Household Archaeology in The Andes

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Household Archaeology in the Andes
Article in Journal of Archaeological Research · September 2009

DOI: 10.1007/s10814-009-9029-7
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J Archaeol Res (2009) 17:205–261
DOI 10.1007/s10814-009-9029-7
Household Archaeology in the Andes
Donna J. Nash
Published online: 27 March 2009

Springer Science+Business Media, LLC 2009
Abstract Data from domestic contexts can be used to address significant

anthropological research questions. Archaeological investigations in the Andes
(areas once incorporated into the Inka empire, including northwestern Argentina,
highland Bolivia, northern Chile, Ecuador, and Peru), like many parts of the world,
rely on ethnohistory and ethnography to interpret the archaeological remains of
domestic areas and make inferences about households. In this review I describe the
ideas about Andean households that archaeologists are using and how domestic
remains are being examined to infer social, economic, and political processes.
Household archaeology in the Andes requires ethnoarchaeology and theory-building
in order to understand the complex social dynamics at the foundation of ancient
Andean societies.
Keywords Domestic archaeology Residential archaeology

Household archaeology Andes
Introduction
In The Early Mesoamerican Village, Flannery writes an amusing tale to camouflage

the revelation of a harsh reality. He claims that his Real Mesoamerican
Archaeologist ‘‘knows that the Formative was a time of ‘village farming
communities,’ [but] he does not dig sites and analyze sites as if they were village
farming communities. He digs them and analyzes them as if they were huge layer
cakes of discarded sherds’’ (Flannery 1976, p. 5). In this review, I make a similar
claim for the Andes: many archaeologists know they are digging in houses, but they
D. J. Nash (&)
Department of Anthropology (mc 027), University of Illinois-Chicago, 1007 West Harrison Street,
Chicago, IL 60607, USA
e-mail: djnash@uic.edu
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do not excavate them as houses. They instead dig houses as if they were
homogeneous containers, taking a sample of any part and thinking it will provide
data to evaluate relative differences in economy, exchange, production, diet, and an
array of other attributes between ‘‘households.’’ Yet, to make meaningful
comparisons requires an understanding of houses as artifacts and how houses
might be correlated with ‘‘household organization’’ (Wilk and Rathje 1982, p. 620;
see also Stanish 1989) or the activities of a coresidential group. Since residential
data are paramount for understanding the fundamental parts of any societal whole,
more effort needs to be invested in understanding ancient Andean households and
domestic life.
Households can be considered from a number of perspectives. Several models,
implicit and explicit, affect the archaeological investigation of domestic units.
Structuralist models contrast the domestic sphere and the public sphere and would
have anthropologists examine residential settings as something beyond or outside
the important political activities of the community (for a recent review see Spencer-
Wood 1999). Gero and Scattolin (2002, pp. 168–169; see also Feinman and
Nicholas 2004) have discussed how the study of production reifies this dichotomy
by considering only items produced for exchange or consumption outside of the
household as specialized production. Important feminist research has revealed the
significant androcentric bias behind the dichotomy opposing the ‘‘private’’ house
space to the ‘‘public’’ political realm of the community. These ideas are derived
largely from Western ideology, isolating the passive female in the house, out of
sight. In contrast, the recent emphasis on the power of palaces in archaic states
(Flannery 1998; Parkinson and Galaty 2007) or the dwellings of chiefs in ranked
societies (e.g., Smith and David 1995) regards houses as the political tools of the
elite. The symbolic importance maintained by houses of state, such as the United
States’ ‘‘White House,’’ in contemporary polities shows the potential political
significance of some residential complexes.
Other structuralist models applied to ethnography and a few ethnoarchaeological
studies show how houses can be cosmograms or ‘‘structuring structures’’ (e.g.,
Bourdieu 1977, p. 90; Donley-Reid 1990; Douglas 1973; Giddens 1979).
Residential space has been described as the ‘‘world view writ small’’ (Rapoport
1969, p. 2). In some societies houses are used directly as a metaphor for the natural
or supernatural world (i.e., the Berber House [Bourdieu 1979], the Ainu House
[Onuki-Tierney 1972], the Iroquois Longhouse [Tooker 1978]), or these scripts can
be implicit and reflect underlying values (Glassie 1975). As such, houses can
represent the complementary relations between genders in the family or the social
hierarchy of the entire society. Other agency-focused studies have considered house
structures as active participants in social relations (e.g., Tringham 1991, p. 106),
with construction choices making statements to exterior observers, as well as having
an effect on the relations between members of the coresidential group (Blanton
1994; Drucker-Brown 2001; Faust and Bunimovitz 2003; Rapoport 1990). Many
authors from several paradigmatic persuasions also have noted the dialectical
relationship between people designing space and space-designing people (e.g.,
Ardener 1981; Bachelard 1969; Gabrilopoulos et al. 2002; Kent 1990).
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J Archaeol Res (2009) 17:205–261 207
Materialist models focused on ecology and economy describe how households

might fulfill functions of production, distribution, transmission, and reproduction,
but Wilk and Rathje (1982, p. 627) are careful to point out that larger social units in
the community may compete with households and control certain aspects of group
activity. Thus households may function differently in different areas and vary in size
and organization, even within the same community (see Goody 1972). At the other
end of the scale, recent household studies suggest that such approaches to domestic
units discount the individuals that make up the social grouping, ignoring different
agendas and competition within the household itself (Allison 1999, p. 2). Yet,
without historical documents or attributing activities to gender or age groups based
on cross-cultural generalizations, it is difficult to describe a course of action for
archaeologists to consider individuals, without unique circumstances. Thus it is
important for archaeologists not to discuss households as homogeneous units with
members sharing a unified agenda, but at the present time studying individuals in
households is a scale of analysis unavailable to most prehistorians.
Neoevolutionary models describe households as building blocks or units at the
foundation of polities irrespective of size or complexity. It is the ability of
households to produce surpluses that allows specialization and the emergence of
leadership; further, households provide their extra labor to build states (Earle 1997,
p. 71; Feinman 1991; Kristiansen 1991, p. 21; Orans 1966; Stanish 1994; Webster
1985; Yoffee 2005, pp. 35–36). Houses are the middle ground between potsherds
and polities (Deetz 1982), and that is why many studies of complex societies
incorporate data sets derived from residential contexts. Changes in household
production and consumption patterns are correlated with political transformations
(e.g., Hastorf and D’Altroy 2001), which are typically first identified through
investment in infrastructure or the sudden appearance of monuments (e.g., Haas
1987, p. 31). Given the importance of households and their residential activities for
many models of state formation or increasing complexity, the configuration of the
household is rarely a matter of study in itself but is often assumed based on
ethnography or ethnohistoric research. In other words, few Andean archaeologists
have linked the material dwelling (size, number of rooms, or features) with a model
of a household’s social composition. Comparing the social composition of
households between different polities could provide important insights to under-
stand broader issues of economic and political organization. In general, the study of
archaeological households and domestic contexts is underdeveloped in the Andes.
Archaeological research in the Andes unearthed and described residential
remains very early on (e.g., Bird [1948] at Huaca Prieta; Kroeber and Collier [1998]
in Nasca; Kidder [1943] at Pukara; Uhle [1991, p. 57] at Pachacamac), but most
studies focused on chronological questions of development. The realization that
residential data could be applied to understand culture change through time; social
difference in regions or urban settings; relations of production, consumption, and
exchange; or the political economy of complex societies has not been utilized to its
full potential because of the focus on spectacular tomb and temple finds. Residential
components are pervasive; they are the most common unit at most archaeological
sites, and domestic areas are often identified within more specialized contexts.
Research has shown that political activity is embedded in elite residential
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complexes (e.g., Brewster-Wray 1983; Couture 2004; Day 1982; Isbell 1984;
Morris 2004; Nash and Williams 2005; Shimada 1994). Many specialized goods, for
states or other large-scale societies, were manufactured by enclaves in (e.g., Janusek
1999; Rivera-Casanovas 2003; Topic 1982) or near the artisans’ living quarters
(e.g., Russell and Jackson 2001; Topic 1982). Even temple mounds and sacred
precincts may have residential components for theocratic leaders or ritual
specialists, be they male, female, or both (e.g., Cardal [Burger and Salazar-Burger
1991], the Akapana at Tiwanaku [Kolata 1993, p. 118], Huaca Grande at Pampa
Grande [Haas 1985], Inka temples of the sun [Cobo 1990 [1653], pp. 173–174]).
Thus it is important how we approach residential remains in the study of ancient
Andean societies. In general, research has been in houses rather than about
households. Domestic units have not been problematized or systematically
compared. Domestic activities are assumed and rarely described. Ethnoarchaeology
has not contributed to current models of activity, and in general archaeologists rely
too much on history and ethnography rather than cross-cultural comparisons or
experimental archaeology. As long as Inka history and ethnographic studies of
highland peasant communities provide the only sources for archaeological
interpretation, little progress will be made. Andean household archaeology needs
new approaches to understand prehistoric societies.
In this article I review the ethnohistoric and ethnographic information most
commonly used by Andeanists to interpret archaeological households in order to
expose the problems generated by mixing history and ethnography; however I also
highlight some useful insights from ethnography that have been underutilized in
model building. I describe the scales of research and the implications of middle-
range theory to household archaeology and attempt to reconcile definitions
introduced from early household research with more recent results from domestic
studies. I examine how Andean archaeologists have applied domestic data to
describe demography, the development of social stratification and other social
differences in complex societies, the domestic economy, craft specialization and
production; the household’s role in the political economy; and cosmological
attributes of Andean dwellings. Sites and regions mentioned in the text appear on
maps of five areas of the Andes (Fig. 1, Ecuador; Fig. 2, northern Peru; Fig. 3,
central Peru; Fig. 4, southern Peru and Bolivia; Fig. 5, Argentina). In writing this
review I endeavor to interest more scholars in examining Andean households for
their own sake and to encourage archaeologists to build more viable models that link
house remains to lived communities, polities, and multipolity spheres of interaction.
Ideas about Andean households
A great deal of archaeological interpretation about Andean households is based on

