Dr Philip Riris | Bournemouth University
Rock art is a phenomenon found worldwide and made across time, appearing on every populated continent in the world. Rock art can include paintings, petroglyphs (formed on rocks), rock reliefs (such as cliffs) and geoglyphs (formed on the ground). Most will be familiar with the Palaeolithic cave paintings from southern France or the ‘Cup and Ring’ carvings found across Atlantic Europe but will be much less familiar with South America's rock art, except perhaps the Nazca geoglyphs from Peru. However, the Orinoco Basin in northern South America is home to one of the world's largest collections of monumental petroglyphs, including snakes over forty metres in length.
EPOCH sat down with Philip Riris, Senior Lecturer at the Institute for the Modelling of Socio-Environmental Transitions at Bournemouth University. He is one of the archaeologists working on the rock paintings and petroglyphs of the Orinoco Basin. We discussed the rock art and the role played by the Orinoco River in facilitating their creation.
Could you give our readers a brief insight into the Basin’s geography and some of the relevant history?
Most people, most Brits at least, when they hear ‘Orinoco’, think of the Wombles, not a river or a region of South America. It defies many of the preconceptions most Westerners have about South America; the majority of the Orinoco Basin is savannah, not dense jungle as most would expect; it’s also relatively flat but with extensive intrusive granite formations that form hills (inselbergs), looking little like the Andes either.
The Orinoco stands out in that sense because it's at the centre. It's a nexus for what are individually very diverse and exciting regions. To the West, you have the Andes; to the north, the Caribbean coast and the Caribbean archipelago; to the south, the northwestern Amazon Basin; to the southeast, there's the Guyana Highlands. A natural waterway connects the Orinoco and the Amazon basins for part of the year. It's not a tributary of the Amazon but a distributary. The land is so flat there that during the rainy season, the two basins get connected, and you can travel by boat between the Orinoco and the Amazon, a natural canal.
We see archaeologically, historically, and linguistically that the Orinoco Basin has its own identity, but this identity borrows elements from all of its surrounding regions. It also has a very long history of inhabitation. The earliest sites are from the end of the last Ice Age, and we see continued occupation up to the present.
When I say that the Orinoco is a nexus of interaction, Indigenous people travelling and living along the Orinoco are responsible for generating this diversity, so it's cool to study from that point of view. We just lack information because there's historically not been much field work compared to, say, the central Amazon, to the point that anytime you turn a corner, there's something new to study, something strange, something that is unexpected or interesting or novel. It's a fascinating place to work as an archaeologist. The Orinoco region in South America is often associated with the Wombles rather than the actual river and its surroundings. It's interesting to note that the Orinoco Basin is mostly savannah, not dense jungle as commonly perceived, and it features extensive intrusive granite formations that create hills (inselbergs), deviating from the typical image of the Andes. The Orinoco's location makes it a central point connecting various diverse regions, including the Andes to the West, the Caribbean coast and archipelago to the north, the northwestern Amazon Basin to the south, and the Guyana Highlands to the southeast. During the rainy season, a natural waterway links the Orinoco and the Amazon basins, allowing boat travel between the two, creating a natural canal.
The Orinoco Basin has its own unique identity, shaped by elements borrowed from its surrounding regions, and has a rich history of human habitation dating back to the end of the last Ice Age. Indigenous people travelling and living along the Orinoco have contributed to the area's diversity, making it an intriguing subject for archaeological study. Despite the lack of extensive fieldwork compared to the central Amazon, the Orinoco continually presents new and unexpected findings, making it a captivating place for archaeological research.
What are some of the biggest challenges of working on rock art in a remote and potentially harsh environment like the Orinoco River Basin?
The main challenges we faced were logistics and the remote location. It was tough to get equipment and people to where they needed to be. The environment posed its own difficulties too. The weather could be unpredictable, and we had to time our expeditions carefully to avoid the rainy season. Even in the dry season, we still had to contend with unexpected rain. Accessing the sites was also a challenge as they were often located in remote and difficult-to-reach areas such as on rock faces or high up on inselbergs. The rock art was sometimes tucked away in alcoves, making it hard to work with. The black rock in the region absorbed a lot of heat, so we had to carry plenty of water. But despite these challenges, it wasn't as dense as a rainforest or jungle, and we didn't need to carry machetes. Most of the sites were accessible by driving or taking a boat.
Can you briefly describe the rock art's typical style, content and distribution?
The rock art displays an extraordinary diversity of animal life. While the most prevalent are unidentified quadrupeds, likely deer or similar creatures, the range extends from highly detailed fish – some identifiable down to genus level – to more exotic species such as the Orinoco River Dolphin, black caymans, and turtles. Invertebrates, including scorpions and centipedes, are also frequently depicted. Snakes are particularly common, appearing on numerous monumental rock surfaces.
Humans are another recurring subject, often interacting with animals in ways that extend beyond familiar hunting scenes. Geometric patterns are ubiquitous, including grids, circles, lozenges, rectangles, squares, and crosses.
This rich variety poses interpretive challenges. The meaning of human figures, in particular, is open to debate. We've adopted a pragmatic approach to avoid endless discussions, referring to human figures simply as 'humans'.
There is lots of variation in terms of design, but are there any patterns in their distribution, especially between sides of the Orinoco?
