This paper takes the form of a dialogue between an archaeologist and a sociologist. In recent years, interdisciplinary working has become increasingly fashionable within academia. The aim of our exchange was to establish exactly what implications this way of working has for understandings of material culture. Our methodology was simple, involving the ‘archaeological’ and ‘sociological’ analysis of two different objects. In undertaking this work, we hoped to bring about new or different understandings of the objects under scrutiny. The process was indeed successful, but not necessarily in the ways we had expected. Ultimately, it revealed a complex set of questions about how the materials of culture are conceptualized and understood, and led us to a renewed appreciation of the theoretical and methodological qualities of what we do within our respective disciplines.

This article seeks to reverse the emphasis, in current studies of material culture, on the materiality of objects as against the properties of materials. Drawing on James Gibson's tripartite division of the inhabited environment into medium, substances and surfaces, it is argued that the forms of things are not imposed from without upon an inert substrate of matter, but are continually generated and dissolved within the fluxes of materials across the interface between substances and the medium that surrounds them. Thus things are active not because they are imbued with agency but because of ways in which they are caught up in these currents of the lifeworld. The properties of materials, then, are not fixed attributes of matter but are processual and relational. To describe these properties means telling their stories.

I really welcome Tim Ingold's paper because intellectual debates about the meaning and significance of material culture or general attempts to theorize material forms are comparatively rare as opposed to the mass of literature discussing particular categories of things. In the paper he systematically sets out to oppose a concept of materiality (apparently worthless) to the study of materials which, in contrast, he suggests, may lead to many new insights and understandings. I do not find this supposed opposition all that helpful. Indeed I believe that it may have a conservative and reactionary effect in relation to studies of material culture which is no doubt contrary to Ingold's intentions.

In the last two or three decades, material culture as a topic of scientific study has experienced a real boom. Focusing on everyday objects, their contexts and meanings, material culture studies offers important approaches for several disciplines within the humanities. The aim of this new wave of research is to improve the understanding of social practices in a wider sense and thereby contribute to the understanding of societies themselves. Given this ambitious goal, and the wide range of disciplines engaged in studying material culture, the new approach will only have a future if interdisciplinary debates are initiated and succeed in making reciprocal benefits. In particular, the complementarities of different disciplinary methodologies should result in useful synergies. If material culture studies is seen only as a domain within anthropology (or any other discipline) then we risk it coming to a dead end (Bertrand and Jewsiewicki 1999, 181; Hahn 2005, 12). This is the larger context in which I see the relevance of the present essay and, before going into details, I would like to express my support to the ideas expressed by Garrow and Shove.

Many scholars working in the domain of material culture will welcome this forceful statement from Ingold, sharing his frustration with the seemingly immaterial materiality emergent in the material-culture literature, the singular focus on things already made rather than their processes of becoming, and the apparent lack of contribution from those who do study materials in depth (e.g. archaeologists) to questions of materiality and material culture. His intervention is a timely one, although the message has been expressed before, albeit in more muted tones (e.g. Ingold 2000, 53). But while Ingold may be justified in bemoaning the lack of definition and clarity in ‘materiality’, is there scope for stepping back from the polemic and finding a middle ground? I would argue that materiality may still be a useful way of understanding the conjunction or intersection of the social and the material, without the former swallowing the latter.

As the authors situate the discussion in their offices, let me also begin in mine. On my way home from the office there will be many things around me. They will mostly be familiar and go largely unnoticed. I will take my keys off the desk and lock the door behind me. I will walk along the corridor, through the swing doors, down the stairs, unlock my bike, and so on. Desk, keys, door, carpet, windows, stairs, lock, bike – these are all objects with which I interact. But do I necessarily notice them? As long as there is ‘smooth coping’, as long as these objects are ready to hand (Wheeler 2005, 129), then they remain in the background. These are not objects that hold me in their gaze; I do not ‘encounter’ them, in the sense of encountering, meeting or bumping into a person.

Ingold starts his critique with a claim to find recent writing and talking about material culture essentially obscure and orientated to fashion. If one reads Ingold's own writing you will find plenty of references to philosophical figures such as Heidegger and to phenomenology. I find such writing often incomprehensible and obscure, and much of its contemporary use pretentious. I would hope a reader would find that my own recent books, on the cell phone (Horst and Miller 2006), materiality (Miller 2005) and the sari (Banerjee and Miller 2003), are written in just as straightforward a style as those of Ingold, which I much admire, both eschewing unnecessary jargon. Clearly we happen to find very different theories more or less congenial and comprehensible. But I do not think the implication of his opening remarks is a fair one, and I would hope that readers would judge this for themselves.

Do good fences make good neighbours? According to their account, Duncan Garrow and Elizabeth Shove each inhabit ‘neighbouring territory’ (p. 127) and are undertaking an exercise in ‘intellectual tourism’ (p. 127). In the process, they find that they live in ‘substantially different worlds’ (p. 128). It is not for me to cast doubt on the veracity of their personal experience, but I do not think it is representative of the state of ‘interdisciplinary working’. Disciplines do inhabit different territories, some are quite distinct; physics and French probably share few boundaries. Others -- archaeology, sociology and anthropology – constantly rub up against each other. Boundedness can be emphatic where disciplines are more ‘urban’, clustered tightly around specific methodologies and data; others are more ‘rural’, with a diversity of topics, methods and theories which are likely to overlap with other disciplines (Becher 1989). Archaeology falls into the latter category; there are wide differences of approach between prehistory, classical archaeology, Egyptology, historical archaeology or archaeological science. My impression is that sociology would also fit the rural description.

