it is clearly imperative that Indigenous worldviews on conservation (Lilley & Pocock, 2018) are prioritised.

Indeed, notions of site ownership and accessibility are ultimately linked to questions of cultural heritage conservation and authenticity. Despite the vast literature on this topic (Gustafsson & Karlsson, 2014 and cited literature therein), conservation principles developed by UNESCO and ICOMOS still guide heritage management plans. For example, although the “Principles for the preservation and conservation/restoration of wall paintings” by ICOMOS (2013) mostly refer to European/Western art, universal principles for the conservation of rock art are also included. A concern for maintaining a site’s “authenticity” or “original state” – which of course overlooks the notion of sites as dynamic and “alive” – is a keystone of UNESCO policy in an attempt to secure permanency and the preservation of “universal heritage” for future generations (Gustafsson & Karlsson, 2014; Schiffer & Gumerman, 1977).[7] But what happens in places where rock art sites are still part of Indigenous communities’ daily activities, ceremonies, and rituals?

At the Botswana site of Tsodilo Hills – which was included in the World Heritage List in 2001 – it is likely that red and white motifs were painted during multiple events (the first probably around 1000 AD), whereas a particular style of white paintings was added much later (certainly after 1852; Campbell & Robbins, 2010). Indeed, one of the main arguments for the site’s inclusion on the World Heritage List was not only its unique cultural and natural heritage but also the current use of the site and its local environment by local Hambukushu (farming groups) in addition to (predominantly hunter-gatherer) Ju/’hoansi communities. The authorship of the rock paintings has long been contested; we know that Ju/’hoansi communities were responsible for the creation of most of the art, but some researchers suggest that at least some of the paintings were made by Khoe herders or Bantu-speaking (farming) groups (see Motta, 2023 for a summary). Importantly, however, at no point during the declaration process was the relatively recent addition of white paintings to the site (after 1852) seen as vandalism by UNESCO or other researchers working in this region. In fact, these additions were viewed as contributing to the cultural value of the site, and it was acknowledged by UNESCO that many groups have lived in this region and interacted with its landscape – and art – for many centuries. We turn now to a specific case study in northwestern Australia.

3 The Australian Kimberley

The Kimberley region covers over 423,000 km2 (O’Connor, 1999). Its rugged and remote landscapes are varied, including tropical wetlands, sandy outcrops, open woodland plateaus, and mountain ranges (Ross, 2013). The present climate is characterised by two seasons: a “dry” season (May to October) with stable weather and clear skies and a “wet” season (November to April) marked by monsoon rain and westerly winds (O’Connor, 1999, p. 15), with different Indigenous groups recognising other numbers of seasons. The Kimberley was colonised by Europeans at the end of the nineteenth century. This was followed by several anthropological explorations of the area to culturally study Indigenous groups and their art (e.g. Capell, 1938; Crawford, 1968; Elkin, 1948; Grey, 1841; Love, 1930, 1936; see Goldhahn et al., 2022 for a summary). Between the 1930s and the 1980s, linguists working in the area classified Kimberley languages into five families (Bunuban, Jarrakan, Nyulnyulan, Worrora, and Pama-Nyungan; Capell, 1938; McGregor, 1988, p. 96; Figure 5), spanning 56 language groups across the Kimberley, 46 of which were deemed as weak, dying or dead (McGregor, 1988). Archaeologically, the northern part of Australia has been colonised by human groups since at least 65,000 years ago (Clarkson et al., 2017), with the Kimberley being colonised around 50,000 years ago (Veth et al., 2017, 2019; Wood et al., 2016).

Figure 5 Map of Indigenous language groups in Australia, with details of the Kimberley (after AIATSIS, 1996).
Figure 5

Map of Indigenous language groups in Australia, with details of the Kimberley (after AIATSIS, 1996).