published ethnographic research of mostly highland Andean communities and
households, ethnohistorical research of documents from the colonial era immedi-
ately following the Inka period, and the experiences of archaeologists themselves as
they live and work in remote communities. Ideas and techniques pioneered by
Mesoamerican household archaeologists also have been transplanted farther south
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J Archaeol Res (2009) 17:205–261 209
le
Dau
yo
aho
Bab
1
2 3
Quito Peru
Ecuador
Iquitos
Piura
Trujillo
Peru
Lima
Cusco
La Paz
Arequipa Bolivia
Arica
Potosi
Iquique
Antofagsta
Chile
Salta
San Miguel
deTucuman
Argentina
N
Córdoba
W E
Mendoza
S
Santiago Buenos
Aires
Fig. 1 Sites and regions of Ecuador mentioned in the text. 1, Achuar; 2, Las Vegas; 3, Real Alto
(e.g., Netting et al. 1984; Wilk 1991). But given that there is only one edited volume
(Aldenderfer 1993a) dedicated to household archaeology, it is clear that Andean
research has taken a different direction.
Andean ethnohistoric and ethnographic literature provides archaeologists with
broad ideas of domestic life, and thus such sources have played a major role in
archaeological interpretations of households. A few anthropological and historical
studies of residential groups have had a great impact on archaeological investiga-
tions. I discuss the problems with this below. Andean archaeologists’ different
views of households and the nature of residential remains determine their
approaches to domestic contexts and provide the basis for their interpretations of
households and thus their models of ancient societies.
Ethnohistoric models of coresidential groups
Archaeologists working in the coastal valleys and those studying groups that
occupied the intermontane valleys or the high altiplano typically have different
conceptions of the coresidential group. These ideas are based on two major models
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210 J Archaeol Res (2009) 17:205–261
5
ope
Mot yeque 9
ba Zana
Lam que 3 7
Hu
e tepe 8
al
u
Ma
2
Jeq a 1
la
c a m
ga
Chi Moche
4
rañ
Virú
ón
o
Cha ta
San a
eñ 6
Nep ma
C a s
y
rma
Hua
Quito
Ecuador
Iquitos
Piura
Trujillo
Peru
Lima Cusco
Arequipa La Paz
Bolivia
Arica
Potosí
Iquique
Antofagsta
Chile
Salta
San Miguel
deTucuman
N
Argentina
W E Córdoba
S
Mendoza
Santiago Buenos
Aires
Fig. 2 Sites and valleys of northern Peru mentioned in the text. 1, Chan Chan; 2, Galindo; 3, Huaca
Prieta; 4, Huacas de Moche; 5, Pampa Grande; 6, Sechin Alto; 7, Sonolipe; 8, Virachochapampa; 9,
Uchucmarca
proposed by ethnohistorians studying the respective areas: (1) Murra and his
descriptions of verticality or zonal complementarity in the south, along with
application of this model to the Inka empire, and (2) Rostworowski’s accounts of
societies of specialists engaged in horizontal coastal trade in the north, characterized
by the Kingdom of Chimor and smaller polities of the central coast, such as the
Ychsma who controlled the large oracle center of Pachacamac.
Verticality and nuclear family households
Murra’s (1968, 1980; Murra et al. 1986) ideas are widely applied to understand
patterns of subsistence and political economies, particularly in the southern
123
J Archaeol Res (2009) 17:205–261 211
4
Fortaleza
11
Ma
Ur
Chancay nta
ro
ub
am
Rimac 81
Ap
ba
uri
Lurin 2 6
ma
Chilca 5
c
3 10
Chincha 9
7
Nasca
Quito
Ecuador
Iquitos
Piura
Trujillo
Peru
Lima
Cusco
La Paz
Arequipa Bolivia
Arica
Potosí
Iquique
Antofagsta
Chile
Salta
San Miguel
deTucuman
Argentina
N
Córdoba
W E
Mendoza
S Santiago Buenos
Aires
Fig. 3 Sites and valleys of central Peru mentioned in the text. 1, Cardal; 2, Chilca; 3, Conchopata;
4, Huánuco Pampa; 5, Huari; 6, Jargampata; 7, La Centinela; 8, Pachacamac; 9, Pikillacta; 10, Sonqo;
11, Xauxa
highlands. His models, which are based on ethnohistoric accounts, have been tested
by a number of archaeologists and projected back into earlier times (Aldenderfer
1993a; Janusek 2004a; Masuda et al. 1985; Rice et al. 1989; cf. Van Buren 1996). In
Murra’s model, households were partially self-sufficient. They were given access to
land (the society’s primary capital good), and households were ‘‘the contributing
unit’’ to local communities and the Inka empire because ‘‘tasks were allotted to
households, not individuals’’ (Murra 1980, pp. 91–92, 1982).
From Murra’s reading of the ethnohistoric sources and descriptions of the
household’s labor contribution to the Inka state, the household is equated with a
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212 J Archaeol Res (2009) 17:205–261
Nasca
7
Lake
Acarí Titicaca
Ocoña 54
Camana 10
Vitor 1
9
Tambo 2
6
Moquegua 3
8
Sama
Azapa
Quito
Ecuador
Iquitos
Piura
Trujillo
Peru
Lima
Cusco
Arequipa La Paz
Bolivia
Arica
Potosí
Iquique
Antofagsta
Chile
Salta
San Miguel
deTucuman
Argentina
N
Córdoba
W E
Mendoza
S Santiago Buenos
Aires
Fig. 4 Sites and valleys of southern Peru and Bolivia mentioned in the text. 1, Asana; 2, Cerro Baúl and
Cerro Mejı́a; 3, Chiribaya; 4, Chiripa; 5, Lukurmata; 6, Omo; 7, Pukara; 8, Quebrada de los Burros; 9, San
Antonio; 10, Tiwanaku
conjugal pair along with their offspring and perhaps unmarried relatives, implicitly
the nuclear family (Murra 1980, p. 98). At the same time, communities were
collectives holding land and rights to resources in common, whose members shared
the responsibility for taking care of the infirm and elderly. Some of these
communities may have corresponded to a social grouping known as an ayllu.
Yet ayllu are elusive. The size of ayllu varies; settlements may correspond to
ayllu, some settlements will have more than one ayllu, and some ayllu occupy
several smaller dispersed communities. An ayllu, according to Janusek (2004a, p.
28), ‘‘was a flexible term for community,’’ a group of people building relations on
shared productive, political, and ritual experiences. Their relationships were based
on kinship, real or fictive. Ayllu members expressed a common identity, and their
123
J Archaeol Res (2009) 17:205–261 213
Tucuman
Salado
Catamarca
2
1
Chile Santiago
del
3 Estero
Quito La
Rioja
Des
Ecuador
Iquitos
agu
Córdoba
San
ade
Juan
ro
Piura
Trujillo
Peru
Lima
Cusco
La Paz
Arequipa Bolivia
Arica
Potosí
Iquique
Antofagsta
Chile
Salta
San Miguel
deTucuman
Argentina
N
Córdoba
W E
Mendoza
Santiago Buenos
S
Aires
Fig. 5 Sites and provinces of northwestern Argentina mentioned in the text. 1, Campo del Pucará; 2,
La Rinconada; 3, Rincón del Toro
membership gave them use of common resources, and perhaps other entitlements.
Ayllu were ‘‘to varying degrees an economic, ritual, and political group’’ (Janusek
2004a, p. 28). Ayllu have nested memberships, with macro-ayllu segmented into
micro-ayllu (Abercrombie 1998; B. Isbell 1978; Platt 1986; Rostworowski and
Murra 1960).
Given the variability in the way modern groups use the term ayllu, it is unlikely
that archaeologists can recognize ayllu-type sociopolitical groupings. Yet the ayllu
concept is a key component in explanations of Andean economies. In Murra’s
model, communities or ayllu may send small groups of households to settle in other
ecological zones. While retaining rights to land and resources in the home
community, migrant households produced agricultural goods or secured distant
resources that would be funneled back to the home community. This practice
preceded and continued during Inka times.
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214 J Archaeol Res (2009) 17:205–261
Murra’s ideas of Andean community and associated social organization,

including its satellite extensions and nuclear family base, has been glossed as
zonal complementarity, or referred to as verticality. The application of this model to
understanding the political economy of past societies has drawn attention to the
importance of archaeological households and fueled the development of household
archaeology in the Andes. Stanish (1989, 1992) identified residential architecture—
the form and organization of archaeological households—as the best indicator of
ethnicity. He asserted that examining houses, rather than the percentage of foreign
pottery, was the most salient methodology for recognizing and studying colonizing
populations, connecting satellite communities with their origin communities, or
sorting out groups from a complex and heterogeneous ‘‘patchwork of ethnic
enclaves’’ (Stanish 1989, p. 7). Following Murra, Stanish (1989, p. 8) argues that the
household is the fundamental unit of communities; citing a host of ethnographic
studies he defines nuclear families as ‘‘the fundamental productive, consumptive,
and exchange units’’ because they participate in relations of reciprocity, redistri-
bution, and labor tribute as a collective unit.
Many authors in a volume edited by Aldenderfer (1993a) used this methodology
to study zonal complementarity through time in southern Peru, Bolivia, and northern
Chile by comparing the style of residential architecture and associated domestic
material culture. The introduction to the volume describes the facets of style and the
authors’ application of ‘‘identification by comparison’’ (Wiessner 1989). Many of
the chapters in the volume examined house ruins and residential material culture to
assess the degree to which colonists engaged in zonal complementarity maintained
expressions of their ethnicity (Aldenderfer and Stanish 1993).
Research continues to identify groups engaged in zonal complementarity and to
consider the ways that groups are socially and economically integrated in dispersed
ecological zones (e.g., Blom et al. 1998; Goldstein 2000, 2005; Hastings 1987;
Parsons et al. 1997; Sutter 2000); others have used the style of domestic architecture
to identify different groups through periods of change (Bermann 1994; Vaughn
2004, 2005) or to define ancient cultural boundaries (Bonnier 1997). Many Chilean
archaeologists reporting on regional settlement surveys now include descriptions of
the ‘‘use of space’’ in which they detail the residential and nonresidential
components of sites and classify the forms of domestic structures, often contrasting
between rounded and rectilinear buildings and associating different forms with
groups of altiplano, sierra, or coastal origins (e.g., Adán et al. 2007; Chacama 2005;
Muñoz Ovalle 2005). Style of masonry and form of domestic space also have been
used to infer differences between Inka and support staff on royal estates in the
Sacred Valley of Cuzco (Niles 1987) or to identify similar differences at provincial
centers (Morris and Thompson 1985, p. 70). Yet imperial colonies and elites seeking
to emulate more prestigious imperial-style architecture may present problems for
scholars relying solely on survey and the surface examination or mapping of
residential architecture (see DeMarrais 2001). As Aldenderfer and Stanish (1993)
suggest, excavations of numerous households can be expensive, but such
investigations are crucial to realizing the full impact of residential analysis,
especially since residential architecture in many areas is constructed of ephemeral
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material and does not leave evidence of building outlines on the surface. Below, I
return to the importance of research methodology.
Horizontality and extended family households
Not all Andean economies were based on zonal complementarity. Societies living in
rich coastal environments did engage in exchange with other regions but not all
zonal complementarity was direct; some also may have been based on affinal ties
between communities (Salomon 1985). Exchange between groups was a significant
factor in many complex polities. Some coastal societies may have been organized as
groups of specialists where identity was based on occupation and polities consisted
of confederations of specialists. Rostworowski (1970, 1975, 1977) describes
societies organized as a combination of different parcialidades or communities of
specialists under the direction of their lords. The size and complexity of these
societies varied but are typically referred to as señorıós (see also Netherly 1984;
Ramirez-Horton 1981; Shimada 1982, 1994; Topic 1990). Although señiorio
roughly translates to chiefdom, its application to societies is based on ethnographic
texts or the application of Rostworowski’s model. Thus not all señorı́os were
organized ‘‘horizontally,’’ neither were all horizontally organized polities señorı́os.
Also, for this model it is important to keep in mind that farmers and fisherfolk are
considered groups of specialists and that these subsistence producers exchanged
their goods with each other and with the producers of manufactured goods such as
ceramic vessels. Fisherfolk were not restricted to the coast but additionally occupied
and controlled resources around other bodies of water, such as the cultivation of
reeds. There also were those who specialized in trade and transported goods and
bartered in many areas. Polities were made up of several of these groups.
Rostworowski (1970, 1975, 1977) describes the interdependencies among groups
of occupational specialists interacting through their leaders and exchanging items of
necessity and wealth, such as fish, agricultural products, and manufactured goods.
Settlements in many coastal areas were specialized and to some degree dependent on
their trade partners. Further, these groups were reportedly endogamous, had their
own leaders, and may have formed marriage alliances between valleys rather than
between groups of specialists in the same valley. The most illustrious of such groups
were the enclaves of coastal and overland traders associated with the Chincha
señorı́o, centered in the valley of the same name (Sandweiss 1992). Lozada and
Buikstra (2002, 2005) applied this political model to interpret the segmentary nature
of Chiribaya society on Peru’s far south coast. Shimada (1994) used this model to
explain Moche expansion. He suggests that the Moche expanded horizontally to
provide more ‘‘local’’ resources to subsistence specialists. Thus more fishing spots
were made accessible to fisherfolk, and fields in different valleys could be utilized by
Moche farmers. In effect, the areas acquired or used through expansion could accept
the same technology rather than requiring the development of new technologies in
different environments (cf. Bawden [1996, pp. 47–50] who stresses unique resources
in some north coast valleys as the motivation for exchange or conquest).
As Shimada (1982) and others suggest, these two kinds of social organization
may coexist within a polity or among a group of interacting polities. Each, however,
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may have different implications for the nature of coresidential units or the size of
households cooperating in aspects of production, distribution, consumption, and
reproduction. It may be that households relying on exchange were necessarily larger
and may have needed more members to fulfill all the tasks related to certain kinds of
specialized production (see Lambert 1977).
These ethnohistoric polities correspond well with large residential compounds
found at precontact north coast urban sites, such as Huacas de Moche (Chapdelaine
1998, 2000, 2001, 2006; Chapdelaine et al. 1997; Uceda and Armas 1998; Van
Gijseghem 2001), Pampa Grande (Shimada 1994), and Chan Chan among others.
Residential compounds vary in size and elaboration, with those of the elite being
large and located near monumental constructions at the core of these population
centers. Excavations have revealed that some compounds incorporate dwelling
spaces and specialized production activities (Shimada 1994) such as pottery
manufacture (Uceda and Armas 1998) or metal working (Chapdelaine 2002; Topic
1982). Less extensive work at large highland urban centers such as Huari and
Conchopata in Ayacucho, Peru, and Tiwanaku in Bolivia suggest that residential
compounds also housed groups larger than a nuclear family and that specialized
production was carried out in and along with residential activities (Isbell and Cook
2002, p. 279; Isbell et al. 1991; Janusek 1999, 2004a, pp. 146–147, 176–183;
Rivera-Casanovas 2003).
Hendrick Van Gijseghem (2001) has suggested that Moche urban residential
compounds that were constructed and remodeled between Huaca de la Luna and
Huaca del Sol (Huacas de Moche) represent the strategies of elite families who built
durable settings representing continuity in relative socioeconomic status. He
demonstrates the chronological longevity of some residential structures in which
particular walls and rooms were maintained and used over several phases of
rebuilding and refurbishment. Buildings with long life histories exhibit elaborate
construction and contrast with smaller modest buildings that were abandoned after
one occupation floor. He links these differences to the strategies of elite extended
families to establish ‘‘cross-generational socioeconomic stability’’ (Van Gijseghem
2001, p. 268; see also Blanton 1994; Bourdieu 1976; Santley 1993; Wilk 1983).
Moore (2005, p. 189) has suggested that similar aspects of Chimu ciudadelas may
indicate organization similar to that of a house society (Levi-Strauss 1983), but he is
careful to stress that this organization probably only defines the elite stratum of
society.
If either inference is valid, it is tenable that elites and lower-class families within
the same society participated in different household arrangements; thus their
material remains may manifest very different patterns of residence and household
composition (see Netting 1982; Wilk and Rathje 1982). Similarly, there may be
differences between urban and rural patterns of residence, or household composition
may be linked to occupational pursuits. In other words, many variables affect the
size of the coresidential group and the ways families configure their dwellings (e.g.,
Faust and Bunimovitz 2003; Foster and Rosenzweig 2002). Archaeological
investigators should be aware of the potential for variation and strive to increase
the comparative sample of houses so that important patterns can be identified. At the
current time a great deal of interpretation relies on the ethnographic present.
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Ethnographic models of coresidential groups
The American Anthropological Association’s volume, Andean Kinship and