Garrow and Shove use objects to reveal larger social and cultural patterns, in this case – most ambitiously – epistemological and methodological practices of their respective disciplines. I think it works and I agree with their support for future interdisciplinary object-swapping.

No matter what kind of archaeologist you think you are, Ingold's text evokes emotional and intellectual reactions concerning a core of archaeology: how to deal scientifically with the material world. It pinpoints some serious problems within today's archaeology, not least field archaeology. Given this, I will try to comment on Ingold's text from a practical archaeological point of view. Before I turn to the tangible fields of sand, clay, stone fragments and almost vanished materials, I will take the opportunity to associate Ingold's point of view with a well-known geographical tradition, since some concepts appear to be quite similar.

As is often the way, a ‘finished’ article disguises aspects of its own production and gives an overly orderly account of theoretical and methodological moves which were not especially planned. In responding to our commentators and in coming clean about our own working methods we have some confessions to make. In making these admissions we continue what has by now become a conversation about matters of interdisciplinarity and about our approach to the axe and the toothbrush.

I would like to thank all four of my interlocutors for taking the trouble to comment on my text, and for the clarity and cogency of their contributions. They have forced me to think long and hard, and indeed to question my own conclusions. For me at least, and I hope also for readers of Archaeological dialogues, this has been a debate worth having, and it has been going on as much in my own mind as between myself and my critics.

Tim Murray has occupied a unique, and at times contentious, position within Australian archaeology. His primary interests in the history of archaeology and theory made him ‘a luxury no department could afford’ in the fieldwork-dominated atmosphere of 1980s Australian archaeology, though he has since gone on to establish himself as a leading figure in both Australia and the international community. The politics of archaeology has also been a central element of his thought through both his historical work on race and his engagment with indigenous communities in Tasmania. The breadth of Murray's interests and contributions to the discipline of archaeology emerges very clearly from this interview and highlights issues that remain of central importance to the discipline.

What follows is an account of an interview with Mark P. Leone, Professor in the University of Maryland's Department of Anthropology and Director of the Archaeology in Annapolis project. Leone will be well known to many for his work in historical archaeology, for his use of critical theory in archaeology and for the Archaeology in Annapolis project where these interests come together. In the interview Leone explores the development of his approach, from his early work within the New Archaeology, through his growing interest in Marxist approaches to past and present, to his concerns today. This approach combines a commitment to social responsibility with a belief in scientific method. We discuss the ways in which critical archaeology has worked in practice in Annapolis over the past 25 or more years and how it has disrupted dominant modes of discussion and placed new ones more firmly on the agenda. In concluding, Leone offers some of his thoughts on archaeology and the creation of democratic discourse.

Performative engagements with specific, culturally significant places were among the primary means of configuring landscapes in the ancient world. Ancient states often appropriated symbolic or ritual landscapes through commemorative ceremonies and building operations. These commemorative sites became event-places where state spectacles encountered and merged with local cult practices. The Early Iron Age inscriptions and reliefs carved on the cave walls of the Dibni Su sources at the site of Birkleyn in Eastern Turkey, known as the ‘Source of the Tigris’ monuments, present a compelling paradigm for such spatial practices. Assyrian kings Tiglath-pileser I (1114–1076 B.C.) and Shalmaneser III (858–824 B.C.) carved ‘images of kingship’ and accompanying royal inscriptions at this impressive site in a remote but politically contested region. This important commemorative event was represented in detail on Shalmaneser III's bronze repoussé bands from Imgul-Enlil (Tell Balawat) as well as in his annalistic texts, rearticulating the performance of the place on public monuments in Assyrian urban contexts. This paper approaches the making of the Source of the Tigris monuments as a complex performative place-event. The effect was to reconfigure a socially significant, mytho-poetic landscape into a landscape of commemoration and cult practice, illustrating Assyrian rhetorics of kingship. These rhetorics were maintained by articulate gestures of inscription that appropriated an already symbolically charged landscape in a liminal territory and made it durable through site-specific spatial practices and narrative representations.

This article examines the politics of ritual space in the Jequetepeque Valley, Peru after the conquest of the region by the Chimú Empire (A.D. 1200–1450). Interpretations are based on detailed analysis of ceremonial architecture located in the rural hinterland of urban centres. Despite imperial incorporation, the proliferation of ceremonial sites in the Jequetepeque countryside indicates that ritual production remained the prerogative of local groups. Architectural archaism, syncretism and the emulation of Chimú space in Jequetepeque demonstrate that rural communities adopted diverse ideological strategies to defend indigenous political identities and manipulate imperial authorities. The analysis improves understanding of the effects of Chimú conquest on local populations and suggests that imperial administration relied on indirect rule. Local communities were not passive consumers of state ideology but actively participated in the propagation of both corporate and indigenous religious systems. Ultimately, the article intends to advance archaeological interpretation of the political significance of patterned variability in the construction and experience of ceremonial space.

Since its discovery, Çatalhöyük's iconography has provoked interpretative comment. In a series of writings, Hodder critiqued earlier interpretations of the Çatalhöyük corpus, arguing for asymmetrical gender relations of an enduring and particular type in the European past. While recent research at Çatalhöyük appears to have tempered some of Hodder's interpretative oppositions and scope, it is worthwhile to propose an alternate contextual approach to his original oppositions. This begins with the multiple examples of small carnivores' heads encysted in what may be clay effigies of human breasts and reads the same corpus as involving gender not solely with danger or death, but also with food and fleshly transformation. In this interpretation, the roles and essences of wild and domestic animals, women and men, food and death, are more complex, interpenetrating and mutable. Building on recent work at the site, it is possible to propose the existence of zones of transformation within households.