Author: alice.clough

In July, Claudia Hildebrandt (Collection Manager, School of Earth Sciences, University of Bristol)  joined forces with Deborah Hutchinson (Geology Curator, Bristol Museum) and Lisa Graves (Curator of World Cultures, Bristol Museum) to offer a workshop focused on collections. 

Throughout the journey of the Migrating Rocks project, the team have been deeply inspired by the traditional Māori practice of expressing gratitude – Karakia – to open and close a meeting or gathering. Karakia are generally used to increase the spiritual goodwill of a gathering, so as to increase the likelihood of a favourable outcome. Influenced by this, the project team have developed a practice of opening meetings and workshops with a gratitude of our own. We have found this practice to be simple but powerful, anchoring our research activities in a bigger picture of connectedness and respect. For the collections workshop Alyson Hallett had written a gratitude which she read out as a way of welcoming and opening the space:

I come to this workshop with an acknowledgement of the lands, waters, creatures, stones, plants and peoples whose being is bound up with our own in mutual dependence.

I honour the lives of those who have contributed so much to our human family and yet may be devalued and exploited.

I thank the rocks and stones for giving us somewhere to live and for sharing their stories, wisdom and intelligence with us.

May these words set the conditions for actions of recognitions, repair and reciprocity and may our actions honour our relatedness.

The gratitude flowed into a short round of introductions. Among the workshop participants we were delighted to welcome Geoff Kilgour, one of the project team, who is based in Aotearoa (New Zealand) and works closely with Māori iwi (tribes) in his work as a volcanologist. Geoff shared the traditional Māori way of introducing oneself, which includes naming one’s mountain, lake, and ancestors.

The first part of the workshop took place in a vast lab in the School of Earth Sciences, University of Bristol. Surrounded by hundreds of drawers of geological samples and specimens, and flanked by shelves of microscopes, we perched around tables that usually host university students conducting scientific experiments. It felt like a fitting place to be considering how our varied disciplines identify, name, and label rocks – the practice that would be the focus of this workshop.

_{^{Workshop venue 1: School of Earth Sciences, University of Bristol}}

Meeting rocks and considering their labels

Following on from Alyson’s explorations of Māori language, it is clear that naming the things around us is an important and powerful process. 

Names can encode acts of colonisation (for example New Zealand originates from the Dutch Nova Zeelandia, ascribed to Aotearoa in 1645). Names can point to acts of discovery (for example Adelius Haliday, a genus of wasp named after the scientist Alexander Henry Haliday who first described it in 1833). Names can locate things to their place in a system of categorisation (for example Homo sapiens sapiens indicates the position of our species in an evolutionary tree-structure). And names can also paint a picture of the thing they denote, as is the case for Aotearoa which means ‘land of the long white cloud’.

Acts of naming therefore offer a useful tool for thinking about the knowledge held and created through normative scientific practices, as well as how different people and disciplines understand and interact with rocks.

In the first part of the workshop, Claudia had laid out a series of rock and mineral samples with their labels hidden. The multidisciplinary group was invited to explore the samples and write their own labels, however they would like to do so. Once we had written new labels, the broader contextual information about each sample was revealed and we had time to explore and discuss our experiences.

^{Writing our own labels for the rock samples}

The labels written by the group varied greatly from the collection labels formally associated with them. Some described the movement our workshop participants imagined were involved in the rocks’ creation, for example:

Magma carrying up rocks from below

Others described the qualities of the rock:

Aerated, like Aero chocolate, spotted with biscuity bits, en route from hot fluid depths, currently sporting moss-stubble

Gem gravel

Rose sparkle pot pourri 

Shiny, fruity allsorts. Pick ‘n’ mix

Some described touch:

Green stone. Cool to touch. Smooth when placed against the human cheek

Some spoke from the rock’s perspective:

Make a tool with me. I will flake beautifully, and be very sharp. Use me as a mirror, my shine is steady unlike water

While others felt like a spontaneous bubbling of feeling or creative expression:

Hunk-a-lump-a-chunk-a petrographic microscope in polarised light. Spun around spin around

Dinosaur-eye, still watching Deep Time trickle by

When the original collection labels and archive information was revealed, we found ourselves examining tiny handwritten labels, descriptions of acquisition, and sanitised language:

Celt-type polished stone axe in fine-grained igneous rock

Native silver Ag. With native copper Cu. Lake Superior, Michigan, U.S.A. 1893. Ref No. B532

^{Names, labels and descriptions – from the collection and created by the workshop participants}

Exploring the collections at Bristol Museum

In the second part of the workshop we walked up the road to meet Deborah Hutchinson, Curator of Geology, and Lisa Graves, Curator of World Cultures at Bristol Museum. Nestled below the museum galleries we discovered the museum stores which are packed with hugely varied collections from around the world and across time. 