Marriage (Bolton and Mayer 1977), remains an important resource for archaeol-
ogists looking for a survey of different coresidential groups, household economies,
and environmental situations. Andean ethnographers have encountered a variety of
household configurations; however, the dimensions and architectural arrangements
of houses are often omitted, making it difficult for archaeologists to translate
coresidential groups and forms of social organization into material correlates.
Likewise, when anthropologists describe activities that take place in residential
settings, the spatial context, features, tools, and resulting residues are not the focus
of their narratives. In fact, the significant variables that anthropologists use to define
and discuss Andean households are nearly impossible for the archaeologist to
explore.
Residence and social organization
Ethnographers often focus their efforts at the scale of the community, but several
anthropologists have provided material details of Andean households and are
repeatedly cited by archaeologists (e.g., Allen 2002, B. Isbell 1978). A review of the
ethnographic literature reveals a range of family sizes and larger kin-based
productive units. Such variety is overshadowed by a few common threads such as
reciprocal labor exchange and the redistributive nature of festivals, both of which
figure prominently in the explanations archaeologists provide for situating
archaeological households in prehistoric polities. Yet other significant descriptions
of social organization and the household’s participation in the political and
economic landscape are not as easily evaluated with archaeological remains.
Ethnographic studies of households often stress attributes that would be difficult
for archaeologists to track. Many ethnographers focus on the importance of larger
cooperative groups over the coresidential unit, showing that relationships outside
the household are essential. Mayer (1977, 2001) has emphasized that no modern
agropastoral household is really self-sufficient and very few coresidential groups
have enough members to conduct all the tasks necessary for the group’s
reproduction (see also Bolin 2006; Sikkink 2001). Wealth is often associated with
family size, with larger families producing larger surpluses and participating in
community leadership. Peasants engaged in agriculture, pastoralism, or both in a
particular community are not all social equals, and some families find themselves in
client relationships to others. Such relationships are certainly important; however,
without some material indication of such cooperative groups, it would be difficult
for archaeologists to study a community or region based on these larger social
formations.
In some cases such relationships might be recoverable. For instance, Brush
(1977a, pp. 134–137) discusses the affinal relationships between people in
Uchucmarca (eastern Marañón watershed, department of La Libertad, northern
Peru), sharing houses and the arrangement of houses in compounds and
neighborhoods occupied by related households. He divides the community into
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seven large extended families who occupied variable numbers of house structures in
compounds; however, the internal residential arrangements of these compounds are
not described. In most cases walls do not enclose groups of cooperating households,
regardless of their interdependency. Gose (1991) has discussed how superhousehold
affiliations may be seasonal, with a contrast in group unity between periods of
cooperative labor actions and the subsequent division of agricultural produce to
smaller coresidential groups. Whether relations of cooperation are temporary or not,
many variables can affect the spatial organization of large cooperative groups. Some
groups of cooperating families may spread their members between land holdings in
different zones (Bastien 1978) so that a large central residence or multiresident
compound is largely unoccupied except during periods of exchange or ritual.
Likewise, the practice of ‘‘dual residence’’ in which agropastoralists, pastoralists, or
agriculturalists move between houses to manage distant resource holdings (Arnold
1992; Göbel 2002; Platt 1982) can inflate population estimates, with the same
family seasonally occupying two or more dwellings.
Concepts linking the coresidential unit to larger cooperative suprahousehold
economic groups, such as ayllu, have not been addressed from an archaeological
perspective (for exceptions see Conrad and Webster 1989; DeMarrais 2001, p. 131).
For the most part, this type of research is beyond current methodologies.
Nevertheless, from ethnographic and ethnohistorical information we know that it
is these larger wealthier groups that hold the most political and economic power;
such suprahousehold groups were royalty in the Inka empire (Rowe 1946, pp. 257,
260–261; Zuidema 1977, 1990) and prominent in other polities (Hastorf 2001).
When houses are agglutinated or arranged within a well-defined compound,
archaeologists can study these larger social groups. Yet if the members of a
cooperating group are dispersed throughout a settlement, these relationships would
be difficult to detect.
At the same time, researchers should not assume that all persons occupying a
residential compound are members of the same family group (Yanagisako 1979).
For instance, it is reported that Inka and noble elites had servants, but archaeologists
have not specifically looked for live-in servants or members of a household that held
a lower socioeconomic status to that of the primary residents (see Day 1982, p. 61,
for an exception); neither have archaeologists seriously considered ethnohistorically
documented family arrangements such as polygyny (Mayer 1972, p. 349; Murra
1967, pp. 389–390), which also have been reported ethnographically (e.g., Brush
1977b; for an exception see Rostain 2006).
The architecture itself is a major factor from which archaeologists have inferred
the size and organization of coresidential groups (e.g., Malpass and Stothert 1992;
Muñoz Ovalle 2005). Compounds or enclosures including several house units are
interpreted very differently from dispersed residential structures within unbounded
or nondemarcated communities. Cross-cultural research of larger coresidential
groups and cooperative groups that are not coresidential may provide some insights
for archaeologists trying to understand the social composition of the basic units
involved in production, distribution, transmission, and reproduction, but for now it
is important to recognize that the coresidential group may not fulfill all of these
purposes (Wilk and Rathje 1982). The archaeological household as an artifact is
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difficult to link to ethnographic concepts of household, and it may be that

archaeologists must focus, given the inherent limitations of the data, on comparable
material units that can be identified within sites and compared between settlements
(Bermann 1994; Flannery and Marcus 2005; Stanish 1989).
Ethnographic analyses of residential groups and larger clusters of cooperating kin
groups demonstrate that understanding ancient communities may require looking
for subdivisions or coalitions of households. In most instances, the analyses of
households are being conducted on very complex societies with clear evidence of
social stratification, craft specialization, and thus a multiplicity of lifeways that
crosscut urban and rural settlements and like settlements located in different
environmental settings. Thus we should expect that the coresidential group may
vary between communities and within a particular society. The corresponding
intrahousehold relations may be very different based on a suite of contextual
variables (Bawden 1990).
Ethnographic insights on domestic activity
Given the complexity of some archaeological sites, especially densely occupied

urban centers, it is not always clear whether a building contains domestic activities,
especially if excavation units are small. Several archaeologists have embraced the
ideas presented by Brush (1977a; see also Weismantel 1988, 1989) in associating
cooking hearths with family units (e.g., Bawden 1982a; Brewster-Wray 1989; Gero
and Scattolin 2002; Isbell et al. 1991; Nash 2002; Rostain 2006). In general,
interpretations follow that a structure with more than one hearth is occupied by an
extended family of subunits, whereas a structure with a single hearth is occupied by
a nuclear or modified nuclear family. The Andean ethnographic literature contains
instances of adult women having their own cooking facilities (e.g., Brush 1977a;
Zeidler 1983), as well as affines sharing such work zones (e.g., Van Vleet 2008).
Thus it remains up to the archaeologist to assess the particular situation based on a
sample of excavated houses, paying attention to the size and distribution of cooking
features and how these relate to the size of dwellings as well as other types of
domestic production, to determine the relationship between cooking and familial
affiliation. Archaeologically, cooking and other essential domestic activities may
occur only once in a residential structure or be repeated in different areas of a larger
residential complex. Extensive excavations are needed to establish patterns of
domestic activity; such patterns should not be assumed based on ethnographic
analogy. Nevertheless, some ethnographic and ethnoarchaeological studies have
insights to aid in archaeological interpretations.
The use of house space
A few ethnographies provide useful descriptions of the way in which residential

space is used and what kinds of activities might be situated inside or just outside the
house structure. For instance, Allen’s (1984, 2002) work in Sonqo, Department of
Cuzco, Peruvian central highlands, includes details of house interiors, features,
household assemblages, and activities. Allen describes how quotidian activity and
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occasional celebrations intersect in residential settings, demonstrating that residen-

tial spaces may have had different situational uses (see also Bolin 2006; Matos
Mendieta 1972; Mayer 2001; Meyerson 1990), with the construction of the house
being a ritual affair in itself (e.g., Arnold 1992; Gose 1991; Mayer 1977).
Descriptions of ethnographic dwellings demonstrate the importance of outdoor
spaces for productive activity, whether it is a defined patio or the yard between
domestic structures (e.g., Göbel 2002; Meyerson 1990). Productive activity generally
includes spinning, weaving (Dransart 2002), and food preparation (Babot 2007),
typically associated with women; however, many more activities are present, such as
tool production and maintenance and the manufacture of ornaments and other goods
(Zeidler 1983). Although many traditional groups still use pottery for some food-
related purposes (Hildebrand and Hagstrum 1999), a major hole exists when it comes
to interpreting lithic remains. All precontact Andean societies were stone-age
cultures, and all dwellings would contain chipped stone tools and the knapping kits to
make them. The ethnoarchaeology of many characteristic Andean activities needs to
be documented from a depositional perspective to ascertain just how applicable the
ethnography of current communities is to archaeological interpretations.
Perhaps the most useful study for interpreting archaeological remains is Zeidler’s
(1983) work among the Achuar of Ecuador. He wanted to understand depositional
patterning in order to interpret the remains of activity areas. He also examined the
overall use and organization of the dwelling space as well as the movement and
discard of objects in domestic space. Zeidler describes gendered difference in the
use of space; areas associated with men contained and accumulated fewer materials
than women’s areas where daily food preparation and storage of goods laid down
thicker domestic deposits. One critical distinction Zeidler makes is between activity
areas that are created by individuals practicing multiple tasks in personal space
versus activity areas resulting from the fixed location of a specific task carried out
by multiple persons. This simple dichotomy distinguishes different ways that
dwelling space is used. Interestingly, in Zeidler’s example the grinding stone used to
process maize by multiple women was kept in the men’s area of the house. Based on
general attribution of gendered activity, an archaeologist would affiliate grindstones
and grinding activity with women and not be able to recognize the coresidential
group’s concept of gender-divided space. Such findings warn researchers of the
limitations inherent in the archaeological record.
Currently there is no material yardstick to measure changes between the past and
the present. Mayer (2001) asserts a radical break between prehistoric communities
and modern peasant communities caused by Toledan reform and reducción, which
essentially reshaped the way people occupied the Andean landscape. Ethnography
becomes useful because it demonstrates the potential complexities in relating
households to the community or to larger regional economies. Some ways in which
households cope with Andean ecology have not been considered, particularly the
scope of mobility, but some may be important for modeling subsistence regimes in
different environmental zones.
Knowledge of the Andean ethnographic literature is important; yet there are other
ways archaeologists can interpret remains and establish links between the material
record and social processes. In particular, one problem with the use of ethnography
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and ethnohistory to interpret archaeological societies in the Andes is the close-knit

relationships that underlie some of the early seminal studies. Murra trained and
influenced an entire generation of archaeologists, historians, and ethnographers.
Ethnographers have read the Inka literature as well as Murra’s interpretations of it.
Thus ideas about how the Inka empire worked underpin some ethnographic
interpretations and vice versa. Perhaps the largest possible flaw is the assumption
that an empire can be projected on a village (Inka ? ethnographic community) and
a village can be projected onto an empire (community ethnography ? Inka). Some
researchers assume that relations were essentially the same between village leaders
and commoners as those between the Inka empire and provincial governors. Yet
when we consider the scale of difference in access to resources, diversification of
specialists at the two levels, and the fact that Inka emperors were considered gods
on earth, such simplistic projections require closer scrutiny.
The archaeology of houses
Many research programs now incorporate some form of residential data in regional
models of political organization, economy, and chronological developments.
Methodologies vary along a continuum of scale from estimating population and
changing demography to focused spatial analyses of residential contexts and their
affiliated activity areas. Many researchers are using materials from residential areas
of a settlement or sites in a region to examine socioeconomic differences, or are
comparing households from different periods to understand changes through time.
Research programs in the Andes parallel those of anthropological archaeologists
working in other areas and approach ancient societies from a number of scales and
theoretical perspectives.
Matters of scale and middle-range theory
Andean archaeologists are using residential remains at a number of scales to address

diverse questions and are examining their data using different sets of middle-range
theory. I discuss these different modes of research and their implications for
archaeological interpretation. Roughly, domestic remains are used at three different
scales: regional, community, and household; each of these can address different
kinds of questions or may represent different phases of investigation.
Regional and chronological schemes
At the maximal scale, most investigators use the presence and size of domestic areas
to estimate populations of different periods (e.g., Brennan 1980; Keatinge 1975;
Moore 1981), examine demographic changes in terms of density or dispersal (e.g.,
Bandy 2004), or chart other important shifts in regional settlement patterns (e.g.,
Schreiber 1992; Stanish 2003; Wernke 2007). As part of their survey techniques,
archaeologists may map residential sites and note changes or differences in
residential architecture and thus propose migration, invasion, or changes associated
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with shifting patterns of social organization or political development. Although this

information is important, this level of analysis provides only a trajectory of change
at the society level. Investigations based on floor plans and surface collections
necessarily must rely heavily on analogy; this scale of analysis reveals little about
the particulars of the Andean culture area (Bawden 1982a). Ideally, these types of
investigations form the foundation for further detailed examinations of different
temporal phases and extensive excavations.
Community archaeology
Most researchers using residential data wish to demonstrate or explain major