The Kimberley has one of the highest concentrations of rock art motifs in Australia (Morwood, 2002, p. 52). For many decades, researchers have been concerned with establishing a sequence that could serve as a relative chronological indicator for the art (Lommel, 1961; Maynard, 1979; McCarthy, 1962; Walsh, 1994, 2000; Welch, 1990, 1996), while many anthropologists have explored the significance of rock art styles for Indigenous people (Akerman, 2016; Crawford, 1968; Love, 1930; Ross, 2013; Stanton, 2006). Most of these stylistic sequences were built using superimposition and colour of motifs to assess temporality; they often derived from the researcher’s own chronological understanding of the motifs, which does not necessarily reflect an Indigenous (or emic) perception of the art (Morphy, 2012, p. 295). The area has been subjected to multiple studies to classify its art into a Kimberley-wide sequence, which resulted in its classification into six styles: (1) Cupules, (2) Irregular Infill Animal, (3) Gwion Gwon, (4) Static Polychrome, (5) Painted Hand, and (6) Wanjina (Walsh, 1994; Welch, 1993; Figure 6). More recently, some researchers have argued that this six-part classification schema does not work for the entire region, since some style variations are only present at specific locales. For example, O’Connor et al. (2013) argued that two additional types of rock art occur in the Southern Kimberley: Black Pigment and Scratch-work art, ascribed to the Contact Period (after Europeans arrived in Australia), while Gunn et al. (2019) describe a series of figures named “Stout Figures” with plant-like elements, found in northeastern Kimberley.

Figure 6 Comparison of Kimberley stylistic sequences, modified from Motta (2019, p. 484). The styles included in these sequences are: (a) Wanjina, (b) Painted Hand, (c) Static Polychrome, (d) Gwion, (e) Irregular Infill Animal, and (f) Cupules.
Figure 6

Comparison of Kimberley stylistic sequences, modified from Motta (2019, p. 484). The styles included in these sequences are: (a) Wanjina, (b) Painted Hand, (c) Static Polychrome, (d) Gwion, (e) Irregular Infill Animal, and (f) Cupules.

We focus here on Wanjina paintings and their seasonal maintenance by Indigenous Australians. Wanjinas are considered to be Ancestral Beings and “Spirits in the clouds” that bring the onset of the wet season; they have power over monsoonal rains (Crawford, 1968, p. 28), but also control fertility and continuity (Mowaljarlai et al., 1988, p. 693). They are spirits of the Worrorra, Ngarinyin, and Wunambal people that left their imprint in rock shelters during Ancestral time. They are manifested on the rock surface in either human or “cloud” form. In their human form, they have elaborate headdresses, large eyes, and no mouth. Despite Wanjinas being the embodiment of spirits, they are considered to be alive; therefore, certain caring duties should be maintained. As such, Wanjinas are seasonally repainted, to secure the replenishment of resources during the wet season (Crawford, 1968; Elkin, 1931; Lommel & Lommel, 1959; Love, 1930; Stanton, 2006). The repainting of Wanjinas sometimes involves the coverage of previous motifs using white pigment, and the subsequent painting of a new Wanjina motif – and sometimes the repairing of certain features. During this process, new elements are created and Wanjinas change their initial form (Figure 7).

Figure 7 Two photographs of a Wanjina painting that has been systematically repainted through time. The first photo was taken in 1901 (left); the second in 2005 (right). Changes in the halo pattern as well as in the chest area are visible (modified from Donaldson, 2007, p. 8).
Figure 7

Two photographs of a Wanjina painting that has been systematically repainted through time. The first photo was taken in 1901 (left); the second in 2005 (right). Changes in the halo pattern as well as in the chest area are visible (modified from Donaldson, 2007, p. 8).

One of the most famous examples in the Kimberley is the 1987 Ngarinyin Cultural Continuity Project (NCCP), where several Wanjina paintings were restored and over-painted by members of the Mowanjum community (Bowdler, 1988; Clarke & Randolph, 1992; Mowaljarlai & Peck, 1987; O’Connor et al., 2008), after funding by a grant from the Community Employment Program. The repainting of the Wanjina motifs created not only disagreements within the Aboriginal communities themselves but also an international backlash, with some claiming that this project represented an act of “cultural vandalism to which all the Kimberley’s rock art is currently prone” (Wilson, 2006, p. 79). Media reports claimed that the NCCP would encourage the repainting of other shelters.

This project still remains a keystone example for discussing notions of site ownership and access, along with ethical considerations for applying more engaged heritage conservation practices grounded on Indigenous collaboration and dual transfer of knowledge. Although there were many arguments both in favour and against the program, here we summarise the two main approaches within and outside the academic community. Among the arguments for not repainting the Wanjinas were the alleged lack of cultural continuity with traditional repainting practices, the lack of use of traditional materials and techniques, and the fact that the artists involved in the repainting did not conform with correct clan groups and were not of the appropriate level of seniority and gender. O’Connor et al. (2008) point out that among those who were against the program were non-Indigenous researchers, such as Graeme Walsh and George Chaloupka, who held the view that Kimberley rock art was part of a universal heritage and views on its conservation should go beyond Indigenous consultation (Walsh, 1992), and, moreover, that no rock art should be repainted “by Indigenous people in a contemporary context” (O’Connor et al., 2008, p. 28); these views were later discussed in the 1992 publication Retouch: Maintenance and conservation of Aboriginal rock imagery. Proceedings of the Symposium O – Retouch. First AURA Congress.