Deborah had kindly selected and laid out a variety of items, maps, and records from the collections for us to explore. These items included material reflective of extractive processes, material reflecting colonial influences in the collections, and material linked to cultural capital and the early aspirations of Bristol Museum to gain leverage and influence in the social and political world. These included iron ore from Cumbria, models of the Cullinan diamonds, a ruler made from Cotham Marble, glass sample jars of Diatom Ooze, and a book of ‘presents’ that logged acquisitions between 1866 and 1898. 

^{Exploring the collections at Bristol Museum}

We were encouraged to explore these objects and the paperwork associated with them, and consider what knowledge currently exists in the collections as well as the knowledge that is currently missing.

One item that caught the eye of many workshop participants was not actually an object, but a photograph of an object: a Jadeite Eel guardian from Aotearoa. Having been identified in the museums’ displays as an item with great cultural significance, in early 2024 in a ceremony led by Brent Raihana the Eel guardian was removed from display and put back to rest and sleep. It now occupies a drawer in the museum collections, where it will stay unless it becomes part of a returns process.

^{The Jadeite Eel guardian from Aotearoa}

The Eel guardian prompted long and reflective conversations about the power held by museums and their curators, and the categorisation of different types of objects and samples. Does an item need to have a proven cultural significance in order to warrant particular types of treatment? How can our collections reflect and embed a sense of respect?

Bringing our experiences together

On return to the lab space, we re-grouped and reflected on our experiences. Our discussion focused around two central questions:

What knowledge is captured, and what knowledge dominates in geological collections?

Location is almost always captured and communicated. It seems important to be able to place items on the world map.

Lists, boxes, spreadsheets… knowledge is commonly separated into systems and categories. It seems rare to see a very holistic collection that combines geological, archaeological, cultural, and artistic knowledge for example.

Who collected it. We discussed the ‘hierarchy of who’ – which people in a collections process are acknowledged or recorded, and which are omitted or invisible. Where, for example, are the conservators and archivists in our written records, and why is the focus usually on ‘discoverers’ and those with the most intellectual capital? We also thought about how this relates to class and power, i.e. who can collect. 

Handwriting made a big impression on us. Many items collected at an earlier date had meticulous handwritten labels. In a scientific collection this may be the only way of making a more emotional connection to those involved in the collections process.

Oddities, objects of beauty, and curiosities seemed to form a substantial part of the collection. In this sense many of the items in the collection are there because of non-scientific qualities, however they are processed and presented in scientific ways.

The Book of Presents, which recorded acquisitions in the 1800’s in great detail, really landed with the group and stimulated a lot of discussion. We wondered what a ‘present’ might mean in the context of a collection. Would a different word be more honest or transparent? We discussed the association of ‘present’ with gift exchange and transaction, and wondered whether this accurately reflected the instances the book recorded.

Accumulation seems to be at the heart of older fashioned collection practices. We were struck by the quantity of material in the collections and how the Book of Presents seemed concerned with collecting as much as possible. The group discussed their own experiences of extractive and wasteful collection practices, and how these are gradually changing as awareness grows (and storage capacity reduces). 

Lastly, we discussed the difference between what we know, and what is hidden but could be revealed. What more could be done with what we have in terms of safeguarding and communicating knowledge to present and future generations?

What knowledge is missing or mis-represented in museum collections?

Broader contextual knowledge was largely missing from the collections we encountered. The segregation of different types of knowledge and different disciplinary studies means that frequently materials are presented in isolation rather than as part of a dense network of findings. These separations are often structural (for example the separation of geology and archaeology collections), and may make it difficult to try and build a more holistic understanding of place, material, people, or story. 

Personal reminders, memories, and feelings are also notably absent. Although the group agreed that keeping notebooks and diaries is an essential part of any rigorous collection practice, these aspects rarely make it into knowledge that is re-presented to others. Collections become sanitised and stripped of emotions.

Geographic changes and elements of guardianship rarely seem to be recorded. An item may be presented using outdated geographical names, or without acknowledging indigenous or tribal guardianship. 

Waste disposal processes, returns processes, and the journeys of rocks are not described or acknowledged. The collection can easily end up feeling static, whereas in reality it is always changing shape.

Changes in attitude towards collecting and storage are also not explicit. Much has changed since the 1800’s, however this is not necessarily described in the collection itself. 