changes and their impacts through the quantification of economically oriented
remains (such as diet and the percentage of luxury goods) or how the stylistic
changes of artifacts (such as ceramic vessels and house form) signal significant
political or religious shifts. Alternatively, studies sampling house remains may
compare social differences between groups living at a particular site or occupying
different sites of a region in a particular period. Although these scholars recognize
the importance of context, they often compare the frequency or types of artifacts
between excavated areas. Data gleaned from postexcavation analysis is favored over
reporting the specifics learned during excavation. They utilize a concert of different
material traits obtained through extensive postexcavation analysis to characterize
the nature of large societal reorganizations, documenting cultural change writ large.
Although these studies vary to a great extent, these data on houses are typically
synthesized and the research is aimed at the level of the community and broad
subdivisions within it.
Household archaeology
At the smallest scale, some researchers are excavating entire houses or large
contiguous portions of residential areas. They present descriptions of features, and
often present in situ artifacts and activity areas. These scholars are interested in
broad processes of change as well but are grappling with large and highly varied
residential assemblages. These activity-focused archaeologists do quantify their
comparisons of artifacts and economy, but the number of houses included in these
studies is small. These research programs have diverse aims but consider the
differences that arise from particular contexts in their descriptions. For the most
part, they interpret deposited materials as evidence of primary use, the product of de
facto refuse, or document the differences between primary and secondary deposits.
Researchers in this group have much in common with community-focused
archaeologists but have designed their research programs based on a different set
of ‘‘middle-range theories.’’
Middle-range theory
Many excavators seem to be seeking residential residue, detritus, or midden

accumulation, whereas other investigators have tried to understand activity areas
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and construct models of the use of residential space. These different approaches
may reflect the nature of the deposited remains and their apparent preservation;
however, in large part these choices may be based on the underlying assumptions
investigators hold about archaeological depositional processes (see Schiffer 1985).
Even at Pompeii, it would seem that the nature of archaeological study and
subsequent analyses led to decontextualized typologies focused on diachronic
change, while synchronic issues of activity and organization are addressed using the
empty residential architecture (Allison 2004, pp. 4–8).
Archaeological sites can be very different and formation processes vary. One site
may have in situ de facto refuse, while another may be filled with garbage from later
occupations. Both kinds of deposition may be present at the same site. Zeidler’s
(1983; Stahl and Zeidler 1990) work in Ecuador showed that within the same
dwelling distinct depositional processes may cause different patterns of accumu-
lation. Thus comparisons between materials derived from small test pits can be
problematic. Artifacts and ecofacts out of context are likely to provide faulty results.
Excavated samples that are drawn from different parts of houses (e.g., ‘‘sala,’’
‘‘cocina,’’ or ‘‘depósito,’’ see Bawden 1982a) may not be comparable. If the
excavators do not obtain an understanding of the spatial organization of the
residence, they may sample parts of houses and recover assemblages that represent
different activity sets. Comparisons between two kinds of domestic contexts, such
as a kitchen with a storage room, may provide a skewed picture of the differences
between households.
One way to avoid nonrepresentative and noncomparable domestic samples is to
excavate entire houses (e.g., Feinman et al. 2002; Flannery and Marcus 2005).
Alternatively, some scholars have excavated a small number of houses in order to
target areas within residential structures for further test excavations (e.g., Earle et al.
1987; Vaughn 2004). These kinds of samples are an expedient way to examine
broad processes of change, but such data cannot be used to answer all research
questions. Such approaches may be possible when there is a standard house form or
the site consists of fairly uniform patterns, but it would be difficult to implement in
multiethnic settlements, large centers with cottage industries, or urban settlements
with a great variety of people and dwelling morphology. It is perhaps for this reason
that many scholars working in large complex sites have chosen to excavate entire
houses or large contiguous sections of residential architecture to answer their
respective research questions.
At smaller sites researchers may be able to describe typical domestic patterns
replicated in different structures or within structures to understand the household
units or the relative size of the coresidential group (e.g., Stanish 1989). In larger,
more complex sites, excavations of residential sectors should be extensive enough to
allow for the comparison of rooms, features, and repeated elements before
investigators label architectural remains as domestic units. In archaeological terms,
built structures, like artifacts, have functional and stylistic attributes; houses as
artifacts need to be described as they were made, used, decorated, and discarded.
Studying residential areas and comparing domestic data to understand social,
economic, and political processes requires archaeologists to understand the units of
analysis and their attributes.
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Archaeological households and domestic areas
Wilk and Rathje (1982) explain that archaeologists do not excavate households but
rather the remains of dwellings. A great deal of effort is needed to bridge the gap
between dwellings and households, but this effort is required if archaeologists want
to understand the social, economic, or political composition of a society. As
ethnographic studies show, the coresidential group does not always correspond to a
household; without historical documents archaeologists cannot split such hairs.
Instead, archaeologists can focus on understanding domestic production and
reproduction as well as the ways coresidential groups participate in the social,
economic, and political spheres of a community and the larger society.
The goal of household archaeology is to understand, as best as archaeology
permits, the basic social unit in a community or the array of social units in a society,
with the presumption that this social unit is also the basic unit of economic and
political interaction. Current ethnographic literature suggests this is often not the
case; however, in archaeology it is a necessary place to start. The household unit
rather than the individual is visible in the archaeological record because it can be
linked to a type of artifact—the house or dwelling. I prefer dwelling in this narrative
over house because I am referring to an archaeological artifact par excellence rather
than a particular social formation, as in the recent house society literature (e.g.,
Joyce and Gillespie 2000), which may be centered on other types of artifacts such as
mortuary monuments or integrative ceremonial complexes.
The archaeological household is the coresidential group that used the occupation
surface, features, and the artifact assemblage of a dwelling (Flannery 1983; Kramer
1982). Some members of these groups may contribute to the house’s assemblage
only during seasonal events; other members of the community also may contribute
to the dwelling’s assemblage. Such depositional uncertainties have some theorists
ready to discard the domestic unit as a means of analysis in favor of the set of
practices carried out in domestic settings (Vaquer 2007). I suggest the concept of
household is a necessary heuristic field for comparison of different societies and
their respective social compositions. The coresidential group, with their differing
agendas and individual tasks, live together, co-organize the activities in the
dwelling, and perform domestic activities repeatedly in a patterned way. Even if the
dwellings were filled with refuse after they were abandoned, doorways, hearths,
storage features, sealed subfloor offerings, and the organization of spaces can still
reveal some of this patterning; I would argue that some kinds of deposits should not
be labeled garbage until comparative and contextual analyses have been completed
(see house interment below). Even though many materials associated with daily use
are regularly cleared away, techniques such as microdebris analysis (e.g., Hardin
2004; Login and Hill 2000) or soil chemistry of floors (e.g., Manzanilla and Barba
1990) can often provide important information about domestic activity.
Dwellings vary and thus there are several middle-range aspects essential to
household archaeology. First, household archaeology requires a material definition
of a dwelling. The dwelling may be composed of one or more structures and
includes indoor and outdoor spaces. The definition of a dwelling includes the
architecture, the features, and the suite of domestic activities. For this work to be
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comparable and useful to other researchers, domestic activities must be linked to the
material assemblage, and the attributes of features must be described (such as hearth
morphology). Second, since the composition of the coresidential group varies, it is
important to determine whether a dwelling contains a single set of domestic
activities or several. In other words, by looking for duplicate hearths, grinding
tables, and storage bins one may determine that a dwelling was occupied by more
than one social unit or a group of subunits.
The most difficult aspect of defining a dwelling is grappling with the variation
observed in many complex societies. Nevertheless, a third crucial aspect of
household archaeology is determining what types of production (craft specializa-
tion, political activity, or religious activity) may occur in some dwellings but not all
dwellings in a sample. For example, pottery production may take place in residential
yards, whereas metallurgy—perhaps because of toxicity—is located on the
periphery of a settlement. Knowing what types of specialization occur in houses
and what may occur in special-purpose areas is necessary for modeling the
settlement’s economy. Also, the composition of a coresidential group may be linked
to class or occupation. Finally, it is necessary to sample dwellings of different sizes
and forms rather than assume that all dwellings exhibit the same patterns of activity
or similar social units. In complex societies several patterns of domestic activity
may be present in villages, exist between villages, or only be apparent in larger
population centers. Household archaeology can reveal these important differences
and permit researchers to explore a wide range of social, economic, and political
questions.
The difference between household archaeology and the archaeology of domestic
remains is one of context. Household archaeology examines artifacts and ecofacts in
relationship to each other and to features such as hearths or benches to model the
use of space in different parts of the house or surrounding residential areas. Context
is the key to defining activity areas and locating activities in and around dwellings.
Linking domestic remains to household units requires the identification of use
surfaces and the analysis of materials recovered from such a surface as a household
assemblage. Dwellings can be defined only in contrast to other structures and in
comparison to similar and dissimilar assemblages, just as an elite dwelling cannot
really be identified without comparison to a range of nonelite dwellings. Thus a
proper household archaeology must collect multiple samples of entire dwellings and
be designed to identify residential spaces and link domestic activities to these
spaces.
There are conceptual problems in implementing household archaeology because
of the widespread notion that abandoned houses are filled with refuse rather than
evidence of primary use. In some cases postoccupation disturbance may completely
destroy use surfaces or residential structures, but the lack of documented house
floors may be related to expectations (that floors were flat or well prepared) and
language rather than preservation. Many archaeologists refer to excavations as pits,
trenches, and cuts, indicating that their excavation goals are vertical rather than
horizontal. Given that vernacular architecture often exhibits small investments in
floor construction, a horizontal approach is required to learn what house floors look
like and to successfully find them. Even when structure walls are identified, a clear
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pattern of postholes emerges, or hearths are found adjacent to grind stones, it would
seem that some researchers are still unwilling to consider the possibility that they
are excavating more than just midden, garbage, or refuse. It is no wonder that some
archaeologists might consider midden excavations to constitute household arche-
ology, while others would include the descriptions of house forms in the absence of
excavation to also fall under the aegis of household archaeology. Based on the
definition I have provided, the following review of household archaeology includes
only works that describe excavated dwellings or domestic remains along with their
contexts.
Households as social units
Several projects have examined residential areas to define the functional charac-
teristics of settlements using residential data to describe or understand differences
between the social strata of a society. These projects were typically multiyear
collaborative affairs that sampled a broad number of contexts to understand the
nature of urban centers or the different social categories in a regional polity.
Urbanism
Moseley and Mackey designed the Chan Chan-Moche Valley Project (1968–1974)
to examine the Chimu capital (A.D. 850–1470; Moseley 2001, p. 272) and the city’s
rural hinterland to understand how the differing components functioned together.
Mapping, surface collections, hydrological studies, and stratigraphic and horizontal
excavations from sites of many periods were carried out to establish chronological
controls and to examine change over time. The team excavated a variety of building
types in order to identify the function of different architectural units. For the most
part, architectural forms and features were the main attributes of their comparative
analysis, with artifactual remains supplementing interpretation (for an exception see
J. Topic 1982 below). Historical documents and myths were used to flesh out the
contours of the polity and contextualize the archaeological record (see Moseley
1990; Netherly 1990; Ramirez 1990; Rostworowski 1990). The findings of this
project are detailed in many dissertations (Conrad 1974; Day 1973; Keatinge 1973;
Klymyshyn 1976; Kolata 1978; Netherly 1977; J. Topic 1977; T. Topic 1977), two
edited collections (Moseley and Cordy-Collins 1990; Moseley and Day 1982), and
several journal articles (e.g., Andrews 1974; Keatinge 1974, 1975; Keatinge and
Conrad 1983; Keatinge and Day 1973; Netherly 1984).
Chan Chan had three different classes of residential architecture—ciudadelas,
intermediate architecture (Klymyshyn 1982), and blocks of small irregular
agglutinated rooms (SIAR) (J. Topic 1982, 1990). Each class was examined to
understand repetitive features and basic organization, and all three building classes
combined residential areas with specialized activities, including political adminis-
tration, storage/redistribution, craft specialization, and mortuary ritual. Day (1982)
described the common features of ciudadelas, interpreted as the seats of power
where Chimu rulers lived and governed their expansive polity. Surprisingly, the
only domestic areas mentioned within the complex were for service personnel, who
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occupied small irregular structures near wells in the southern sectors of the
compounds. It remains unclear where elites lived and how such areas intersected
with political activity. Nevertheless, because Moseley and Mackey (1974) made and
published detailed maps of the ciudadelas and other areas of Chan Chan, a few
scholars (e.g., Moore 1996; Pillsbury and Leonard 2004) have included these
‘‘palaces’’ in their analyses of early state power relations (see below).
In the same region, under the auspices of the ZUM project (Zona Urbana Moche)
since 1995, Chapdelaine (2000, 2001, 2002, 2003) and his Peruvian collaborators
Uceda Castillo and Morales have examined Moche urbanites by mapping and
excavating structures between Huaca de la Luna and Huaca del Sol and conducting
excavations on Huaca de la Luna (e.g., Uceda 2001; Uceda and Tufinio 2003). They
focused on understanding the composition and variety of urban dwellers at this early
Moche city. Chapdelaine (2001, 2006) provides a general description of the social
structure present at the site and provides a detailed exemplar of a Moche urban
residential complex. Excavation reports provide rich detail of most excavated
contexts and are available in a series of publications (Uceda and Mujica 1994, 2003;
Uceda et al. 1997, 1998).
According to Chapdelaine (2001, 2006), Moche was occupied by an urban
middle class and/or a lower upper class (he found no evidence of lower-class
dwellings or agricultural implements). Nevertheless, the diversity in compound size
and construction represents familial/coresidential groups of variable size, wealth,
and occupation. Architectural compounds at the site incorporate residential areas,
work areas (Uceda and Armas 1998), and storage facilities that seemingly exceed
the needs of the affiliated domestic group. Many compounds also include platforms
or dais-type constructions, perhaps used by administrators to oversee workers or to
serve as central venues for political or ritual activities. The research program is
ongoing and has shifted focus to hinterland sites. A synthetic presentation of
comparisons drawn between urban and rural households is eagerly awaited by the
Andean scholarly community.
Those working on the north coast of Peru, like ZUM, have built on the
comparative data produced by the Virú Valley Project and the Chan Chan-Moche
Valley Project to understand the political development of the area. In particular,
several studies have compared their work at other Chimu sites to the urban core and
have examined differences between urban and rural settlements (e.g., Keatinge
1974, 1975; Moore 1981). Other researchers have taken the collaborative and
comparative aspects of the Chan Chan-Moche Valley Project as a model and have
sampled an area of different architectural remains to understand the functional
components of a large settlement. Among these programs are Brennan’s work
(1980, 1982) at the Salinar center of Cerro Arena, Shimada’s Pampa Grande
research program (see below), and Bawden’s analyses of social structure at Galindo.
Social stratification and diversity
Related to studies of urbanism are those research programs that use residential data
to construct models of social hierarchy or heterarchy. Ranging from Marxist models
of class conflict to studies of social difference based on prestige, occupation, or
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ethnic identity, a few studies of domestic remains have examined the social
composition of large sites or regional polities.
One of the most cross-culturally cited studies of residential archaeology from the
Andes was published by Bawden (1982a, see also 1982b, 1990). It describes class
differences between discrete sectors of the Moche Valley site of Galindo. Galindo is
assigned to Moche V (A.D. 600–750) and is located at the valley neck above the
area where irrigation permits coastal agriculture. The site is complex, including
extensive residential remains, specialized production areas, storage, and monuments
(huacas).
Bawden excavated half of each domestic room in his study. He tested many
structures; 28 were exclusively residential and consisted of a cooking area,
‘‘cocina,’’ a benched patio space, ‘‘sala,’’ and one or more storage rooms,
‘‘depósitos.’’ These were compared based on overall size, the dimensions of
different room types, the relative frequency of different ceramic types, and the
presence of silver artifacts (Bawden 1982a). He grouped residential structures
according to site sector and described the salient differences between socioeco-
nomic classes living at the site. He concluded that the marked social difference
between classes at Galindo could not be sustained and ultimately led to important
shifts in the following Chimu period. For its time, Bawden’s focus on and
systematic presentation of domestic data were unprecedented and provided an
interesting glimpse of variation within late Moche society.
Nevertheless, details from other publications (Bawden 1982b, 1996, 2005) reveal
that residential areas were more widespread, more variable, and more complex. It
seems that there may be at least two classes of elite residence not included in
Bawden’s classic analysis. Bawden correlates cooking or ‘‘kitchen refuse’’ with
domesticity and reports such remains associated with platform monuments
(Platform A), formal compounds (cercaduras A, B, and C), and specialized
production facilities. Given the current popularity of linking feasting to political and
religious ceremony (in the Andes and many world regions), ‘‘kitchen refuse’’
becomes a problematic term for interpreting areas of the site that do not exhibit the
typical domestic arrangement (sala, cocina, depósito). This research shows that
domestic patterns may vary substantially when quotidian pursuits take place side by
side with craft specialization or political activities. Feasting remains can be labeled
as such only if quotidian meals and their debris are well understood. Different
patterns of consumption cannot be categorized without comparative analysis.
Urban and rural households have been an important line of evidence to
understand sociopolitical relations underpinning the growth and development of
Tiwanaku. The large multiyear Proyecto Wila-Jawira (1986–2000), directed by
Kolata (1986, 1993, 1996, 2003a, b), built on methodologies developed during the
Chan Chan-Moche Valley Project but went beyond functional analyses and
attempted to describe Tiwanaku as a socially and ethnically cosmopolitan urban
center. Unfortunately, the architecture was built primarily of adobes set on stone
foundations, and seasonal rains have melted walls and left a barren undulating
landscape of mounds and concavities. Thus it is challenging to understand the
organization of this altiplano city.
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Like Bawden’s research at Galindo, residential remains have been found in