The arguments against the repainting of Wanjina motifs can be summarised and placed in two categories, which are not mutually exclusive: (1) the repainting had no continuity with traditional painting practices and (2) the new depictions were “unaesthetic” (see examples in O’Connor et al., 2008, p. 27). The first of these statements was based on the fact that because of European colonisation, repainting practices in the Kimberley had stopped – so the repainting program would constitute a reinvention of repainting practices (Chaloupka, 1992), rather than a continuation, especially since traditional materials were no longer being used. Although not referring to the NCCP case in particular, some Traditional Owners from Arnhem Land stated that existing paintings should not be retouched, and new (unpainted) surfaces should be used for new paintings (Chaloupka, 1992, p. 14). This argument was later used by Chaloupka to support the view that repainting practices did not conform to tradition.[8]

Among those in favour of the repainting program were a number of Indigenous leaders, such as David Mowaljarlai and Daisy Uttenmora, officers responsible for the project, and other non-Indigenous researchers, such as Pat Vinnicombe, Sandra Bowdler, Kelvin Officer, Christopher Chippindale, and Graeme Ward. One of the arguments for repainting is that Wanjina cannot be considered art within a European or Western framework or sense of aesthetics (Frederick & O’Connor, 2009, p. 170); to Indigenous groups, rock art sites are clearly places that promote the regeneration of life and connection to Country. Mowaljarlai et al. (1988) raised the point that the repainting of Wanjina images caused “horror” among some Western researchers, whose vision of conservation meant keeping the images pristine and untouched. In this vein, Mowaljarlai argues:

We have never thought of our rock-paintings as “Art”. To us they are IMAGES. IMAGES with ENERGIES that keep us ALIVE — EVERY PERSON, EVERYTHING WE STAND ON, ARE MADE FROM, EAT AND LIVE ON. Those IMAGES were put down for us by our Creator, Wandjina, so that we would know how to STAY ALIVE, make everything grow and CONTINUE what he gave to us in the first place. We should dance those images back into the ground in corroborees. That would make us learn the story, to put new life into those IMAGES. (Mowaljarlai et al., 1988, p. 691; highlight original)

In other words, repainting of Wanjina motifs should not be compared to a European art tradition (O’Connor et al., 2008, p. 29), but rather seen as a continuation of traditional and Indigenous customs. As such, art is not a static relic or artefact; rather, it is part of a dynamic tradition (Officer, 1992). Furthermore, numerous ethnographic and ethnohistoric accounts of repainting practices were not taken into consideration by those against the program when they claimed that there was no continuity with traditional repainting practices. As shown above, Wanjinas were seasonally repainted, with some sites containing more than 5 mm of painted layers (Clarke, 1978; Crawford, 1968). In regards to the arguments surrounding seniority and gender, Frederick and O’Connor (2009) have argued that early anthropological work was conducted by male researchers who did not consider the role of women in rock art production, with the exception of Phyllis Kaberry who documented repainting practices conducted by women (Kaberry, 1939a, b).

Non-Indigenous researchers who supported the program, such as Ward, Officer, and Bowdler, explored the political implications of the NCCP debate. They also made it clear that the repainting program was an act of continuation with traditional practices, where rock art is considered to be part of living culture (Bowdler, 1988). This argument raised the question of continuity of traditions and the dynamic character of rock art sites, with Officer (1992) claiming that opposing this program was equal to considering Aboriginal art as a relic.

The repainting of Wanjina figures clearly goes beyond the NCCP. People have been repainting Wanjina figures for millennia, with many sites containing numerous repainted figures (Watchman, 1992, p. 30). As stated above, the repainting of Wanjinas is linked to seasonal regeneration. During the 1970s, the prominent Traditional Owner Sam Woolagoodja repainted several Wanjinas during filmmaking trips to his Country (Blundell & Woolagoodja, 2005, p. 135).