Summary

We left this workshop feeling saturated by our discussions. Had we been looking for answers here, we would not have found them. Instead, our conversations and experiences had revealed layers of complexity and important questions around the nature of knowledge in geological collections – how it is created, how it is stored, how it is communicated, and who or what is or isn’t given a voice within those processes. Notably, scientific approaches to collection labelling frequently seemed to leave gaps in our understanding. Perhaps it is important to pay attention to these gaps and the imaginative spaces they offer – spaces to consider fairness and justice, feeling, respect, playfulness, and responsibility.

I am learning te reo Māori.
Learning about macrons and extended vowels.
How to put a new language in my mouth
new shapes in my tongue and cheeks.
Roll r’s like stones down a mountain.
Like Scottish r’s.
Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Like the purr of a cat.
My teeth rebel. They are in unfamiliar land.
My eyes slice new pathways from synapse to vocal chord.
There are brambles and sudden ditches.
Putiputi – flower. Rorohiko- computer – electric brain.
A new taste for the buds. My first 
language that isn’t soaked in colonising blood.

By Alyson Hallett

In April we were thrilled to bring together an interdisciplinary team of researchers, thinkers and creatives from within and beyond the university, for a workshop led by poet Alyson Hallett and illustrator Edie Woolf. 

The intention of the workshop was to spend time interacting with and responding to the rocks that will be returned to Aotearoa, following an agreement with a Māori tribe when they were first taken from the land and brought to the UK for research. Rather than replicating our usual methods or assumptions, in this workshop the aim was to seek new or different ways of meeting rock with a focus on listening and being receptive. What might we learn from rock if we listen to what it has to say? How can our feelings about rock inform our understandings and interpretations? While this may sound simple, it can be surprisingly difficult to step outside of routine ways of working.

To get the workshop started, Alyson invited everyone on a field trip into the depths of the Earth Sciences department, to meet the rocks in their current setting: the basement.

Can you and the rock find each other?

The group were invited to each choose a rock from the collection of dusty bags, each of which contained multiple rocks from the same location, and to spend time getting to know it.  Rather than making this choice by imposing ourselves on the collection, Alyson invited us to explore how we – individual and rock – might let choosing happen between us as a way of beginning to relocate and question where agency is situated.

Rocks selected, some people chose to sit on the floor, close their eyes, and ‘listen’. Others met their rock through movement, touch, writing, or smell. We were given two three tasks: to tell the stone it would be returning to Aotearoa, to ask our rock a question, and to allow our rock to ask us a question in return. The group then had time to reflect on their experiences through writing and by sharing with a partner.

Give name to the nameless, so it can be thought

The second part of Alyson’s workshop involved integrating and responding to our ‘field trip’ to the basement through poetic writing exercises.

Inspired by Al-Husayn Ibn Ahmad Ibn Khalawayh’s From The Names of The Lion (in Rothenberg 2017), each participant was invited to create a series of names for rock. We shared these names out loud, giving voice to our experiences and bringing alive our understandings of the rocks:

Go inside a stone

To conclude Alyson’s half of the workshop the group read and discussed Charles Simic’s poem Stone, using it as a starting point to each write our own poem titled Field Trip. This was a chance to bring together our experiences of the morning. We shared our poems in a group reading, our thoughts and ideas blending and overlapping much like the chaotic fullness of the many bags of rock in the basement.

Moving to the visual

The second half of the workshop, led by Edie Woolf, focused on using collage as a technique to visualise our thoughts and feelings about the rocks.

As Edie guided us through the collage process, this part of the workshop also offered a space to chat and talk through our experiences as well as move around the room, reaching across the table for materials and physically stepping back from our work to take stock. 

The collages we made ranged from neat and organised to wild and busy, each one full of layered meanings. Some focused on recreating the look, feel, or texture of rock. Others focused on the messages we had received from the rocks earlier in the workshop. And others explored more personal associations between rock and place, history, or language.

Feedback from workshop participants

How do you feel towards rocks?

I feel a deep yearning to know them better, differently.

I love them. 

I think more than I feel, but I do feel drawn towards these materials.

I worry that my engagement with them is mainly through historical text and image, not a direct encounter or process of knowing.

I feel comforted by rocks.

I’m a big fan!

Different, better connected.

Excited!

What surprised you? 

How the whole of me – academic, artistic, spiritual, felt welcome and had space to express itself.

Felt a heartfelt connection with the rocks I touched. It will stick with me.

The trip to the store.

Speaking to and listening to the rocks – very introspective.

How do rocks feel towards you?