conjunction with ritual space (e.g., the Akapana [Kolata 2003a, pp. 188–190,
Fig. 7.17]), craft production (suburban Ch’iji Jawira [Rivera-Casanovas 2003]), and
semipublic administrative areas (the Putuni Complex [Couture 2004; Couture and
Sampeck 2003]). Comparisons between many contexts provide important insights
and have contributed a great deal to understanding Tiwanaku society at large.
Janusek’s (1999, 2002, 2003, 2004a, b, 2005) research on the Tiwanaku state
compares household activities to understand the social character of the Tiwanaku
polity. His recent synthesis pulls in many data sets and examines both diachronic
and synchronic differences between residential areas in the Tiwanaku core and other
areas of the heartland. While Janusek’s (2004a, pp. 88–89) published works
examine the diversity of Tiwanaku urban dwellers, identity, and avenues of power,
his research was fundamentally conceived to ‘‘define the material constitution of the
household unit…and investigate the practical rhythms of daily life.’’ He presents a
diverse set of theoretical perspectives on ethnographic households as social
phenomena, interpretive models of their material partner (archaeological house-
holds), and his approach to residential contexts (Janusek 2004a, pp. 88–94). He
describes domestic remains and residential transformations in the Tiwanaku and
Katari Basins from the beginning of the Late Formative (200 B.C.) to the Early
Pacajes period (A.D. 1150–1470, known more broadly as the Late Intermediate
period). Janusek contextualizes these transformations by examining corresponding
changes in settlement patterns, monumental constructions, agricultural expansion,
and supraregional contact with distant regions to the south and east. His work is a
unique contribution because it provides a cross section of Tiwanaku society as
viewed through residential activities and articulates social transformations in the
residential sphere with broader political processes.
Complementing Janusek’s examination of the Tiwanaku heartland, Goldstein’s
(1993, 2005) work in the Moquegua middle valley reveals an interesting ethnic
division between Tiwanaku communities and social segmentation within different
settlements. Importantly, Goldstein’s household excavations appear to contain in
situ deposits. As Goldstein points out, ‘‘…quincha (cane-walled) and other
ephemeral domestic buildings do not remain standing long after abandonment,
and thus their fill may more accurately reflect actual room activities’’ (Goldstein
2005, p. 194). Ceramic materials and features were the primary means of
interpreting room function, but other materials also were included in the analysis.
He uses the well-documented residential sample from Tiwanaku altiplano settle-
ments to draw connections between Moquegua colonists in both tool technology
(e.g., utilized camelid mandibles and appearance of locally produced domestic
wares) and direct importation of some Tiwanaku-style redware vessels. Neverthe-
less, the layout and organization of household space demonstrate marked disparities.
Goldstein describes differences between Tiwanaku ethnic groups (Omo, Chen
Chen, and Tumilaca) formerly interpreted as chronological phases of occupation
affiliated with Tiwanaku IV, V, and poststate populations. House plans of some
structures can be found in the volume edited by Aldenderfer (1993a; Goldstein
1993), whereas the more developed descriptions and interpretations are published in
his book (Goldstein 2005), along with a large number of artifact photographs and
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illustrations. Goldstein’s (2005, pp. 181–237) focus on household archaeology is in

some respects similar to that of Stanish (1989, 1992); he tries to link colonists to a
heartland, but coming more than a decade later and having access to far more
regional research, Goldstein is able to use the available archaeological data to
discuss the many facets in which households are affected by the state.
Also in Moquegua, Conrad and Webster (1989) investigated community
sociopolitical organization at the Late Intermediate period site of San Antonio,
located in the sierra zone of the drainage. Like Stanish (1989), they examined
household patterning to determine if the settlers of San Antonio were an altiplano
enclave. Conrad and Webster (1989) describe dwellings consisting of kitchens and
activity rooms, with such units clustered together in larger blocks as groups of
related families. Considering their surface and excavation data together, they
propose that San Antonio was organized on principles of nested duality with the
community organized into two sectors, each of which was further divided in two;
thus the site may have been composed of paired moieties like many Inka and
modern communities.
Researchers working in northwest Argentina are examining the use of residential
space in an effort to understand the relative sociopolitical complexity of the Aguada
societies (A.D. 900–1450, uncalibrated). Following the pioneering work of Albeck
(1997) and Nielsen (1995, 2001), these scholars are applying concepts drawn from
Bourdieu (1977), Giddens (1979), Kent (1990), and Rapoport (1990) to examine the
social organization of these complex societies (Nielsen et al. 2007). For instance,
Callegari (2007) compares the remains from several residential structures at Rincón
del Toro (central Vinchina Valley, La Rioja, A.D. 850–1400) where the dwellings
are small, are built on terraces of a hill slope, and fall between round and
quadrangular in shape. She demonstrates that relative size difference positively
correlates with access to resources. Callegari interprets the local Aguada society in
this region as one with existing social stratification. Gordillo (2007), working at La
Rinconada (also known as Inglesia de los Indios, located in the Ambato Valley,
Catamarca), encounters more formal living arrangements, with a number of
rectilinear residences, sharing common walls, arranged around a communally
shared patio area. She emphasizes the importance of face-to-face interaction in
shared patio space for reproducing group identity (Gordillo 2007) and the
importance of the patio’s social unit as a characteristic of Aguada in Ambato.
She links this type of social arrangement to antecedents at the Formative period
Alamito sites located in the Campo del Pucará (Núñez Regueiro 1998).
Although analyses of the use of space can be successful in defining the social
composition of the coresidential group, it seems that researchers dealing with the
Aguada phenomenon are challenged by the functional, regional, and temporal
variation exhibited by settlements sharing this style of pottery. Rivolta (2007)
suggests that vast difference in dwelling morphology relates to the long time span of
the Aguada phase; other scholars have asserted that Aguada sites are functionally
different, with elites and artisans living near ceremonial complexes and apart from
the agropastoral members of the broader society (e.g., Tartusi and Núñez Regueiro
2001). Much work remains to resolve these issues, but as sample sizes grow, the
‘‘use of space’’ approach promises to reveal the degree of social variation within and
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between settlements as well as regional variation among Aguada groups in

northwest Argentina.
Households as economic units
Many definitions of households describe them from an economic perspective as a

coresidential group that cooperates in production, consumption, distribution, and
reproduction (e.g., Hastorf and D’Altroy 2001; Netting 1982; Rice 1993; Wilk and
Rathje 1982). Included in this work are studies of the economies and social
composition of hunter-gatherers and early sedentary populations, whereas projects
examining complex societies have focused on defining the domestic economy or
charting changes in domestic production over time. Other researchers interested in
craft production have found that this activity is embedded in residential settings.
Subsistence and the coresidential group
The earliest dwellings in the Andes include temporary shelters made of cane or
woven vegetable material built near food resources or in caves (e.g., Engel 1970;
Gambier 2002). One may question whether a cluster of temporary shelters qualifies
as a dwelling; however, I would argue that comparisons are key to understand
developments and that innovations that coincide with sedentary groups building the
first permanent dwellings cannot be understood without reference to the construc-
tions of earlier mobile groups. Mobility remains a key aspect of human adaptations
in the Andes; in some regions people are still building and occupying such
temporary and ephemeral dwellings as part of their subsistence strategy (e.g., Göbel
2002).
To understand subsistence strategies during the Archaic, Levallée and his
colleagues (1999) examined campsite activity areas and discard to infer the range of
food-getting technologies practiced by hunter-gatherers using the coastal plain in
southern Peru. They conducted stratigraphic probes and horizontal excavations in
the Quebrada de los Burros, a dry gully located north of the Sama River in the
Atacama Desert of southern Peru. The research team made vertical cuts but also
took systematic biological samples across a horizontal occupation zone to quantify
botanical and faunal materials. They were able to locate three shelters by noting
dense semicircular shell deposits that outlined relatively cleaner areas with far fewer
shells. The excavators presume that the dense shell arcs are materials deposited
along the exterior edges of tents or hut walls. Having identified such an occupation
surface, they associated the variety of tools and food remains present with a single
group who could fish with line, nets, or harpoons, on shore or from boats, as well as
hunt terrestrial species. Thus ca. 7400 B.P. (corrected shell date see Levallée et al.
1999, p. 23) hunter-gatherers using this zone were versatile, possessed a number of
technologies, and were not solely dependent on marine or terrestrial resources.
Aldenderfer (1993b, 1998) used residential remains at Asana to examine changes
in subsistence through time. Asana is an open-air, high-altitude site in the upper
Moquegua (also known as the Osmore) drainage of southern Peru that was occupied
for much of the Archaic period (ca. 9800–3600 B.P.). Aldenderfer (1998, p. 109)
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documented foragers’ adaptations to conditions at high altitude and was concerned