Following this controversy, the repainting of Wanjinas on rock unfortunately came to an end (except on some figures that unambiguously displayed signs of having been retouched in the past; O’Connor et al., 2008, p. 33) – but the practice of painting Wanjinas continues to this day on other media such as canvas and murals (Frederick & O’Connor, 2009; Hampson & Challis, 2024; Hampson & Weaver, 2021; Scherrer & Doohan, 2014). The sentiments exposed in the 1992 AURA Publication continue to divide the scientific community, however. Uncritically comparing Indigenous art with European fine art – especially in terms of conservation practices – betrays a lack of nuance, especially when we think about how Indigenous groups care for Country. Maynard (1975) echoed the sentiment of Mowaljarlai and other Indigenous elders when considering Indigenous decorated objects, especially those exhibited in museums, and how perceptions of these objects compare to perceptions of European/Western art. The Indigenous objects were meant to be part of daily activities and ceremonies, and later discarded, left behind, or destroyed. The collecting and curation of Indigenous art in European museums brought profound changes to how these objects were perceived in the West. These two contrasting conceptualisations of conservation – keeping images and objects untouched, in “static” display cases, where time stops, versus their being part of everyday and ceremonial life (and meant to be touched and/or discarded) – brought a series of changes to how Indigenous art and associated knowledge is socialised and perceived (Appadurai, 1986; Chirikure et al., 2010; Mowaljarlai et al., 1988; Pwiti & Mvenge, 1996). Once again, this also raises the question of who has access to Indigenous images, and who has the right to repaint and reproduce Indigenous rock art (Hampson & Challis, 2024).

4 Superimpositions or Vandalism? Implications for Rock Art Research

We have presented an overview of superimpositioning and repainting practices with the hope of encouraging further research on contemporary perceptions of interventions at rock art sites, and how these might impact the interpretation and conservation of rock art heritage. Initially, superimpositions were studied primarily for the (relative) chronological information they held, but now they are recognised as providing essential information on social practices and symbolism more broadly. Moreover, the act of placing new motifs over existing art is now rarely seen as the result of lack of space, indifference, or even to simply demonstrate cultural dominance, but rather as, inter alia, a way of reconnecting with the ancestors, caring for Country and heritage, and appropriating and regenerating magical properties and power. By recognising artists’ agency when placing new images over pre-existing motifs at certain locations, we move beyond a traditionalist view of rock art and its conservation.

Early sociological studies conducted in the 1960s brought more nuance to initial theorisations of vandalism as an “aimless” destructive practice, delving instead into the motivations and types of vandalism and graffiti. This led to classifications into a schema that helps us reconsider how these practices manifest archaeologically. As suggested above, the perception that some repainting practices are the equivalent to acts of vandalism – especially when the more recent mark-makers are not directly descended from the original artists – has severe repercussions regarding how people connect to Country and keep their culture alive. The common discrepancy between Indigenous and European/Western senses of conservation stems from distinct and different ontological understanding of artefacts and living things. As we have pointed out, in Australia, particularly Indigenous artefacts were often meant to be discarded, and rock motifs were subjected to seasonal repainting; both were and are seen as part of a living tradition with certain cultural practices and ceremonies attached to their “conservation.” This concept is in stark contrast to European and Western conservation principles that often prioritise maintaining the “pristine” condition of material culture and heritage sites (Motta, 2023; Ndlovu, 2009).

We have argued that the way we perceive and theorise superimpositions and vandalism affects the way we interpret rock art, which in turn, influences current conservation policies. The repainting of Wanjina images secures cultural continuity. For Indigenous Australians in the Kimberley, there is no such thing as “static” images that must be preserved “for ever.” Images are part of the landscape, and part of Country – and always have been.

To understand the nuances of superimpositions we must first reflect why people – regardless of how closely they are affiliated with the original artists – place specific images at certain locations, as well as the character of these new depictions and their purpose. Only then will we be able to view this practice in a new light: one that considers the motivations and the drive to create new images at existing locations. This does not mean that all new cultural interventions at rock art locations should be seen through a positive lens; rather, the aim here is to reflect on superimposition and repainting, and why certain practices are uncritically viewed in negative terms.

Acknowledgements

We thank Liam Brady, Courtney Nimura, and Rebecca O’Sullivan, organisers of the “Multidimensional Materials: Rock Art, Relationality, and Change Through Time and Space” session at the IV World Archaeology Conference 2022, Prague, where an earlier version of this article was presented. We also extend our gratitude to those who provided feedback after our presentation. We are also grateful to the following institutions for their support: The Centre for Rock Art Research and Management, The University of Western Australia, and the Faculty of Humanities, Arts and Social Sciences, University of Exeter. We also extend our gratitude to those with whom we have shared and discussed ideas that led to the development of this article. Views presented here remain our own.