Despite being separated by both the Venezuela-Colombia border and the Orinoco River, the rock art on either side shares a common artistic heritage. There are striking similarities between the sites, which is unsurprising given the river's role as a vital conduit for people, goods, and ideas. However, stylistic variations exist within individual sites. Some paintings are thick and clearly applied by hand, while others are delicate and seemingly brushed on. The colour palette is diverse, encompassing white, black, yellow, red, and even purple, with red and yellow being most prevalent. Petroglyphs range from rigid and angular to fluid and curvilinear. Evidence of overlapping motifs suggests multiple artistic phases over time.
This diversity is remarkable; no two sites are identical. While a shared tradition underlies these artworks, no central artistic authority existed. Numerous artists contributed to each site over generations, if not centuries. The wide variety of styles indicates a multitude of individual artistic visions. Our research has unveiled the astonishing scale of this rock art. Initially, we believed a single site to be exceptional, but we've discovered it's part of a broader tradition of monumental rock art. While comparable in scale to examples in Saudi Arabia, Norway, Australia, Niger, and Central Africa, the Orinoco boasts the most extensive collection of monumental petroglyphs in the world.
Why do you think the carvings are so big?
It's important to note that the rock art exhibits a range of sizes, from relatively small to truly monumental. While some sites feature impressive engravings that would stand out in other regions, they are dwarfed by the colossal serpent-shaped designs found elsewhere in the Orinoco. These monumental artworks represent the upper end of a spectrum; there's a range from smaller, yet significant, rock art to these truly massive pieces.
The monumental serpents are undeniably the most striking examples. Their sheer scale distinguishes them from other rock art, not only in the Orinoco but globally. However, it's crucial to understand that these are the apex of a broader artistic tradition. Smaller, yet still impressive, engravings provide context for the monumental works and highlight the diversity of artistic expression within the region. Even with their scale, these monumental pieces are still only visible from within a kilometre, often only within about five hundred metres of them. Because of the surface they’ve been placed on, in the wrong lighting or time of day, they can be entirely occluded and, in others, much more visible than normal.
What role might these reference points play in the landscape?
These sites appear to have functioned as hubs for trade and cultural exchange. One of the things we understand about the characteristics of trade along the Orinoco is that – and this is based on ethno-historic observations that different ethnolinguistic groups along the Orinoco specialised in specific crafts – bows, smoked fish, or turtle egg procurement, for instance. They would convene at locations like these rock art sites for trade at regular intervals. This emphasises the river's unifying role in facilitating the circulation of diverse goods and crafts among riverine communities.
The monumental scale of the rock art suggests an inclusive rather than exclusive purpose. These sites were likely well-known landmarks, recognisable from a distance, and integral to the local landscape. They served as reference points, even when the engravings themselves were obscured. The Hills themselves act as reference points, part of an enculturation of the landscape, an appropriation of the landscape.
While the rock art might appear territorial, it likely functioned more as a marker of identity than a boundary. These monumental serpents, and other rock art, represent abstract concepts. Their meaning, understood by specific groups, could convey a sense of territoriality but also serve as a broader symbol of cultural identity. Essentially, they signalled, "We are the people associated with this particular symbol."
Did the modern border pose any complications dealing with two sets of local authorities and their systems?
Not so much. Our Venezuelan and Colombian collaborators were extremely supportive. Venezuela has internal challenges that made it difficult to move about and do the stuff that we would have liked at the pace we would have liked. But we knew we needed to expect that. We have great collaborators in both countries who facilitated everything, which made things much easier on our end; it wasn't especially difficult to get stuff going once it was going, but it was very smooth.
What are your long-term hopes for the rock art sites?
The region, alongside economic recovery, is also seeing considerable economic growth in ecotourism, and the Orinoco is one of these regions that Venezuela and Colombia are touting for tourism. With more people visiting from the outside in numbers that are historically unprecedented and because of this heritage is increasingly under threat or potentially under threat.
We’ve yet to see any direct evidence of vandalism, but we do know that this is an area that people are travelling to, and they often want to see stuff that's unique to the area, including rock art, that puts the sites at risk. So what we're hoping for is to increase their visibility and enhance the local stewardship of these sites so that they're preserved for future generations.
Essentially, the local population, whether Mestizo, Indigenous, or people with mixed heritage, still feels ownership. I think it's crucial to enable local stakeholders to capitalise on this feeling of identity to preserve the rock art for perpetuity. We've been at pains to emphasise that the local people, however they identify, need to be at the centre of this.
Is there anything you’d do differently in the future?
No, I mean, honestly, it's gone pretty well! I can wish for drones and four-by-fours that never break down and things like that, but we've been able to produce work like what we've just published because everything has gone so smoothly. We're a very well-oiled machine at this point; everybody knows what they're doing, what to expect, and how to behave respectfully toward one another, and you know we expect reasonable expectations of one another and each other's abilities.
That’s not to say the whole thing went completely smoothly; it's just that, for the most part, it’s worked out for us. The main obstacles to doing more work are things like personal lives limiting availability and the universal challenge of acquiring funding. So yeah, there's always more to do, and the exciting thing about the Orinoco is that whatever you do, it will be brand new; something unprecedented is likely to pop out of the ground.
We would like to thank Philip Riris for his kindness and consideration in talking to EPOCH about the rock art of the Orinoco Basin.