with ‘‘activity performance.’’ He studied the materials on living floors to classify
them as primary or secondary deposits. The resulting study is useful for researchers
interested in domestic groups and quotidian activities in this early period.
Horizontal block excavations uncovered 14 occupation levels, 12 of which
exhibited shelters or dwellings and the intervening exterior spaces. In all, 60
residential units were exposed, but many of these were not excavated in their
entirety, overlapped other house floors, or were otherwise disturbed. Aldenderfer
uses this exceptional sample to compare subsistence patterns based on faunal and
botanical material as well as lithic technology. It is an exceptional archaeological
example of changing domestic patterns during the Archaic period as subsistence
activities moved from hunting toward herding.
Damp (1988) excavated at Real Alto, a Valdivia site located in the Chunduy
Valley, Ecuador, to examine the economy of a small settlement in the early phase of
sedentary lifeways (the earliest occupation of Real Alto, ca. 3300 B.C.,
uncalibrated; see Damp 1984, p. 574 and Damp 1988, pp. 28–29 for a discussion
of dating). Damp was able to identify several shelters on an occupation surface and
differentiate disposal areas from activity areas. He provides a broad description of
the early settlement at Real Alto and suggests that it and contemporary Valdivia I
sites were purposely located near arable land, basing their economies on resources
within a 5-km catchment zone. This contrasts with the earlier Las Vegas occupation
(10,000–6600 B.P., uncalibrated), which consisted of nonspecialized foragers.
Stothert (1985) worked at the earlier Las Vegas site where she looked for dwellings
and activity areas; however, she was able to identify only one structure. She
suggests this was due to the mobile and shifting nature of the occupation; shelters
had little longevity and sequential reoccupations of the sites disturbed most
domestic areas (Malpass and Stothert 1992). Together the work of Stothert (1985),
Damp (1984, 1988), and Zeidler (1983; Stahl and Zeidler 1990) shows how
residence, subsistence, and the composition of coresidential groups changed from
Las Vegas to Valdivia I as groups became less mobile; they also were transformed
later as Real Alto grew into a ceremonial center in Valdivia III (ca. 2100 B.C.,
uncalibrated).
The domestic economy
One of the largest multidisciplinary and long-term projects undertaken in the Andes
is the Upper Mantaro Archaeological Research Project (UMARP), which was led by
Earle in the late 1970s to the mid-1980s. The project integrated investigations at a
number of scales and primarily focused on data derived from survey and household
excavations to examine changes in the Xauxa domestic economy between the Late
Intermediate period, when regional groups were autonomous (Wanka II-A.D. 1300–
1460), and the Late Horizon as they came under Inka hegemony (Wanka III-A.D.
1460–1533).
The scope of the UMARP project, in terms of sites (n = 6) examined and houses
sampled (n = 31), is rare in Andean research. Houses reportedly consisted of one or
more circular rooms (called structures) facing inward onto an irregularly bounded
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patio space. Each patio group’s architectural layout is carefully illustrated, with
features such as middens, hearths, and burials indicated (Earle et al. 1987). Wanka II
settlements were densely packed, surrounded by defensive walls, and located on
hilltops. More dispersed settlements followed during what is inferred as peace
imposed by the Inka during Wanka III.
Dwellings were classified as either elite or commoner based on the quality of
wall construction, overall size, number of rooms, and location within the site in
relation to public spaces. The sampling strategy prioritized the collection of
botanical materials (Earle et al. 1987, p. 6). Houses were selected by random and
judgmental sampling. Excavations focused on collecting dense accumulated midden
deposits along the interior of patio walls.
The initial monograph resulting from the project synthesized the results (Earle
et al. 1987) by phase (Wanka II or III), by site, and by commoner versus elite units.
This research documented interesting facets of the local economy and how
residential production, consumption, and exchange were affected by the incursion of
the Inka empire. Later publications provide more nuanced views of social, political,
and economic change. Hastorf and D’Altroy’s (2001) introduction to Empire and
Domestic Economy (D’Altroy and Hastorf 2001) provides many new perspectives
on the potential for household data to document the nature of face-to-face
interaction and the role of different kinds of spaces for feasting and political
activity. The accompanying chapters present detailed analyses of different artifact
types that complement previous interpretations. Given the contextual manner in
which the dwellings were excavated and the high quality of postexcavation analysis,
the opportunity remains to publish a monograph linking artifact types with domestic
activities that would contribute to interregional comparisons and allow other
researchers to build on this important data set.
Bermann’s (1993, 1994, 1997, 2003) research at Lukurmata examined changes at
a smaller scale and provides the material correlates archaeologists need to make
comparisons between settlements or societies. He excavated a sequence of
households from several periods of occupation (ca. 100 B.C.–A.D. 1300) to gain
a bottom-up view of political formations and social change. Lukurmata is located in
the Katari Basin overlooking large tracts of ridged fields (Kolata 1986) and is
sometimes referred to as the second city of the Tiwanaku heartland. Bermann, in
general, is cautious about the enterprise of household archaeology and views
remains found in houses as incomplete and nonrepresentative of the total range of
domestic activities. Despite his cautious nature, Bermann’s work remains one of the
best examples of household archaeology in the Andes because he examines activity
areas, distinguishes between primary and secondary deposits, and presents his
findings in a detailed manner, dwelling by dwelling.
Bermann (1994, p. 9) advocates multilevel approaches because ‘‘they prevent us
from assuming that similar sites interact equally with the capital, or that smaller
sites are passive, static recipients of change from higher levels.’’ He suggests that
culture change often originates at the household level. He compares 11 different
occupation floors at the regional, site, household, and subhousehold levels. Each
phase of occupation is described and accompanied by valuable artifact illustrations
and corresponding inferences about the domestic activities they represent. Bermann
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uses Wilk’s (1991, p. 37) ‘‘activity groups’’ because this concept facilitates
diachronic comparison and comparative analysis between domestic activity groups
and other activity groups in the broader community; it further views households as
systems that follow a set of rules that can be inferred from documenting repeated
patterns of material remains. Bermann (1994, p. 25 citing Bawden 1990) asserts that
‘‘the goal of household archaeology should involve study of the organizational
principles underlying patterns of household remains.’’
To examine the impact of Lukurmata’s participation in the Tiwanaku state on this
previously independent settlement, Bermann (1993, 1994, 1997, 2003) compares
changes in architecture, common domestic activities, and the domestic pottery
assemblage. He found that artifacts representing common domestic activities
changed the least throughout Lukurmata’s occupation at the same time that the
organization of these activities changed in dramatic ways. Interestingly, the most
notable changes in the ceramic assemblage did not correspond to shifts in residential
architecture or the organization of domestic activities in dwelling space.
Craft production
In the Andes today and in the past, craft production is more commonly embedded in
the domestic economy rather than located in a specialized production facility. Thus
researchers examining domestic zones have uncovered production areas, and scholars
targeting craft production surface scatters find themselves digging in dwellings.
Topic’s (1982, 1990) early research as part of the Chan Chan-Moche Valley
Project examined the characteristic activities that took place in small irregular
agglutinated rooms, which clustered in four areas of the Chimu capital. These
constructions were at times residential but also included other kinds of facilities.
Topic sought to understand the organization of urban residence, the relationships
between residents in the four barrios, and the relationships between barrio dwellers
and elites at the site. He described different residential structures and their features,
workshops, other barrio complexes, and a special facility perhaps meant to house
transient traders who moved goods in and out of the city via camelid caravans. He
noted some differences in the use of residential space but did not encounter a
repetitive residential layout like that reported by Bawden for Galindo.
Topic (1982, 1990) does an exceptional job of describing activities in residential
and nonresidential spaces. He provides the material details that correspond to his
interpretation, thus allowing the reader to judge if these conclusions are correct or
not. The reader can evaluate these early data based on more recent findings. As
such, Topic’s research continues to be valuable to scholars working in the region
and serves as a building block to understand how craft specialization can
simultaneously be housed in residences and special facilities. Arguably, Topic’s
rich narrative, which intertwines space, artifact, and activity, sets the model for later
Andean researchers interested in the relationships between groups interacting in
dense urban settlements.
Similarly, Shimada’s (1994) work at the Lambayeque Valley site of Pampa
Grande in 1975 and 1978 focused on craft activities, particularly craft specialization
of urban dwellers on the north coast of Peru. Shimada’s comprehensive book
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emphasizes different aspects of the urban sphere at this late Moche (ca. A.D.
600–750) center. The research program at Pampa Grande was extensive and could
be grouped with other studies that focus on the functional components of urban
settlements, but Shimada went a step further. In general, Shimada (1994, p. 169)
finds that residences at Pampa Grande exhibit similar patterns to that described by
Bawden for Galindo; however, they are combined in larger complexes with shared
special facilities for administration, crafts, or both. One extra wrinkle adding to
class differentiation at Pampa Grande is the idea that both Mochica and non-
Mochica locals occupied different areas of the site and can be distinguished based
on differences in residential architecture and the affiliated assemblages (Shimada
2001, pp. 181–183).
Importantly, many of the Pampa Grande contexts that Shimada describes can be
considered residential, but it takes a dedicated close reading of the presented data to
extract information about specific households and the nature of residential space as it
intersects with various other facets of urban life. Shimada (1994, p. 222) asserts that
his goals were to examine individual activity areas and integrate them into larger
scales of spatial organization, but given his research questions, the activity areas that
are presented in detail are more focused on craft rather than domestic behavior. He
makes valuable comparisons of the material remains of chicha production versus
food preparation and provides descriptions of weaving, shell ornament production,
ceramic production, and metallurgy (Shimada 1994, pp. 199–224, 2001).
Shimada interprets the production of most goods as the result of commuting
laborers under the close supervision of coordinating elite officials at the site. He
emphasizes the existence of specialized workshops but does concede that the
laborers could have been commuting from other parts of the same compounds
(Shimada 1994, p. 224). It would, of course, change the structural dynamic of
production if these workshops were located within the residences of overseeing
elites or within the extended family group compound of a kin-based production
group. In either case, Shimada successfully demonstrates that administration, formal
political activities, and craft production were at times embedded in household space,
making the published works on Pampa Grande a relatively good source for cross-
cultural comparisons of urban residential organization.
Households as political units
Some researchers have considered households as subunits of large polities; although