  1. Funding information: We acknowledge financial support by Land Schleswig-Holstein within the funding programme Open Access Publikationsfonds.

  2. Author contributions: All authors have accepted responsibility for the entire content of this manuscript and approved its submission. A.P.M. and J.H. conceived of the presented idea. A.P.M. further developed the theory and conducted a literature review in Australia, while J.M. expanded the review by considering examples from other regions where he has previously worked. All authors have revised and contributed to the final manuscript.

  3. Conflict of interest: The authors state no conflict of interest.

  4. Data availability statement: Data sharing is not applicable to this article as no datasets were generated or analysed during the current study. The work presented here involves a theoretical framework were conceptualizations of superimpositions and vandalism were evaluated.

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Received: 2024-05-14
Revised: 2024-11-08
Accepted: 2024-12-10
Published Online: 2025-04-08

© 2025 the author(s), published by De Gruyter

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

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https://doi.org/10.1515/opar-2024-0033
Schlagwörter für diesen Artikel
Indigenous rock art; iconoclasm; vandalism; ethnography; Australia
Creative Commons
BY 4.0

Artikel in diesem Heft

  1. Research Articles
  2. Etched in Stone: The Kevermes Stone Stela From the Great Hungarian Plain
  3. Waste Around Longhouses: Taphonomy on LBK Settlement in Hlízov
  4. Raw Materials and Technological Choices: Case Study of Neolithic Black Pottery From the Middle Yangtze River Valley of China
  5. Disentangling Technological Traditions: Comparative Analysis of Chaînes Opératoires of Painted Pre-Hispanic Ceramics From Nariño, Colombia
  6. Ancestral Connections: Re-Evaluating Concepts of Superimpositioning and Vandalism in Rock Art Studies
  7. Disability and Care in Late Medieval Lund, Sweden: An Analysis of Trauma and Intersecting Identities, Aided by Photogrammetric Digitization and Visualization
  8. Assessing the Development in Open Access Publishing in Archaeology: A Case Study From Norway
  9. Decorated Standing Stones – The Hagbards Galge Monument in Southwest Sweden
  10. Geophysical Prospection of the South-Western Quarter of the Hellenistic Capital Artaxata in the Ararat Plain (Lusarat, Ararat Province, Armenia): The South-West Quarter, City Walls and an Early Christian Church
  11. Lessons From Ceramic Petrography: A Case of Technological Transfer During the Transition From Late to Inca Periods in Northwestern Argentina, Southern Andes
  12. An Experimental and Methodological Approach of Plant Fibres in Dental Calculus: The Case Study of the Early Neolithic Site of Cova del Pasteral (Girona, Spain)
  13. Bridging the Post-Excavation Gaps: Structured Guidance and Training for Post-Excavation in Archaeology
  14. Everyone Has to Start Somewhere: Democratisation of Digital Documentation and Visualisation in 3D
  15. The Bedrock of Rock Art: The Significance of Quartz Arenite as a Canvas for Rock Art in Central Sweden
  16. The Origin, Development and Decline of Lengyel Culture Figurative Finds
  17. New “Balkan Fashion” Developing Through the Neolithization Process: The Ceramic Annulets of Amzabegovo and Svinjarička Čuka
  18. From a Medieval Town to the Modern Fortress of Rosas (Girona-Spain). Combining Geophysics and Archaeological Excavation to Understand the Evolution of a Strategic Coastal Settlement
  19. Technical Transfers Between Chert Knappers: Investigating Gunflint Manufacture in the Eastern Egyptian Desert (Wadi Sannur, Northern Galala, Egypt)
  20. Early Neolithic Pottery Production in the Maltese Islands: Initiating a Għar Dalam and Skorba Pottery Fabric Classification
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  27. Goats and Goddesses. Digital Approach to the Religioscapes of Atargatis and Allat
  28. Conceiving Elements of Divinity: The Use of the Semantic Web for the Definition of Material Religiosity in the Levant During the Second Millennium BCE
  29. Special Issue on Engaging the Public, Heritage and Educators through Material Culture Research, edited by Katherine Anne Wilson, Christina Antenhofer, & Thomas Pickles
  30. Inventories as Keys to Exploring Castles as Cultural Heritage
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  32. Monastic Estates in the Wachau Region: Nodes of Exchange in Past and Present Days
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  34. Community, Public Archaeology, and Co-construction of Knowledge Through the Educational Project of a Rural Mountain School
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  44. Networks and the City: A Network Perspective on Procopius De Aed. I and the Building of Late Antique Constantinople
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