they similarly look at production and consumption, they are particularly interested
in how the domestic economy intersects with the political economy. These
researchers use domestic data and are interested in the economic activities of the
household, even though these economic activities are rarely described.
Households and the state
One of the earliest such projects was focused on Huánuco Pampa in the central
Peruvian highlands; yet it was more broadly conceived by Murra to understand
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village life under provincial Inca rule by combining historical information from a
16th century visita to Huánuco (Ortiz de Zuñiga 1967 [1562], 1972 [1562]) with
archaeological research (Morris and Thompson 1970, p. 344). The project was
conducted from 1964 to 1966 and included mapping, surface collection, and test
excavations of the vast Inka installation, as well as survey of the Huánuco region
and test excavation of subsidiary sites. Historical details of political organization,
populations, and settlements in the region were used to interpret archaeological sites
and affiliated remains. The research resulted in a huge quantity of data.
The majority of published work describes Inka-style monumental architecture at
the provincial center of Huánuco Pampa, its storage facilities, and how this center fit
into the administrative hierarchy of the state and served Inka imperial logistics of
expansion (see Morris 1982, 1985, 1992). Featured residential contexts include an
Inka palace and a residential complex interpreted as an aqllawasi (Morris 2004;
Morris and Thompson 1985). Both are specialized residential contexts; the palace
exhibits evidence of political activity, and the aqllawasi, an enclosure where
selected girls and women lived and worked, contains evidence of weaving and beer
making. The facilities within these two contexts, combined with the vast size of the
adjoining central plaza and the sheer volume of storage space for consumables, are
the necessary material correlates for the Inka mode of production (see Godelier
1977) or the state’s political economy based on reciprocity. Thus food production
and consumption, conventionally confined to the domestic realm, were transformed
with the application of ethnohistory and discussed as part of the public political
domain.
The support settlements, while apparently documented and studied, quickly took
a back seat to more spectacular finds that fit more easily into generalized models of
Andean statecraft or imperial expansion. Residential contexts, at both the center and
surrounding sites, are described primarily as architectural artifacts that exhibit
differences of form and as contextual containers of pottery. Based on these
comparisons, details of differences between houses with regard to activity and
affiliated assemblages were known to the extent that conclusions could be drawn
about the variety of constituent domestic groups, productive activities, and politico-
economic status. Nevertheless, the residential activities were not selected from the
large corpus of findings for more than cursory description in the resulting
publications. The most detailed account of modest residential structures appears in
Huánuco Pampa (Morris and Thompson 1985, pp. 119–162). The features
supporting political activities were emphasized. One remarkable facet of this
research was the opportunity to match ruined sites with historical census. Thus in
many cases Morris and Thompson were able to correlate descriptions of the social
units that actually lived in a location during a particular period in time with the
archaeological remains of house structures. This research also demonstrated that
ethnic differences documented historically could be recognized by examining
community organization and house form.
The Huánuco Pampa project provided valuable information about Inka state
logistics, storage technology, administrative organization, and the nature of
interactions with local populations. Insights about residential units at the provincial
center and their relations with the surrounding sites remain to be achieved. Since
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Huánuco Pampa is the best-preserved, large-scale Inka provincial center, and there
are existing ethnohistorical data for the towns and villages in the region shortly after
the Spanish conquest, comparative household research combining archaeology and
ethnohistory still holds great potential for revealing significant aspects of ‘‘Inka
provincial life’’ as the project originally proposed (Morris and Thompson 1970,
p. 344).
An earlier intrusive provincial center of the Wari empire at Cerro Baúl has been
the subject of a similar study; although lacking historical documents, researchers are
looking at the imperial province to understand the political organization of the Wari
polity. Excavations at Cerro Baúl have uncovered monumental structures used as
secluded temples, theatres of public ceremony, storage facilities, meeting halls, and
both Wari and Tiwanaku affiliated residences (Moseley et al. 1991, 2005; Nash and
Williams 2005, 2009; Williams 2001; Williams and Nash 2002, 2006). A
comparative examination of households is revealing interesting differences between
socioeconomic groups occupying different sites in the colony. Monumental
residential complexes and more modest houses at Cerro Baúl have been compared
with residences of various sizes at other settlements in the colony, such as Cerro
Mejı́a (Nash 2002), to examine the political economy of the Wari colony (Nash and
Williams 2009).
Residential contexts were compared based on the inventory of different activities,
the spatial organization of those activities, and how artifacts such as cooking pots or
hammerstones varied in form, use, or production technology among different
residential settings. In addition, connections between the elites running the colony
and other people occupying sites in the region were traced using INAA and ICPMS
to chart the exchange of undecorated pottery (Moseley et al. 2005; Nash 2002; Nash
and Williams 2009; Williams et al. 2003). In situ artifacts were plotted on house
floors and the assemblage from each house was compared to enumerate a suite of
common residential activities. Interesting patterns emerge when household assem-
blages are examined and compared in a contextualized manner. For instance, lithic
analysis permits finished goods to be plotted differently from production waste to
identify bead production as a potential tribute activity; based on spatial patterning
garbage can be distinguished from ritual deposits; and faunal remains resulting from
ritual versus quotidian activity can be considered separately to define dietary
differences (see Moseley et al. 2005; Nash and Williams 2009).
Examination of the organization of activities within house structures brought the
social composition of households into focus, while comparisons between residential
domains identified Wari administrative activities and significant elements of the
political economy. Similar to Van Gijseghem’s (2001) interpretations for Moche,
the largest house structures at Cerro Mejı́a have the longest occupation history.
Also, household assemblages with the largest quantity of fineware ceramics
correspond to houses that exhibit evidence of remodeling, expansion, and duplicate
activity areas that likely indicate extended family groupings. Houses with no overt
trappings of Wari affiliation could be tied to the overarching political hierarchy
because small-scale village leaders used a more modest assemblage to emulate the
patterned ceremonial activity practiced by provincial officials in their palaces (Nash
in press). Given the class-related difference in the relevant ritual assemblage, such a
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connection would have been difficult to make without looking at the deposition of
materials documented on field maps. The number of houses excavated at Cerro
Mejı́a remains small (n = 10). Future work, however, is planned and comparisons
between houses of different size and elaboration promise to provide significant data
sets for understanding dietary differences, tributary production, and the Wari
provincial political economy.
Houses of state
Current research of residential contexts reflects trends in the discipline and uses a
number of means, primarily architecture, to understand power relations. For this
reason palatial complexes are often described in more detail, both in layout and
artifactual remains. In recent years two edited volumes on ancient palaces have been
published. Both collections include articles pertaining to Andean societies (Christie
and Sarro 2006; Evans and Pillsbury 2004). Palaces have received special attention
for many years and have been described because of their importance in
understanding political activities and as markers of political complexity.
Although some scholars would define palaces as ‘‘the residence of a sovereign’’
(see Isbell 2004a, p. 194), it may be more productive to broaden the search and look
for those residential complexes that incorporate activities essential to managing the
state. Determining which large house is the biggest or the grandest may be less
important than defining what elites are doing in their houses and how these activities
relate to political interactions, control of the polity’s economy, or the use of symbols
to legitimize power relations. As such, comparing ‘‘palaces’’ between polities might
reveal significant differences in their respective political organization and the roles
of elite actors.
Shelia and Tom Pozorski (2002) have identified what might be called the earliest
Andean palace. They have been examining large nucleated sites of the Initial period
(2150–1000 B.C., calibrated) in the Casma Valley in northern Peru for more than
two decades. Their research has revealed a series of connected sites with
monumental architecture, including elite residences elevated on truncated, stone-
faced adobe pyramidal constructions. At Taukachi Konkán (a component of the
larger Sechı́n Alto complex), the principal monument, the Mound of the Columns,
seems to have served as an elaborate elite residence or palace.
The Mound of the Columns is a symmetrical pyramidal building (80 m 9 90 m),
elevated 10 m above the plain. The complex is named for its spectacular public
area, featuring more than 100 columns in the central atrium and surrounding
structures. Radiocarbon dates and architectural style show that the residence was
built and used during the Moxeke phase (2150–1350 B.C., calibrated) of the Initial
period. Excavation has identified areas for storage, audience, ritual activity, and
private living quarters. The elites and their activities were served by kitchen
facilities just off the mound to the south, accessible by a narrow hidden stairway.
Like later Chimu ciudadelas and Inka palaces, the mound architecture was divided
into three zones and incorporated large-scale public areas and smaller private
quarters (Pozorski and Pozorski 2002).
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This rare find and synthesis must be credited to the Pozorskis’ comparative
knowledge of the contemporary architectural features and the extensive excavation
strategy that allowed them to understand the organization of the whole complex.
After the Initial period, palaces in the archaeological record are not known until the
Middle Horizon. This may have to do with the association between palaces and
state-level societies (see Flannery 1998); but as Pillsbury (2004) has discussed, it is
equally likely that Andean archaeologists just shy away from cross-cultural
phenomena. Hidden in the writing about elite residences or domestic activity on
temple mounds may lie a few ‘‘palaces’’ (e.g., at Cardal [Burger and Salazar-Burger
1991]) from earlier periods.
The Huari Urban Prehistory Project (HUPP), led by Isbell, focused on
understanding the development of the urban center Huari, the capital of the Wari
empire. This work built on his earlier excavations at Jargampata (W. Isbell 1978).
The project also used survey findings from the Ayacucho Archaeological Botanical
Project (MacNeish et al. 1981) to provide a regional backdrop. HUPP conducted
survey, mapping, surface collection, and excavation between 1974 and 1981.
Further work and follow-up analysis was unfortunately cut short by the growing
threat of terrorism from the Sendero Luminoso (The Shining Path).
Nevertheless, HUPP produced several dissertations, one of which was focused on
a large elite residential compound, Moraduchayoq (Brewster-Wray 1990), the
construction of which corresponds to the development of Huari as an urban center.
Huari was organized to some degree on a grid and was ‘‘composed of walled
compounds surrounded by streets’’ (Isbell et al. 1991, p. 47). Moraduchayoq has
become the basis for modeling the development of state administrative practices in
the Wari empire, which are of interest here because they are described as taking
place within the residential sphere (Brewster-Wray 1983; Isbell et al. 1991). This
urban residential compound, as described and mapped by the investigators, includes
different components: nine patio groups, a platform area, and a cluster of small
irregular agglutinated rooms (to borrow from J. Topic [1982]). The large repeated
units, dubbed ‘‘patio groups,’’ received the most emphasis, perhaps because these
larger features could be identified at other known Wari installations (e.g., Pikillacta
[McEwan 1987, 2005]; Viracochapampa [J. Topic 1991; J. Topic and T. Topic
2001]).
Excavations sampled ‘‘lateral halls’’ and ‘‘patio space’’ in all but one of the nine
patio groups of the Moraduchyoq compound (see Isbell et al. 1991, p. 39, Figs. 21,
22). Lamentable is the level of disturbance reported, which often made it difficult to
interpret features such as hearths from other forms of ash deposit. In addition, most
of the materials were described as secondary deposits and interpreted as garbage
produced within the compound. Interpretation of the activities within Mora-
duchayoq was based on the frequency of serving vessels (cups and bowls) relative to
the frequency recorded from a previously excavated domestic compound at the
hinterland site of Jargampata (W. Isbell 1978). Since material evidence of craft
activity was absent and artifacts associated with chicha serving predominated, the
compound as a whole was interpreted as the living quarters for a group of middle-
class administrators charged with feasting subordinates (Brewster-Wray 1983; Isbell
et al. 1991). This interpretation has important implications for understanding the
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nature of political activity in archaic states and was based to some degree on Morris
and Thompson’s (1985) work at Huánuco Pampa.
Isbell has continued to look at elite residential areas and their relationship to state
administration. In a recent publication he combines the characteristics of known
royal housing from the Inka empire (Morris 2004) and the Kingdom of Chimor (Day
1982) to define attributes that may help archaeologists identify earlier palace
complexes (Isbell 2004a). His analysis starts with a summary of Eeckhout’s (2000)
research on the ‘‘pyramids with ramps’’ at Pachacamac, which were occupied during
the Late Intermediate period and Late Horizon, and then moves backwards in time,
applying palace criteria to a number of Middle Horizon monumental complexes.
Unfortunately, the discussion relies primarily on architectural features and the
presence of human remains. Isbell (2004a) postulates interesting research objectives
for future research at sites such as Huari, Viracochapampa, Pikillacta, Omo, and
Tiwanaku. In a later article, he revisits these issues and expands his analysis to
consider different types of elite residences and discusses a larger number of sites,
particularly the evidence from Conchopata (Isbell 2006, see also Isbell 2000).
Tiwanaku, as a capital city, should incorporate a palace structure and elite
dwellings that exhibit lesser-quality goods and architecture. Although the layout of
the urban settlement at Tiwanaku remains unclear, monumental constructions at the
site’s core have been excavated by a wide array of investigators. Couture’s (2004)
research of the Putuni complex, built during Tiwanaku V (ca. A.D. 800–1100),
situates the palace in the context of elite activity and changing political ritual. The
complex consists of an elevated platform with sunken rectangular court, which
incorporates finely made stone compartments or niches with doors. These niches
may have held ancestral mummy bundles or other ritual goods, and like much of
Tiwanaku’s monuments these features are related to earlier ceremonial architecture
in the region (e.g., Chiripa [see Hastorf 2005, pp. 76–80]). A more private sector
consists of a group of four buildings surrounding a stone-paved patio, two of which
have been excavated (Couture 2004; Couture and Sampeck 2003). An earlier
underlying Tiwanaku IV complex, although elite, demonstrates a different
configuration of residential space. Couture contextualizes these changes and
discusses how transformations in elite activities and political organization are
reflected in the remodeling of palatial architecture.
State development in the Middle Horizon also can be linked to changes in the
role that elite residential structures played in Wari provincial political relations.
Similar to Tiwanaku, the Wari site of Cerro Baúl saw major renovations sometime
between A.D. 800 and 900 (Williams 2001; Williams and Nash 2002). Some
complexes at the site were used as elite residences, ritually abandoned, and left
without remodeling. The activities set within these earlier compounds were
seemingly shifted to larger, more monumental constructions located away from elite
residential compounds in the later half of the Middle Horizon. By taking state
hospitality out of the personal domain of provincial intermediaries, perhaps the
Wari state was attempting to consolidate its power by making more direct ties
between local lords and state bureaucrats rather than supporting the power bases of
provincial elites (see Nash and Williams [2005] for a complete discussion). While
this hypothesis requires further testing at Cerro Baúl, the timing of these shifts in the
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organization of elite residential space and other monumental venues at two Middle
Horizon sites may signal important changes in elite power, such as the solidification
of royal power as Couture (2004) suggests for Tiwanaku.
Andeanists must be careful not to project too much of the Inka or the Chimu back
onto earlier states, such as the Moche, Tiwanaku, and Wari. Archaeologists have
long held an interest in and have examined how the polities of the Middle Horizon
are related to those of the Late Horizon. In fact, some have suggested that the
ciudadelas of Chan Chan have their origin in Wari compounds such as
Moraduchayoq (e.g., McEwan 1990; Topic 1991); however, compound architecture
predates Wari expansion. Nevertheless, Moore (1992, 1996, 2005) has looked at this
idea and others related to the development of elite residential architecture,
particularly on the north coast of Peru (see also Bawden 1983). He suggests that the
high walls of the Chan Chan ciudadelas represented exclusive boundaries separating
Chimu’s royal class, particularly the king, from the subject population. In his book,
Architecture and Power in the Ancient Andes, Moore (1996) focuses primarily on
public architecture. In several cases, however, this overlaps with monumental
complexes containing residential components. Interestingly, he notes a similar trend
on the north coast to that exhibited by Wari and Tiwanaku architecture. Contrasting
the relative accessibility of the Huaca de la Luna at Moche with the enclosed mound
architecture at Galindo (Bawden 1982a) and Pampa Grande (Haas 1985), Moore
(1996, p. 58) refers to these differences as an expression of the ‘‘greater social
stresses between commoners and elites on the north coast.’’ Recent excavations at
Huaca de la Luna, however, show that it also was relatively inaccessible (Uceda and
Tufinio 2003); restricted access was an early development that may have become
more pronounced in the Chimu polity.
Pillsbury and Leonard (2004) examine features of monuments in the Moche and
Chicama Valleys and identify Galindo and Sonolipe (a monumental center in the
Chicama) as precursors to the ciudadelas at Chan Chan. Pillsbury and Leonard
emphasize the shift from large huacas built in stages, perhaps in a sacred location
expressing continuity, to smaller monuments and associated compounds built as
singular events extending over larger horizontal spaces. Nevertheless, they stress
that ciudadelas seem to be a unique ‘‘Chimú experiment,’’ with the colorful friezes
displayed on public monuments ultimately sequestered within the restricted confines
of high ciudaduela walls (Pillsbury and Leonard 2004, p. 285). Current dates from
the Moche site complicate a smooth chronological narrative, and it may be that for a
time north coast elites using different strategies and occupying different kinds of
residential complexes competed for power in pre-Chimu times. These debates use
the architectural forms as their primary type of evidence; however, practices can
change without immediate modification to the built environment (Conklin 1990).
Morris’ early work in the Inka royal residence at Huánuco Pampa and later
comparisons between it and the Inka palace at La Centinela in Chincha are perhaps
the catalyst for much of the research on the role of feasting and its significant part in
the state’s political economy. Further research of elite residential compounds and
the activities of elites at large centers can add greatly to our understanding of state
development in the Andes and other world regions. Nevertheless, such analyses with
few exceptions are problematic because they are typically made based on
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architectural features alone and often lack the necessary sample of ‘‘commoner’’ or
‘‘middle class’’ houses to make meaningful comparisons. Monumental dwellings are
typically disturbed by looting or filled with large quantities of postoccupation
material presumed to be later refuse; however, a few recent studies show that these
deposits may not be garbage but materials associated with the ritual interment of the
dwelling.
Dwelling interments
Research from all parts of the Andes has documented human burials in dwellings
and under house floors. This pattern goes back to the earliest dwellings in the
Archaic (Engel 1970) and culminated with the royal Chimu palace interment
(Conrad 1982) or the Royal Inka practice of venerating unburied mummies in the
dead ruler’s palace (Sarmiento de Gamboa 2007 [1572], p. 154). As these latter
cases indicate, residential interment was a selective phenomenon. Burials below
house floors, in abandoned houses, or within the walls of dwellings were not
restricted to elite members of society. It also appears that not all members of the
coresidential group were chosen for this type of burial.
Residential burial is so common and widespread through space and time in the
Andes that the topic could be the subject of its own review article. In many cases,
such finds are documented in great detail along with associated goods. The excellent
preservation in most areas of the Andes often permits detailed studies of the
individual. Burials may be primary or secondary, complete or partial (such as a
trophy head), and in some cases may have been dedicatory sacrifices or interments
that coincide with the construction of the house. Although review of the numerous
cases is not appropriate here, it is important to recognize the close relationship that
some forms of ancestor worship had with the dwelling itself, its occupation, and its
abandonment.
Since dwellings may have been built through a ritual process like those of the
ethnographic present (e.g., Arnold 1992; Gose 1991; Mayer 1977), it stands to
reason that their abandonment, especially when corresponding to the death of a
family member, may also have required ritual activity (see B. Isbell 1978, pp. 128–
132). The practice of temple interment in the Andes is well documented (e.g.,
Bragayrac 1991; Burger and Salazar-Burger 1985, p. 116; Izumi and Terada 1972,
p. 30; Shimada 1986; pp. 166–172), and these successive build-and-fill events often
incorporate human remains as well (see also Blom and Janusek 2004). Recent
research, particularly horizontal excavations of residential areas, suggests that some
houses also received ritual closure. It remains to be seen if this practice relates to the
burials within or is related to other cosmological imperatives.
Donnan (1964) describes a cane house dating to 5370 ± 120 B.P. (uncalibrated)
from the Preceramic site of Chilca in central Peru. The house appears to have been
purposely collapsed over the burials of seven people because stones were placed on
some walls. The house was semisubterranean and the human remains were wrapped
in mats laid on the floor, piled on one another rather than being placed in cists below
the floor. The preservation of the skeletal material was poor; the cane house,
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however, was in such good shape that the research team was able to create a full-
scale replica at the Paracas Museum to understand its construction.
Clearly the burials prevented further use of the house, but this is not always the
case. At the Wari site of Conchopata residential structures include a mortuary
room in which individuals were buried below the floor and offerings to the
deceased were placed on the floor of the room. Evidence suggests that subsequent
offerings were added over a period of time and the density of offerings would
have prevented the room from being used for other purposes. In contrast, other
individuals were buried under patio floors associated with ritual pot smashes of
fine Wari pottery (Isbell 2000, 2004b; Isbell and Cook 2002) that essentially put
these spaces out of use and likely ended the use of the entire dwelling. Thus when
the individual that was buried in the patio space died, the dwelling lost its life
too.
Cerro Baúl, the Wari provincial center in Moquegua, also exhibits this pattern;
however, the subpatio burials found thus far have been looted. Interestingly, the
palace on Cerro Baúl exhibits only ritual pottery smashing on floors where subfloor
burials were located. Other rooms have smaller numbers of pots clustered as
abandonment offerings in doorways rather than covering the entire area of the room.
Further research is needed to document the relationship between burials in
dwellings and other patterns of ritual abandonment. Such pot smashes might be
easily mistaken for postoccupational garbage disposal; however, the high percent-
age of unexhausted obsidian bifaces, intact metal objects, and unbroken ornaments
of different kinds may be useful in determining if dense pottery deposition, once
presumed to be garbage, may have been the material of a ritual deposition. Of
course, the future excavation of dwellings can document the patterning of
deposition, the size of discarded fragments, and the presence of ash and other
kinds of organic sediment to determine if dense artifact deposits found on house
floors resulted from episodic garbage disposal or ritual activity.
Conclusions
Although Andean households are being investigated by archaeologists in a number

of ways, such studies are difficult to find. If one searches for ‘‘household,’’ ‘‘house,’’
‘‘residence,’’ ‘‘residential,’’ or ‘‘domestic,’’ few articles that discuss excavated
residential remains appear (see Table 1). It is as if these topics are somehow kept
undercover, out of sight, and in the more limited sphere of dissertations or
unpublished project reports. As this review has shown, Andean archaeologists
recognize the value of data from residential contexts, but the topic of domestic
behavior or the material features and residential activity are rarely reported. Other
broader issues are in the forefront, such as the political economy, the role of prestige
goods or craft production, and other issues pertaining to social complexity or state
development. Domesticity, quotidian activity, and daily home life are not sexy, and
the archaeological methodology required, in both excavation and analysis, is costly
in time and labor. In economic terms, the rate of return between investment and
publication is low relative to other themes, and archaeologists must often dedicate 5
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Table 1 JSTOR Article Abstract Search Results for Archaeological Publicationsa

Search terms Articles Total
House or Andes Hildebrand and Hagstrum 1999; Stanish 1989 2

Household Argentina Lanning and Hammel 1961 1
Bolivia Lanning and Hammel 1961 1
Chile Lanning and Hammel 1961; Pärssiene and Siiriäinen 1997 2
Ecuador Stahl and Zeidler 1990 1
Peru Costin and Earle 1989; Costin and Hagstrum 1995; Donnan 1964; 7
Lanning and Hammel 1961; Stanish 1989; Van Gijseghem 2001;
West 1970
Domestic Andes Aldenderfer 1988; Goldstein 2000; Kadwell et al. 2001; Stanish 4
1989
Argentina 0
Bolivia Bermann 1997; Bermann and Estévez Castillo 1995 2
Chile 0
Ecuador Stahl and Zeidler 1990 1
Peru Aldenderfer 1988; Burger and Matos Mendieta 2002; Burger and 11
Salazar-Burger 1991; Goldstein 2000; Pozorski and Pozorski
1986; Schreiber and Lancho Rojas 1995; Shimada and Shimada
1985; Stanish 1989 and 1994; Vaughn and Neff 2000; Verano
et al. 1999
Residential or Andes Aldenderfer 1988; Blom and Janusek 2004; Goldstein 2000; 4
Residence Janusek 1999
Argentina 0
Bolivia Bermann 1997; Bermann and Estévez Castillo 1995 2
Chile Dillehay 1990 1
Ecuador 0
Peru Aldenderfer 1988; Bawden 1982a; Dillehay et al. 1989; Goldstein 1
2000; Haas 1985; Isbell 2004b; Marcus et al. 1999; Rice 1996;
Shady Solis et al. 2001; Van Gijseghem 2001
All terms Combined results 32
a
Search conducted on June 1, 2008 through the University of Illinois-Chicago Library resources
to 10 years to a site or small region before meaningful results can be compiled and
described.
Yet, as a handful of studies show, the contextualized analysis of residential
remains can address problems of anthropological significance better than the
isolated consideration of a particular artifact type. Topic, Bawden, and Janusek have
been able to address complex questions in stratified societies because they
problematized the sources of their data—households—and incorporated ideas about
these fundamental social groups in developing their diverse theoretical and
methodological approaches to the archaeological study of state-level societies.
The pattern Allison (1999, 2004; see also Flannery 1976; Flannery and Marcus
2005) has outlined for household archaeology in general pertains to the Andes.
Many use architecture to discuss activity and artifacts to understand social,
economic, and political differences. The nature of archaeological specialization
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often divides the excavator from the analyst so that contexts are described in one set
of publications or chapters while decontextualized materials are classified and
compared in others. More productive would be to combine context and artifact to
understand activities and the use of space, especially when building comparative
models of social, political, or economic difference.
In many respects the Andean research region is a young one. There are valleys,
both coastal and highland, that have not been surveyed, and many sites and
archaeological cultures remain to be discovered, documented, and reported. Andean
archaeologists have few published typologies to standardize the terms of artifact
classification, and many regions lack a solid culture history on which to base
hypothesis-testing research. Household archaeology is a phase of research that
necessarily is designed and undertaken after regional settlement patterns have been
defined and cultural chronologies are established. The prodigious work involved in
excavating and analyzing large contiguous horizontal layers of well-preserved sites
in arid areas is equally daunting to the challenge of finding and defining residential
areas in dense clusters of collapsed stone-wall debris in remote highland locations.
But to understand extinct Andean societies in their own terms and to make work on
these groups comparable to the work of other archaeologists, detailed residential
excavations are required; typologies of both domestic goods and elaborate elite
artifacts need to be published.
Since more and more projects are turning to domestic data sets to test their
models, Andean archaeologists must describe and discuss the material correlates of
their residential finds. A laundry list of activities without artifact drawings or a
listing of artifacts without context or interpretation does not allow for meaningful
comparisons. The biggest challenge facing the archaeology of Andean households is
to find middle-range connections between ethnographic and ethnohistoric institu-
tions (e.g., m’ita, feasting versus daily meals, ritual smashing versus secondary
garbage disposal, etc.) and their material correlates. To move the research of
Andean households forward, I suggest that ethnoarchaeology of domestic activities
and experimental archaeology accompany research programs to aid in understand-
ing depositional processes, to test the material correlates associated with different
kinds of activities, and to examine the material overlap in dwelling assemblages
between houses occupied seasonally by the same coresidential group and the
dwellings used by related cooperative families in different ecological zones.
In this review I have highlighted some of the important research being done on
residential contexts in Andean archaeology. I also have discussed different
approaches to domestic data sets and the wide variety of research questions being
addressed through the exploration of residential remains. This review is not
comprehensive; I have tried, however, to highlight some of the important trends in
the history of household research. For the most part, there has been a positive trend
away from a ‘‘monument-only’’ focus to a broader, more encompassing strategy that
includes houses and their associated material remains. There is much remaining to
be discovered about ancient Andean societies, and a more contextualized
examination of archaeological households offers great promise for building more
nuanced models of the social, political, and economic facets of this rich and diverse
culture region.
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Acknowledgments My interest in household archaeology, especially in the Andes region, has been
cultivated by fieldwork and discussions with a number of colleagues including Monika Barrionuevo Alba,
Nicole Couture, Paul Goldstein, Elizabeth Klarich, John Janusek, Charles Stanish, Jason Toohey, Hendrik
Van Gijseghem, and Kevin Vaughn. I am particularly grateful for Susan de France, Michael Moseley, and
Ryan Williams who have been supportive collaborators in my research of Andean households on the
Cerro Mejı́a and Cerro Baúl Projects. I also must thank Betty and Roberto de Olazabel whose warm
welcomes into their Andean household have always made my visits to Peru like arriving at a second
home. I thank the editors for inviting this contribution and the reviewers for making it worthy of
publication. Any errors are, of course, my own.
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Household Archaeology in the Andes

Article in Journal of Archaeological Research · September 2009

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Household Archaeology in the Andes

Published online: 27 March 2009

Abstract Data from domestic contexts can be used to address significant

Keywords Domestic archaeology Residential archaeology

In The Early Mesoamerican Village, Flannery writes an amusing tale to camouflage

Materialist models focused on ecology and economy describe how households

Ideas about Andean households

A great deal of archaeological interpretation about Andean households is based on

Ethnohistoric models of coresidential groups

Verticality and nuclear family households

Murra’s ideas of Andean community and associated social organization,

Horizontality and extended family households

Ethnographic models of coresidential groups

The American Anthropological Association’s volume, Andean Kinship and

Residence and social organization

difficult to link to ethnographic concepts of household, and it may be that

Ethnographic insights on domestic activity

Given the complexity of some archaeological sites, especially densely occupied

The use of house space

A few ethnographies provide useful descriptions of the way in which residential

occasional celebrations intersect in residential settings, demonstrating that residen-

and ethnohistory to interpret archaeological societies in the Andes is the close-knit

The archaeology of houses

Matters of scale and middle-range theory

Andean archaeologists are using residential remains at a number of scales to address

Regional and chronological schemes

with shifting patterns of social organization or political development. Although this

Most researchers using residential data wish to demonstrate or explain major

Many excavators seem to be seeking residential residue, detritus, or midden

Archaeological households and domestic areas

Households as social units

Social stratification and diversity

Like Bawden’s research at Galindo, residential remains have been found in

illustrations. Goldstein’s (2005, pp. 181–237) focus on household archaeology is in

between settlements as well as regional variation among Aguada groups in

Households as economic units

Many definitions of households describe them from an economic perspective as a

Subsistence and the coresidential group

documented foragers’ adaptations to conditions at high altitude and was concerned

The domestic economy

Households as political units

Some researchers have considered households as subunits of large polities; although

Households and the state

Although Andean households are being investigated by archaeologists in a number

Table 1 JSTOR Article Abstract Search Results for Archaeological Publicationsa

House or Andes Hildebrand and Hagstrum 1999; Stanish 1989 2

Nicholas, L. (eds.), Archaeological Perspectives on Political Economies, University of Utah Press,

Rostworowski de Diez Canseco, M. (1975). Pescadores, artesanos, y mercaderes costeños en el Perú

Bibliography of recent literature

Discussions in Anthropology 8, Museum of Anthropology, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, pp.

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